Blogtober 26: Through the Forest to the Sea

 

The rain is pouring down today. Shortly after noon we spied a break in the weather and drove to Witty's Lagoon for a walk. The heavens opened about half way there and we wondered what we were doing. However, we donned our rain jackets and set off down the trail in what had eased to little more than a drizzle. 

How quiet and still the woods are with only the sound of water dripping off the leaves onto the earth. We caught the scent of ripe apples from the once productive orchard, now neglected, where apples now carpet the ground. The Coast Salish people had settlements here for at least 1000 years. The first European settler, John Witty, established a farm here, as did the Hudson Bay Company. 

The chatter of kingfishers, a flapping of ducks taking off, and the waves lapping the shore added another layer of enjoyment to our walk. 

The tide was up, so there wasn't much beach visible. The large domed white-ish mass in the middle of the photo above is what's left of a jellyfish washed up on shore, a rather large one. How colourful the arrangement was with bull kelp, sea lettuce and a variety of other sea plants. 

Our shores are always covered with driftwood. One piece had two of these very large nuts and bolts attached. 

An open seashell on the beach. I walked past it, then turned back when the words from Anne Morrow Lindbergh came to mind, "One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea."

Seals played in the water just off the beach, two rounded humps each for head and body, floating without a care in the world. 

Back we went along the shore, through the woods, up the hill, and around a few corners to view the Sitting Lady Falls. Soon there will be much more water flowing over the rocks. 

Home again where the deluge began once more, but we were dry and cosy enjoying the warmth of the fire. Sometimes it's hard to get out of the house especially on such a dreich day, but it's almost always worth the effort. This was one of those days. 

Our sweet little overnight guests were picked up mid-morning. They are becoming very responsible - when Iris spilt a bit of milk on the table at breakfast, she promptly got down from her chair, fetched a towel, and wiped it up. 

Between the Years

 

Outside my window all is grey and dull. A few chickadees flit about. Inside, I have a cup of tea (English Breakfast) to hand, and the tree lights twinkle. It's very quiet. 

I took few photos this Christmas, but wanted to document a few aspects of the quieter, different celebration. Our dessert on Christmas Eve is often a Buche de Noel - a chocolate version. This year I tried a white one, with vanilla cake, a thin layer of lemon curd and then tart raspberry filling all rolled up and covered with a white chocolate mousse. Candied orange slices and pomegranate arils added a festive touch. It was delicious, not-too-sweet, and refreshing.  

I confess that my bravery and determination to celebrate well with just the two of us failed me on Christmas morning after we had opened our lovely gifts. The hours ahead seemed dreadfully empty. So we went on a long walk - several hours in the fresh air, including a stop by our son's house for a short sidewalk visit. That cheered me up and by the time we returned home we were very hungry! The table for two is a good sum up of this Christmas. 

On Boxing Day we had a number of video calls with family and friends. Here is our family photo for the year. Such dearly loved faces. 

We're all agreed that we can meet for walks outside one family at a time. On Sunday I walked alongside Witty's Lagoon with our eldest daughter and her family. It was another grey day, with a teensy bit of drizzle. 

Tim was planning to join us, however, work interfered. I wish these Covid naysayers and rule-breakers knew of the efforts health care workers (including administrators and managers) put in to ensure the system works well under the weight of this virus. Of his 10 days of scheduled vacation, only two were free of conference calls, emails, and texts. 

On a dull day the forest is somber and dark, but everywhere is the sound of water. Sometimes it trickles in hidden rivulets, then it rushes over rocks and along the shore it laps quietly against the sand. 

Here we are on the cusp of another year. 

cusp: the dividing line between two very different things

During these in between days life is slow. We ate Christmas Day leftovers for a few meals and yesterday I made lasagna for the two of us with a shredded cabbage, carrot, and beet slaw, and some pan-roasted broccoli. Hearty and simple and very satisfying. 

Today I'm tidying a little, and I've sorted some fabrics for a red and white Christmas quilt. Every year, round about December, I wish I had a Christmas quilt, but it's too late by then. So I've decided that will be a project for now. 

Wishing you all quiet days of joy and love. How do you spend these days between the years?

A Sunday in March

In the late afternoon light of a sunny day in March there is a bit of warmth to enjoy, particularly if the wind stays away. The potted daffodils on my outside table are fully in bloom, and the hyacinths are just opening. 

I just didn't want to stay indoors on this mostly sunny day, so after some texting and some face to face chatting after church, three-quarters of our family (the other quarter lives on the mainland) made a quick plan to have lunch together and go for a hike to Witty's Lagoon. 

It's not a long trail, but it heads down alongside a stream, then beside a waterfall, down some more, and levels out to follow a meandering shoreline that indents deeply in places. We cross plenty of squishy muddy spots, some with boards laid across, others without. In a couple of places bridges of various sizes span creeks. We wind in and out of the forest that smells so fresh, and notice the tiny green leaves sprouting everywhere. The children race ahead, then stop to examine something fascinating and we pass them, then they run to catch up and pass us again. 

Once through the trees, the forest opens onto a short walk across the foreshore with its tall brown grasses and a few deciduous trees, to arrive at the sandy beach where the sea beckons the grandchildren to play. Sticks of all sizes and shapes are scattered for the picking, good for prodding, digging, and trailing through the water. Miraculously, no one got wet.

In spite of the sunshine, the air was chilly enough that we were all glad for jackets, mittens, and hats.

While the children played, the adults stood around and chatted. Driftwood lies all along every beach on our shores, tossed up by the storms from the Pacific. I find it endlessly fascinating. Carved by time and water, driftwood comes in a myriad of sizes and shapes. 

Back into the forest for our return trip. Native arbutus trees stretch over the water to create a shadowed canopy.

Sitting Lady Waterfall is best seen from a distance, across the lagoon. Now in the spring there is plenty of water, but that trickles to very little in the dry summer. 

European settlers once farmed in the area, but the only remaining evidence of that are the old fruit trees that bloom beautifully in the spring, and rotting fence posts. The earliest farm, Bilston Farm, established in 1851, was left to grow wild for some time before being purchased and converted into a modern farm where lavender thrives.

And so we head back through the forest, up alongside the waterfall, and arrive at the parking lot. The drive home is a mellow one, and our minds and bodies are glad for the fresh air and exercise.

Now it's evening. Did you enjoy the longer lighter evening? I did. Roast chicken for dinner, and now a quiet evening of reading, and getting this blog post finished. How was your first Sunday of Daylight Savings Time? Or does your area not change time?

The Beach in Winter

According to the weather historians,this stretch of cold weather (just below freezing) is the longest in 30 years. Temperatures dropped in early December and haven't really risen to normal yet. 

There's been little precipitation, accompanied by clear, sunny skies.
  

On Sunday afternoon 9 of us took a walk to Witty's Lagoon. 6 adults, 3 small children. The forest floor gave off the damp scent of earth and of trampled pine boughs tossed down by the wind.

The Littles pretended they were horses along the path - "walk, horses, walk," then "gallop, horses, gallop," followed by "rest, horses, rest."

Once on the beach, a distant clump of rocks shone golden as the sun sank lower and lower. Gulls wheeled and cried, their white breasts and wings glinting silver as they caught the light. 

In the distance, across the Strait, the high mountains of the USA's Olympic Peninsula rose out of blue mists.

Ducks squawked, swam, dove and flew.

The beach in winter is just as much fun as it is in summer. There were sand castles, rocks thrown, trenches dug. Sticks gathered, stories told, and laughter.

The gear of a winter beach might look different than summer's. No swimming suits or sun tops. Instead these hilarious hats, one a reindeer, one a cat, both worn with careless elegance and sweet individuality. 

We missed the Vancouver couple, and wished they could have joined us. Our DIL, in the brown jacket, brought along a thermos of hot tea. When I commented on what a great idea that was, she said that she had seen her MIL (yours truly) write about it on her blog. HA! On this walk, I brought nothing. In the photo of the two couples, I caught the guys chewing on cookies. Hope they don't mind.

The weather forecast is for a warming trend, perhaps to 7 or 8 Celsius, accompanied by rain. I'm glad we got out to enjoy the sunny cold on this Sunday afternoon.

Linking to Mosaic Monday, hosted by Maggie of Normandy Life.