At the Beach

For one reason or another the boat trip planned for Sunday was cancelled. Plans were adapted to a picnic at the beach. A rain shower on the drive out had us all wondering if the picnic would be moved to Nana and Grandpa's house. However, as hardy Canadians (cough), we persevered and enjoyed ourselves in spite of cloudy skies, chilly breezes and the occasional spatter of rain.

A kite left at the beach provided fun entertainment for Miss A and her father. 
 

Can you guess the theme of these three photos? Fathers and daughters. One daughter (and her husband) was missed.  And it would have been nice if my own father could have been there, too, but he lives on the mainland. I'm so grateful for the men in my life who respect me, love me, and encourage me - and make me laugh.
 

Little Mister F spent most of the picnic sleeping against his mother. I managed one decent photo, although his eyes are mostly closed. The Little Misses didn't mind the weather at all. They dug, they poured, they drove, they poked - the beach has infinite play value.

All that fresh air had a most soporific effect; we came home and napped, then slept wonderfully last night. I hope the families with little ones enjoyed the same results. 

Another week begins - what's on your list?

 

Stormy Weather Photo Challenge

Taking the photos wasn't the challenge this time around - finding stormy weather was. We've been enjoying sunny days with little variation. I thought I might have to fake some photos with a spray bottle of water, as Donna suggested. This week, though, dark clouds rolled through once or twice for a bit of drama, but usually passed through without any precipitation. Then, early one morning, I heard rain spattering against the roof and windows and, very briefly considered getting up decided that I'd rather stay in bed. 
 

I did go out before breakfast to capture the effects. Raindrops running a course down oregano leaves, each drop elongating before slipping to the next position to finally hang, tremulous, and then fall.
 

You can see how little rain we actually got - just the bottom petals of the delphinium hold a few droplets.

All photos were taken with my Nikon Coolpix P7100, cropped as needed and a bit of contrast enhancing accomplished with Picasa. 

Joining in with Donna's Personal Photo Challenge. Thanks, Donna, for the links to great articles and for hosting this challenge in the midst of your own personal life challenges.

Five on Friday

1.  A recent project - linen coasters with hexagons for a gift. These were fun to make. Hexies can be addicting. I have a growing basket of them that will one day, I hope, turn into a quilt or coverlet. The handwork is good for evenings, and I thought that they would be good to take on the boat, should I feel like doing something other than gazing at the scenery. 

2. Little Miss S celebrated her second birthday last weekend. Grandpa had fun blowing bubbles with her. Eagles eyes might note the life jacket sitting on the chair behind her. 

3. In preparation for future boat trips, Grandpa wanted the Little Misses to try on their life jackets. Miss A agreed with alacrity and then wouldn't take it off. She wore it throughout the party. Miss S on the other hand, wouldn't hear of trying it on. Perhaps she didn't want to cover up her party dress. 

4.  My last post referred to school and hospital. On Thursday I assisted other teachers in chaperoning Grade 10 students to the P.A.R.T.Y. program at Victoria General. PARTY stands for Prevent Alcohol and Risk-related Trauma in Youth. In small groups we made the rounds through the hospital, from a crashed car from a real incident to the ER trauma room where a fellow classmate with simulated injuries lay on a bed, blood and bandages on the floor, tubes everywhere, to the morgue and former autopsy room, to rehabilitation where several brain injured victims told their stories, and more. It was graphic and rather hard-hitting. We hope it saves lives and health as students think now about how to handle risky behaviour.

 

5.  My bedside posy. A white Bolero rose with a few sprigs of lavender and some lemon balm. Subtly fragrant, it will surely be a great inducement to sweet dreams. The idea came from Jooles of Sew Sweet Violet who is sharing a monthly bedside posy. I do love flowers in the bedroom. And the living room and kitchen and dining room. But I don't want to denude my rosebushes entirely. 

Plans for the weekend? We hope to take the family boating on Sunday for Father's Day, so I'm planning a picnic. How about you?

Rosy Days

My floribunda rosebush is blooming. I wondered if it would. Last fall I moved it to a new place, from the front garden, to make room for an expanded driveway, to the back garden. I'm so happy it survived the move. These blooms were at the center of the plant and I just poked my camera in, snapped, and hoped for the best.

I'm in no way a rose expert, but the author of Hostess of the Humble Bungalow has written a wonderful little primer post on the care of roses. Hers are stunning.

A couple of weeks ago, Heather of Inspire Me Heather held a garden party. Just look at the her beautiful yard! She set up a very cozy party space under a tree. Pondside was there, and Sheila from Sheila Zeller Interiors, as well as Janice from Real Food Made Easy. It was fun to meet some new bloggers (and visit again with Pondside). Heather served some delicious nibbles and provided the recipes for all of them. She even had prizes at the end and I came home with the paper globe lanterns you see in the photo. 

Tomorrow I'm at school again. Actually, I'll be at the hospital, not the school. But it's a school program. I'll tell you more about it in my next post. 

Wishing you a rosy very-nearly-summer day.

Delight in the Familiar

Feverfew (tancetum parthenium) self-seeds in my garden. I like its airy growth and find it a good filler for gaps. It seeds itself here and there and where I prefer it not to grow, I yank it out. It's pretty and friendly, familiar.

The other day I took Miss A to Butchart Gardens, a place she's visited many times. As we drove I talked about the adventure we were going to have.

"No, Nana," she said, "this isn't an adventure."
"Why not?"
"Well, because you have to walk to an adventure, not drive. Adventures are for the woods, not Butchart Gardens."

Interesting words from a 3.5-year-old. But I had to disagree with her and told her that Nana looks for adventure everywhere, even if she has to drive.

When I was much younger, although older than Miss A, I thought that adventure required new experiences. Revisiting a place couldn't possibly be an adventure. Where was the delight in climbing the same mountain, visiting the same museum, or re-reading a book?
 

Older now, perhaps I'm a little wiser. I can find delight in the familiar anticipation of flowers blooming. A wander through my garden with a cup of tea is a daily small adventure. The familiar cycle of the seasons brings so many opportunities for delight. There's always a rush of joy when the roses bloom or the tomatoes form.

I still hope to visit new places in the world - England, Greece, Scandinavia. But I also want to return to France, Spain and Germany for I have not seen or experienced nearly all that I want to there. With every visit to the relatively nearby Rocky Mountains or the Gulf Islands surrounding my home, I find new enjoyment in the familiar scenes. When Tim or I say, "remember last time..." another layer is added to the experience, enriching and deepening it. As I breathe in the scent of a sun-warmed forest, memory triggers all the forest scents I've ever breathed. A damp tangle of ferns growing high as my shoulder reminds me of the jungle trails I walked in the South American rainforest. Connections form between then and now.

Delight comes equally from the familiar of everyday life that links yesterday with today and from unfamiliar new experiences that expand my understanding. I anticipate new experiences but don't crave them as I formerly did. The Apostle Paul says, "I have learned to be content..." I can paraphrase that to "I am learning to be content..." Perhaps this delight in the familiar is akin to contentment.    





   

Slow Saturday

A bouquet of radishes for you. From the second planting. A quick rinse and they are ready to eat, crunchy and peppery. Do you eat the green tops? Last year I added them to soups and salads. 
 

It's not that I don't have things to do. But this Bolero Rose, the first of the season, called out for a photo. So I answered, and then did a quick little tour of the garden. Isn't this just a wonderful time of the year when everything is green, green, green, reaching toward the sun, stretching, growing to beat the band? It fills me with energy.
 

Ashley and Owen gave us a fig tree in a pot almost four years ago (as a wedding thank you). Last summer I found space for it in the garden and I'm being rewarded with a half-dozen figs. I'll have to research when to pick them because I don't have a clue. The tree is still small, but growing quickly. 
 

Farewell to the peonies until next spring. But delphiniums and roses and lavender and anemones and, and, and... will undertake to provide colour in the garden. 
 
My Saturday is proceeding slowly. I'm not in a big hurry to accomplish the things on my list. They will get done. But in the garden, one plant rushes upon another in a flurry of growth. "Hurry, hurry," the garden says, "reach, stretch, grow to the light." Do you sense that dizzying pace of nature, too?

Five on Friday

These Friday posts are a good way for me to gather a few of the threads that float through my brain during the week. Thank you for coming by to read and comment. I always enjoy hearing what you have to say.

1.  Some time ago I mentioned a yogurt cake and promised the recipe. Click on the link to take you there. Just writing about it now makes me want to make another one. 
 

2. The roses are getting ready to burst into flower. I can hardly wait. I thought, at first, that this red bug was a ladybug, something beneficial. But it didn't have any spots. Then someone on a blog somewhere mentioned a lily beetle. I did an internet search and it's not one of those either. Maybe she's just a ladybug who left her spots at home for the day. She didn't seem to be eating the roses.
 

3. On Thursday Little Miss A and I strolled around Butchart Gardens. One sees things differently with another person. "What that flower, Nana?" "What's that?" "Why?" "How come?" The questions don't cease. Such interesting conversations. My favorite takeaway, "When I have a garden, Nana, I'm going to have a big red begonia." I'm thinking she might get her own begonia sooner rather than later, don't you think?
 

4.  Bees were a little scary until we talked about how they are good for the plants and that they also make honey. Then we "hunted" for bees, looking for them wherever they might be found and cheered them on with their work. 

5.  Summer means it's time to make popsicles once again. These old Tupperware molds came from my mother's kitchen to mine. Today's popsicle variety is Coconut Peach - a can of coconut milk blended with last summer's frozen peaches. The freezer is emptying rapidly and it will soon be time to fill it once again with fresh berries and vegetables.

For the weekend ahead, there's a birthday party for Little Miss S who is two years old today. Some gardening. House fluffing. Time with family. Relaxation. What are you looking forward to this weekend?

An Evening Walk

 We walk together many evenings, after dinner, after dishes. What is cold and dark in winter is full of soft summer's light in June. Last night I walked alone; he had other things that needed doing. I took with me my IPhone. The light beguiled me into taking photos. Gold-flecked grasses drooped with grace.
 

Thoreau says, "Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow." 

I find that setting out on a walk with the purpose of mentally solving a problem often results in a solution within 30 minutes. An essay or article to write? A relationship issue to ponder? Walking might not fix the problem, but it gives me perspective and often a way to move forward.
  

8:30 PM. The sun drifts down, slowly falling behind the hills. I look beyond the asphalt, beyond the houses, beyond the city, to the sloping layers of the Sooke Hills.
 

A sweet citrus scent floats on the air in the schoolyard. The glossy-leaved Mock Orange (Philadelphus virginalus) glows white in the fading light, covered with blossoms where each stamen is tipped with gold.

Where do you walk? Morning or evening? Every day? 

 

Giddy for Summer

Ten friends. A south-facing patio. A warm late spring evening. Good food, good wine, laughter. Conviviality. A recipe for a wonderful time. 

The practicalities involved inventing a table that would seat 10 - this involved a sheet of plywood over our round table, covered with a tarp (so any spills wouldn't mar the future project made from the wood) and a tablecloth. A mix of chairs. Meal prep was shared - we, as hosts grilled flank steak and I made a couple of Potato, Zucchini, Tomato Tians. Others brought appetizers, salad, bread, and dessert. Hospitality made easy. 

We lingered long over tea and coffee. The sun slipped away behind the hills in fading ribbons of pink and coral. We shrugged on sweaters and still we sat. Discussion topics ran the gamut - gardening, human trafficking, summer plans, world affairs, and so on.

June can be an iffy month here - often rainy and cold after hints of warmth in May. The people in the know have predicted a hotter than normal summer for us here on the west coast. Perhaps they are correct and it's beginning now. I'll take it. Gladly. It rarely gets unbearable here where the sea breezes cool the air. 

The irises are blooming in various shades of pale and deep purple. I captured the ones above reflected in the garden mirror. 
  

Poppies sprawl in front of the peonies. I love this pale pink version. The orangey one, glimpsed behind, is a little too orange for me. It will have to go. We're beginning a bed of plants-that-have-to-be-moved along the lower fence. So far, just one hydrangea bush is there. Perhaps the orange poppy would like to keep it company. 

And so summer begins. Oh, I know that technically we're not there until June 21. When the sun shines and the garden flourishes and we can eat outside - that's when summer really begins. It's short around here and I'm planning to make the most of it. Hooray, I say, for summer! Are you looking forward to summer? Or perhaps you dread it, or just endure it?

Making Progress

"Up the stairs go the bears, up, up, up. Step by step, step by step, up, up, up." I sing this little ditty with my grandchildren as we climb 10 steps up, turn and climb 4 more. It's a memory of my own childhood - a song/story 45rpm recording of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The little misses have caught the tune and often sing it with me. Mr. F will learn it, too.

Along the long wall upwards there are three wedding portraits of our children. At the head of the stairs I've started a gallery wall of family photos. Some professionally taken, others casual snapshots. I love looking at them as I climb up or down the stairs. When I took everything down to paint the hall a couple of months ago, I determined not to rehang the photos until I had painted them. Some of the frames were naturally finished wood (made by Tim in Ecuador), until this week. I've had them laid out on the newspaper covered countertop and gave them a swipe of white paint several times. Today I finally cleaned the glass and hung the photos. One project more or less completed.
 

Finish number two - this shirt. It would look best on a person, but no person was nearby for modeling it. The fabric is a lovely soft printed lawn, just right for cooler days or as a loose cover-up over a t-shirt. I made it strictly according to the pattern, to determine exactly how I adjust for my own shape. I knew it probably wouldn't fit, and although it does, the next version will have some adjustments. This version will go to my younger daughter.  I'm happy with the way it turned out - flat felled seams, cuffs, collar and band. Can't wait to start my own.
 

Tim made this wonderful armoire/television cabinet 8 years ago. Since then we've purchased a flat screen tv that doesn't fit. The bottom now houses our printer/copier. The top is empty for now, but he's planning to fit it with shelves and I'll use it to store table linens.
 

For a minute there I couldn't remember why I was including the armoire. Scary. Oh, yes - I changed the stuff on top. A large hand-painted Italian platter bought in Quito, a French flowershop pot, a cake stand (also made by Tim) and a plant. Nothing new, but new to this space. I so love puttering with the things I already own. I don't need new stuff, that's for certain. But I like rotating displays, do you?
 

And a flower. We really can't have a post without a flower at this time of year. A wild rose growing on one of the islands we visited last week. Wild roses always make me think of the way Anne of Green Gables decorated the tea table for the minister and his wife - all ferns and wild roses.

It feels good to finish a few things. Are you a start-something-and-finish-it-before-starting-something-new kind of person or a million-things-on-the-go kind of person? I'm the latter, but I wish I were the former.

Piles of Little Things

This week's activity has been concentrated around getting things finished. Little things, like "just-get-the-buttonholes-done-and-you'll-have-something-finished." My mother first sewed on an old Singer machine. I made a skirt with that machine and probably some other things, but then she brought home a lovely, modern Bernina machine, similar to the one above. I sewed a lot with that machine. Mom still has it but she sews quilts now, not clothing. So last time we were in Chilliwack I asked if I could have the old buttonhole attachment. You can see the green case behind the machine above and the contraption afixed to the pressure foot. It makes the best buttonholes. Thanks to my consuegros (parents of a son-in-law), I have a Bernina as well. It stitches so evenly. I still use my Husqvarna for everyday sewing, but for buttonholes - it's the Bernina. 

I've painted shelves and picture frames, filled some holes in the wall and will paint them, weeded the garden, and sewed, trying to finish projects that have sat, neglected, for too long. Not much to show for all my efforts yet, but I'm hopeful. 

Peonies are slowly opening outside. I picked a few fat buds to sit on the mantel and watched them open. Such lush flowers. 

I'd planned to putter some more today, but a call last night had me scurrying to organize myself - instead of sewing I'll be discussing the French Revolution, Romeo and Juliet, and All Quiet on the Western Front with various classes. Some of my favourite history and literature. 

Catch you all later this afternoon.

Bringing the Outdoors In

Do you find, as I do, that flowers or greenery adds life to a room? A pot of ivy on the mantel, a fern in the hallway, and a ficus tree behind the sofa add the energy of growing things in my home. But I want more. These days my garden is bursting with life. The first blooms of spring have passed and I'm awaiting the hydrangeas and roses. 

I found these metal containers at Ikea in December. I put small glass candle holders with tea lights in them and admired the light flickering through the open pattern. The other day I looked at them and thought they'd make pretty vases as well. A small jar holds water and into the water I plunked variegated sage, lemon balm, and oregano, all clipped from my garden. The herbs are at their best just now and it's time to begin harvesting for the winter. There are more than enough herbs to enjoy as greenery as well as to dry for later.

What's in your herb garden? Do you dry herbs for the winter? What do you clip from your garden when flowers are scarce?

Five on Friday

1. One of my favourite photos taken while hiking this week. This perfect little fungus made me think of woodland fairies who might use it as a parasol or umbrella. Such a whimsical mushroom.
 

2. A simple meal on the boat - soup, bread, cheese, crudités. A confession about boating - I don't get seasick and find the gentle rocking of the boat quite soothing. However, coming off the boat is a different story. The computer is still rocking back and forth in my mind and I go to sleep at night with the waves rocking my bed in spite of the fact that I'm on dry land. This will disappear in a few days, but it's disconcerting at times. 
When our daughter took her AP Biology field trip to the Galapagos Islands (we were living in Ecuador), she complained of the same thing and ended up taking sea sickness pills AFTER her return to terra firma. 
 

3. Crisp fresh lettuce from the garden. I see lots of salad in our near future. Tonight's was chicken and avocado on lettuce with a blue cheese dressing. An easy meal to end a day that was a bit emotional because...

4. ...we attended the memorial service for 28-year-old Alyson, beloved daughter of our friends Tom and Sue. So young. I confess that my mind and emotions were taken back three years to the death of my nephew Colin, just 29. Same general type of cancer (lymphoma) and an eery parallel in the timeline of chemotherapy, stem cell transplant, hope that the cancer had been eradicated followed by a relapse resulting in earthly death. I am thankful that their pain and suffering have ended and I believe they are with their Lord, but they are missed here on earth nonetheless. 
 

5. I took a wander around my garden after returning home. Several fat peony buds are in a vase on the mantel. I'm looking forward to seeing them open. One tall stalk of foxglove stands like a sentinel, glowing pink in the late afternoon sunshine. I'm reminded again of the beautiful and precious gift of life.

For the weekend - tomorrow morning we'll be volunteering at Woodwynn Farm, a therapeutic community on the Peninsula. In the afternoon there will be weeds to pull here, and a lawn to mow if the rain holds off. Ordinary plans for an ordinary weekend that becomes extraordinary when I pay attention. 
Anything exciting going on in your neighbourhood?

How to Fill a Day

This is a rather longer post - a reflection on a day spent away from normal life.

We awake to the sound of water gently slapping the hull. Another boater is passing by, up earlier than we are. Sunlight glares from the window above us since we left the curtain partially open to watch the night stars as we fell asleep.

morning in Annette Inlet

 In the morning the day stretches ahead of us, long, lovely hours. How we will fill them? There's no list of things to do, no errands to run, no schedule to keep. Will we be bored by day's end?

I stretch, dress, and make my way to the cockpit where open sides let me lean over the boat edge. I stare into the water below. It's a moving highway of life. As the tide ebbs, bits and pieces from our snug inlet anchorage drift out into the channel. Tiny translucent moon jellyfish, scarcely an inch in diameter, contract and push to get wherever they need to go. Suspended filaments twist gracefully in the current. What are they? I toy with taking a course or two in marine biology.

Shadows in the water - see how the dead head and its shadow form an arrow? Perhaps it points to secret treasure.

In the compact galley I prepare breakfast - bacon, pancakes, and fresh pineapple. A pot of tea. Maple syrup and butter. We eat in the cockpit with the fresh air blowing across our small table. We talk of this and that and nothing much, the desultory talk of two people long accustomed to breakfasting together. 

I heat water to wash dishes. He dries. "What shall we do?" one or the other says. I decide to go out in the dinghy, exploring. He chooses to stay on the boat and putter. Man plus boat equals intense puttering.

Life above and below the water

Life vest on, I clamber into the dinghy and begin to row away from the boat. He waves. 

Last night when we arrived, the tide was very low, exposing large rocks. The tide is high now, barely ebbing and the rocks are mostly covered. I row over to check them out. Balancing the oars on the dinghy sides, I drift along the barnacled and shell-encrusted rocks. Crabs scurry to safety when my shadow covers them. Schools of tiny fish dart in unison. Long ribbons of kelp and sea lettuce wave gracefully. 

Continuing along the shoreline I startle half a dozen robins from their low hanging branch. They fly off in a hurry and alight not too far away. Deadfalls lean into the water, creating shadows where larger fish hide. If I am still I see them there, waiting. 

After an hour of paddling and watching, I return to the boat. I see that Tim has hung the Canadian flag and it flaps brightly in the wind.

Solitude anchored in James Bay off Prevost Island

We decide to weigh anchor and find a hiking trail. On the same island is a small park. We anchor the boat again, take the dinghy ashore and begin hiking to Peile Point. Our guidebook warns that this is a sheep trail and so we find it. Sheep appear to be more agile than we are, clambering up and down steep rocky inclines. We know that it's a sheep trail for they've left clumps of creamy, soft wool behind. Trail markers, perhaps?

Tim sitting on the rocks below the lighthouse at Peile Point

Hot and sweaty we arrive at the lighthouse point. We sit on the rocks eating apples, nuts and dried fruit and wishing we'd brought our lunch. A seal swims by just to take a look. Reassured, he soon returns to his rocky sunbathing some distance off. A bald eagle soars overhead and alights in a tall tree. White sails dot the ocean. A tidal pool holds a small reddish purple crab, several tiny fish, barnacles and pebbles. On the water-covered rocks below we see starfish, purple and orange, and rows of purple mussels.

Peile Point lighthouse from the water

We return to the boat. Three hours have passed. We're hungry and break out the salami, cheese, bread and crudités. We decide to go to Montague Harbour for the night. Half an hour to cross Trincomali Channel, another half hour to decide where to anchor. I read a book. He reads a magazine. Often the reading material falls to our laps as we gaze out at the world around us. He takes a nap, then decides to go exploring in the dinghy. I stay aboard to finish my book.

Light filtering through spring green maple leaves

We cook dinner late. He grills a marinated pork tenderloin on the barbecue mounted on the back rail of the boat. I cook asparagus and re-heat some vegetables I'd roasted at home. Coleslaw with a peanut dressing. Red wine. Before the sun sinks away we take the dinghy ashore and walk up the road for 20 minutes or so. Once aboard again I make two mugs of hot chocolate. He eats a couple of cookies and I have a square (or two) of dark chocolate. We talk and watch the light fade. We see the glow from other anchored boats - a neighbourly sight although we know no one. 

Just after 10 pm we crawl into bed. The waves have died down and the boat is still, barely turning on her anchor as we fall asleep. Just one day left.

As the light fades - Annette Inlet

 
 How will we fill the hours that stretch ahead?