molly and the mermaid

 

My friend Molly got another tattoo, this one a beautiful mermaid on her left arm. The tattoo artist did a really good job - the scales especially are gorgeous! Being as both of us use Pinterest, and like tattoos, I thought I'd pin this to Pinterest, too.

(One day, I'll get a tattoo. I've got some ideas lately. Involving compasses.)

natural beauties

Another week gone by. And where are we now? Where am I now that I wasn't a week ago? Physically, the same place. The same coordinates on the earth. But each week a little different.

I present: a hodgepodge of photos from the past week or so. The one above: heading to work one morning. Making the turn from a dirt road onto a paved one, and I see the view I see every morning. Every morning thinking, I should stop and take a picture. Usually having a reason not to. This particular morning, stopping the car, getting out, standing there in the frosty air, looking out at the lake and the mist. Breathing it in. Listening to the quiet. So... quiet.

Frosty roadside rosehips. Their colour a burst to the eyes, like the leaves turning color. Ta Da! We're here! Check us out! Red! One of Fall's surprises.

A trip down the North Shore with Flossie brought us to Little River. A swimming beach and a port for lobster boats. If you drive past both those things, you get here, a rocky shoreline.

I walked a little ways away from Flossie to take photos and when I turned around again this is what I saw. Flossie in her element.

It's the details at the beach that I love so much. The bumps along the underside of a dead crab claw. The hardy plants and the driftwood.

The starry symmetry of a plant lying flat along the stones.

I got to work early one morning - having allowed time to be held up in construction, and then there wasn't any - and so I walked out onto the wharf. The clouds and the sun and their movement together was just gorgeous. This lighthouse gets photographed so many times by tourists - what's one more?

Down an old road that used to go to a ferry, and which is now falling into disrepair. (Yes, Big Harbour, I'm talking about you.) I drove down there for fun and saw this building, which, admittedly, I have always known was there. This is a place my family used to frequent for swimming. But this particular time I decided - take a picture. This is a neat thing.

Fires to keep us warm into the winter. Mat and a friend lit a fire in our firepit, and just before I went to bed at the early hour of nine p.m., I went out to it to take some photos. In the upper right hand corner is our porch light and the deck. I so love photographing campfires. It's like the fire cooperates, is part of the process. You never know what cool lines and squiggles the sparks will make!

So that is "these days". Frosts, fires, early mornings, early nights. Seeking some comfort in beauty, in what surrounds us, in pictures, in words. Going along, pushed forward, ever forward by the movement of days. Of sun and wind and water.

See you next week. Where will you go this week?

***

(f)rig it!

So it turns out, sailing is HARD.

OK, let me amend that. Sailing a 420 Laser when you've only ever had one sailing lesson, you're tired from a LONG day at work, and you're not sure what the heck you're doing, is HARD.

Last week I went to my sailing class, after a long, hot day at work. I finished up, went over to the yacht club, ate a peanut butter and honey sandwich, and then helped Linda rig our boat. (To rig a boat is to put the sails on and tie the sheets properly. Sheets are ropes that are used to move the sails. And they need to be tied into shackles and pulleys and things, so they can move the sails with a minimum of work by the sailor.)

The first time I sailed, a few weeks ago, I sailed a pram, which is a simple boat with one sail, one sheet. One person. For some reason which I can't recall now - although it may have had something to do with wanting to try something new, and my boss Stuart who is a sailing genius had said, the 420's were way better to teach you sailing - I decided to up the game a bit and try a 420.

Now, in comparison to a pram, a 420 has two sails (a main and a jib, which is in front of the main), two people (one to be "skipper" and steer and work the mainsail, one to be "crew" and work the jib), and a number of sheets. Like, six or seven or a hundred. I don't know, but more than a pram. Anyway, I foolhardily climbed into the 420 and the instructor pushed Linda and I away from shore. A little too late I realized I didn't know what the heck I was doing.

"Use the tiller!" said Linda, and I did. However, the instructor, getting smaller every second as we drifted away from shore, yelled after us, "Your rudder is only halfway in! Push it down!" But how? Because meanwhile, we're moving into the path of other boats, I'm trying to steer us and I still have no idea how to work the mainsail. There is a rope that looks like it might be the right one, but it's hooked into all kinds of pulleys, so where do I pull it from? Meanwhile my "crew" is no help, because she's working the jib sail and telling me what to do with the tiller, which is still no real use to me because it's not pushed down all the way and I still have no idea how to do that and -

OH EFF the boom just cracked me in the head

Do I have a concussion? Oh shit, isn't THIS perfect - OK, no concussion, but this EFFING HURTS - fuckity fuck fuck fuck - OK steer -

I hate sailing!

I want to go home!

Oh shit the tiller, right, OK - breathe!

Meanwhile the instructors, two women in their early twenties, are going around the eleven of us in their motor boats, going, "You're doing great!" No, I'm really not great here. Every time I think I have it figured out, something else frigs up and I'm left freaking out a little more. We make it around a few marks - miraculously I've figured out how to control my mainsail, no thanks to any of the instructors, who just followed us around going "You're doing great!" and then suddenly -

We're tipping! The boat is going over on one side dangerously close to the water - how the EFF did this happen? Linda's going "What are you DOING LEAH!?!?" and I'm pulling on things and letting things out but none of it is helping as slowly but surely we go degree by degree closer to tipping this whole frigging boat, sails and all, into the water, oh lord what a mess that will be! And then suddenly -

We right again. BREATHE. The other women in their boats clap for us and I give them a grin but inside I'm going WHAT THE HECK JUST HAPPENED?!?! I can't actually remember the few seconds between the boat nearly tipping and righting again. No idea what happened or what I did.

The next time the instructor comes around I tell her - "I don't think I do this." She tries to convince me that "I'm doing great" but I just keep saying I'm not doing well, so she ties up her boat to a buoy, puts Linda in it, and climbs into the 420 with me. I climb into crew position, at the front of the boat with just the jib to deal with. She knows what she's doing and she brings us around a few marks. All I have to do is pull on the jib sheet to match the main sail, and duck my head a little when the boom swings sides. I can feel the tears building behind my eyes - relief, so now it's time for the dam to spill over. I try to keep it back. She says,

"So then we'll switch, and I'll crew and you skipper."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea." Of course I'd love to be able to - would love to give my teacher what she wants, would love to be a great student. But I know myself better than that, by now. I know that I'm melting down. So we return to Linda in the rescue boat, and this time I get in it. Linda and the teacher go for a few turns. I sit in the moored boat and just

float

there for a few minutes. It's heaven. It's soothing. I don't want to cry because I'm afraid I'll lose my contact lenses so I just sit and breathe. Look out at the other women moving their prams around. Every now and then one of them goes by me and asks what I'm doing in the boat, and I laugh and say, "It's a long story!"

By the time Linda and the instructor get back it's time to go back in to the wharf. I crew this time. Linda skippers. I can tell that she sees how hard it is, now that she's the one doing it. We make it back in. We bring our boat up onto the dolly and wheel it onto the dock. Then we de-rig it. Mona's husband Jim is there and he gives me a big hug and tells me I did great. (He's a former windsurfing pro and loves to sail. He and Mona are among my favorite people.) I'm cursing all over the place, "Fuck that was hard!" Then I apologize for it. "I'm sorry guys, I curse when I'm stressed."

"That's OK," says Lois, "I curse when I'm NOT stressed!"

The sails get folded up, put away. Everyone else leaves and it's just me and Mona sitting there on the steps. The instructors have locked the doors and gone home. We sit there and watch the lake, and talk. We talk about sailing - and how it's actually harder than it looks. How there is quite a lot on the line - despite the cheery view of sailing as the All American sport, rosy-cheeked, white-pants-wearing, robust and healthy men and women pulling on ropes and raising sails and saying "Ahoy there," it's actually life and death out there. Let's face it - if you get water in your lungs, you die. If you get tangled in the ropes and your boat tips and you can't get out of there, you die. And when you're sailing, you can't just pull over to the side of the road. You're out on the water and you somehow have to get back. And the conditions are constantly changing, and you have absolutely no control over them - the wind could be coming from one direction when you start, and then switch around. Who knows what will come up when you're out on the water?

I tell Mona that sitting out in the moored rescue boat, having my private freak-out, I doubted myself for one of the first times since starting work at the marina. See, all day long at work I'm on land, I'm talking the talk but not walking the walk. I talk about halyards and moorings and charts and all of it, and I'm around boats that are on land or are moored to the dock. So it's fairly easy to feel confident in that environment (even when you feel like there's so much to learn and you know so little). But to actually go out in a boat, go out into the water and learn how to control the boat's movements - that's a whole other game. And that day, I seriously wondered - "Do I belong here? Was this a smart move?"

I came back in again and cursed with the other women and realized, remembered, was reminded - that learning takes time. That we can't expect ourselves to master something on our second bloody lesson. That sometimes when you push your limits it's too much. Pull yourself back in again.

Hoo boy.

So here we are - another week has slipped away and become the past. Tomorrow night is sailing night again. This time, I'm preparing. I'm getting off work an hour early. I'm going to go somewhere quiet and rest. Then I'm going to show up at the Yacht Club, and rig a pram. Start again with the smallest boat. Go out by myself, one sail, one sheet, one person.

I bet you've got something great to say. Leave a comment, I'd love to hear from you. I love it when I check my email and I get one saying that someone has left a comment. It makes my day! Tell me about your meltdowns, your sailing experience, your doubts about changes you've made in your life.

business time

Tuesday past, I was in North Sydney for part of the afternoon. I had about an hour to kill, and decided to pay a visit to a restaurant that's recently opened on the main street of the town, The Black Spoon Bistro (320 Commercial Street, North Sydney, 902-241-3300). I had been there once before, and taken away a mango fish burger for my dinner later that evening. It was delicious and now I wanted to try something else on the menu.

The weather was blustery, wet and cold. When I got to the Bistro, after only a short walk, I was soaked to the skin through my jeans and jacket. But the ambiance inside was warm and cozy. (And, they seated me next to the heater, bless them.) They manage to perfectly balance "down home" and "stepping out".

I ordered a decaf coffee and the Roasted Vegetable Panini, which comes with either the garden salad or the soup of the day. The panini was grilled and warm, with roasted zucchini, portobello mushroom, red onion and red pepper, as well as Swiss cheese and basil mayo. The flavour was incredible, the texture a great blend of crunchy and cheesy. And though usually I'm not a huge fan of garden salad (it's too easy to get it wrong), this one felt fresh and lively, even on a dreary January day. They julienne the carrot and zucchini, which gives the salad a "dressed up" feeling, yet it's also abundant with tomatoes, croutons and fresh greens. The coffee was tasty, and felt right in a basic white mug.

The waitstaff were friendly and helpful, and chatted happily with their tables as they worked. Though it was quiet this particular afternoon, I overheard the hostess tell two women that the upcoming six-course Valentine's Day dinner was already completely booked. And the restaurant had that hustle and bustle of a place that knows how to be busy.


After my meal I snapped some more pictures. The artwork on the walls is beautiful, as you can see. And the furnishings are simple, classic and comfortable.

This is a light fixture near the front door that won my heart! How cool is this?


I got talking with the owner, Monica Black, when I was paying my cheque. When I asked her who did all the wonderful art, she replied, "Me!" The above shot is the lovely Ms. Black with a gorgeous piece. The art is not yet for sale, but perhaps one day soon. Hopefully!

All in all, I will definitely be going back to The Black Spoon. Apparently their dessert of Peppered Strawberries is not to be missed. Description from the menu: "Freshly sliced strawberries flambeed in a benediction butter sauce with freshly ground peppercorns and served warm over a white cake with vanilla ice cream." Yes please!

If you live in Cape Breton, I strongly recommend getting yourself to North Sydney and checking out this place. If you're "from away," what are you waiting for? Come visit!

***


In other "local business and art" news, I'm helping some friends of mine start a blog! He is Burland Murphy, a local artist mostly known as "Murf," and she is his wife Linda. They have been friends of my family since I was a little girl. He has a storefront on Baddeck's main street, Chebucto St. I'm really excited about this project because I have always loved Murf's art - Cape Breton wildlife, so well-observed and finely detailed. In his first blog post, Murf writes about his "little Kestrel friend" and you can tell in his work that Murf really is a friend of all that he sees in nature.

Check him out at this blog: http://www.burlandmurphy.blogspot.com/

I'll be writing more about him in the future, for sure!

***

Local business - what does it take to create a truly awesome business? A business that, as Kal Barteski says, "Gets it!" A business that truly works within its community, that brings fresh air to the street it is on, that makes people sit up and take notice, like the two listed here? Especially in a place like Cape Breton, where the prevailing sense is that people with energy and verve are leaving, it can feel so awesome and inspiring when you hear of a business that is really kicking butt on so many levels!

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

monday musings

Hard to believe this was just a little over a week ago! I was at a beach over on the West Side. I took my boots off to cross a little brook, and kept them off to feel the sand on my toes. And now, there is something like one or two feet of snow on the ground.

This is a mid-week post, just because. Sometimes I find myself reading other blogs (like the daily Love Life blog of Winnipeg) and getting inspired to post each day. Of course, trying to actually keep up with that would probably drive me nuts - and, I'd soon run out of things to say, because I don't want to be as open about my life as she is. (And, I haven't got any babies to provide constant cute material.)

So instead I settle for random, in-between-Thursdays-posts.

My weekend was good. I got to see other parts of the island, and drive through snowy weather in a big truck that I actually felt safe in. On Sunday, after a huge snow dump (two feet literally fell overnight), and after some shovelling, I set out for a snowshoe through fresh powder. It was quite the workout for my legs, and it was also really good to get outside. Being outside by myself, for a long walk or a long snowshoe, is like taking all the furniture out of my brain, dusting it off, and putting it all back in, clean and with a new perspective.

I dropped in on some neighbours and we talked for a while. My sweat had cooled and I was getting chilly by the time I was going to set out again. So the wife of the two said, "I'll take you on the bike!" Meaning, the bright green Arctic Cat four-wheeler. This woman is an inspiration. She's tough as nails but you can see her heart melt when she talked about her grandkids. She goes hunting right along with her husband, has her own ATV and snowmobile, and talks rapturously about being out in the woods, cross-country-skiiing on a day with heavy snowfall. Being outside is her "bottle of pills," as she says. But when you meet her outside, she's also likely to have a fresh coat of lipstick, and her long nails painted pink. She's fierce and I'm glad she's on my "team."

We bungee-corded my snowshoes to the front, and I jumped up behind her. We whizzed along the dirt road - still unplowed after a whole day! - towards my house.

"Don't you wear a hat?" I leaned in close to her ear to yell this.

"I like to feel the wind!" she shouted back.

fullness.

Thursday again. How did that come around again so soon?

Here's what I've been thinking about lately: the word FULL. Things are happening fast these days. Back to FULL-time work, and it's FULL-ON. Hit the ground running, project to get done in five months, lots to do. Well, I should say, I work two part-time jobs, but together they are filling up my week. One is a contract job through a non-profit organization, which runs until March. The other is my (yay!) permanent position with the (yay!) library.


Thanksgiving was ... when was it again? I want to say last weekend but that's actually not true. It was nearly TWO weeks ago. Holy crap! See what I mean? It feels like it just happened. And at the same time it feels like a month ago. FULL ON.

(I made a pumpkin cheesecake and it's pictured above. It was FULL of deliciousness. It "tasted as good as thin feels." Or better, actually.)

My room-mate from back in Fredericton - Marlo - visited me last weekend (which is nearly a week ago now - again I say, Holy Crap.) We had a marvelous time catching up after two years of not seeing each other. I rented a car and we drove to Cheticamp, up French Mountain and over to MacKenzie Mountain, before turning back and coming home again. On the way back we stopped at the ever-tempting Dancing Goat deli and cafe, and had big sandwiches and creamy soup, and of course sweet treats and coffee.

The picture above is of a beautiful fall vignette that we found just waiting for us to take its picture. Seriously FULL of magic.


What else? Well, life is full. I have my job(s). I am organizing square dancing lessons, and getting one of my favorite people in the world to teach them. (His name is Duncan, and he is one of my honorary Grandpas.) I am still the coordinator of the Baddeck Writers' Group, which is going FULL STEAM AHEAD at the moment - new members, old members, submissions, monthly meetings. And I am working hard to make sure that my days are also FULL of time to walk, to write, to spend time outside where I truly feel connected to the world, to the universe, to what some call God. FULL of spirit.

I think that when I moved home two years ago, there was an invisible slot that I FILLED. This is my dream life. Like Marlo said, during a walk we took together, of knowing that you are on the right path, "I don't worry that I'm not on the right path. But, I don't know fully where this is taking me. However, I'm enjoying seeing where the road goes." The twists and turns, the surprises, the unknown of the-moment-after-this-one.

Yes, there are still good days and bad days, "meh" days, anxious days, cranky days, back-pain days, silly-giggles days... I could go on. You get the idea. Meaning: happiness is not a static state. You don't get there, turn around like a cat going to sleep, settle in, and go, "OK, now I am done working on stuff and me and life. I'm done now. I can go to sleep for the rest of my life."

BUT

That doesn't mean that life doesn't rock. It's about balancing as a constant act, like that of waves coming onto shore - the fullness comes on strong, then you have to take time to let it recede, to let yourself feel it, to process it. Then it comes back. Feel the FULL.

just you take your time

"I want to take a little time/just to fall in love again..."

-- "Take Your Time," Al Green

I wanted to take a little time. Actually, I needed to take some time. A week, specifically. I needed to get away, I needed to make a little dreaming come true.



To celebrate the end of my first full-time summer job in, well, years, and to rest and recharge before my next job starts, and to take time to fall in love again with myself, with my own ideas and loves and my own spirit, I did the work necessary to eke out a week. Feeling guilty, but trying not to show it, I asked to put off the new job's start date by one week. They agreed.

Then, I booked the cabin and the rental car. I had already done the research so it was just like flicking over dominoes. Flick, flick. A place to stay and a way to get there. Done!


Before I know it four days have passed. But they have been well-spent. Like money that was hard-earned, I've been aware of every dollar and cent - every hour and minute - as they've passed from me. Or, as I've passed through them?



Heaven is a little rented cabin with chintzy furniture from the seventies. Heaven is looking out over the ocean and the shifting shades of grey and blue. Heaven is taking a long walk in cold wind, then taking a long bath in a hot and steamy bathroom. (We don't have a bathtub at home, just a shower stall, and so I realized it had been two full years since I had had a bath.)



Also heavenly: welcoming friends that I haven't seen in a year or so, and going out to eat at what must be the perfect pub and restaurant, the Red Shoe. Fish and chips, local ale, and caramel apple galette for dessert. An impromptu celtic music session starting up with the buzz of the bagpipes.


What else? Well, there has been a tour of a local Whiskey distillery, the Glenora Inn and Distillery. (See photo above - the tour guide is getting the complimentary whiskey tasters ready.) There has been a trip to the Dancing Goat, a cafe that has the biggest sandwiches in the world - they really are barely eatable, because of their sheer size. (Their deliciousness is what helps you to overcome the size.) This photo below is of a half sandwich (Black Forest Ham with mango chutney) and a bowl of soup, Mushroom Vegetable.

And there has been lots of driving around, which I actually love. At least, I love it when the destination is entirely up to me, as well as the soundtrack, and when I have all day to get wherever it is I'm going, to take side roads, to stop and take pictures.

I have three more days of this. I'm going to go enjoy it. I hope you are all well - and if you'd like to leave a comment, tell me - have you ever been to Cape Breton's west coast? If you were, what was your favorite place there? And for all of you reading, when was the last time you took yourself on a vacation? That can mean an hour out of your regular routine, or it can mean longer, a day or a week or a month. I'd love to hear about it.

to the surf!

This past weekend I rented a car and drove to Point Michaud. My brother Mat came too, and it was a very good time all around. One of those vacations you knew you needed, but you didn't know just how much, especially with my brother, with whom I get along so well, but haven't had enough "down time" with lately.

You know you're heading in the right direction when you're following a car like this. (We followed these surfers for twenty minutes at least, and Mat snapped a bunch of shots while I drove.)



The yellow smudge is my bodyboard. (You can follow the link to read about bodyboards on Wikipedia.) That's Mat out there, heading out to the waves. The waves weren't humongous, but they were bigger than they seemed from shore, and provided us with some great rides.



It was so cold that we needed wetsuits complete with booties and mitts. These are my feet in neoprene booties, and I'm looking down at some of the kelp that floated in from the sea. There had been a big storm recently that had brought in a cold front, as well as loads of jellyfish and kelp. We had to fight it just to walk out to the waves!



There was a place near the beach house we were staying in, where a creek ran down into the sea. The creek was warmer than the ocean! When you stood in the creek you would feel warm, then a cold, cold wave would rush in and switch up the sensations. These are my feet - bootie-less - in said creek.



This is my awesome brother sitting atop a rock, with the beach house in the background. There is a little bluff separating this small cove from the main beach; otherwise, you could see the mile of beautiful Point Michaud in the background.

Our friends Del and Gil own and operate the Point Michaud Beach House. She is a weaver as well, and he is a retired potter and art teacher. Going to Point Michaud is always a treat, always a rest and haven for the soul.

election hoo-ha

There is a Provincial Election going on here in Nova Scotia. The Election Day is next week, June 9th, but I'll be away, so I've already voted. And - it wasn't for this guy.

Rodney MacDonald, the current Premier, is from Cape Breton Island, but that's about the only thing that recommends him to me. Some people I know say that they know him personally, and that he's a nice guy, and that may be true. However, I have nothing nice to say about his political party or his political record, so I'll say nothing at all.

(That doesn't stop me from talking back to him when I hear him on the radio, and mimicking his voice and being mean.)

Today is a nice, hot, sunny day. I'm taking care of some loose ends - emails and such. My brother Mat is home from school now, which is great. There is a specific kind of silliness that exists between siblings, and it blooms quickly when we're around each other again. 22 years of in-jokes! Yes, we had in-jokes when Mat was just born. We're awesome like that.

Also: he put on John Mayer's album "Continuum" about two hours ago and stuck it on "repeat," and I'm too caught up in my emails and phone calls to change the record. It's my first time hearing it, and it's nice enough that I don't mind leaving it on in the background. But it's getting to the point now where I think this is the fourth time it's on, and my eyes are getting fuzzy. This means: time to get off the computer!

Change the record politically: if you live in Nova Scotia, make sure to VOTE.

This weekend and into next week: a trip down the Province to see dear friends! I'm PUMPED.

BEYOND PUMPED.

falling for fall

This past weekend was Canadian Thanksgiving. At Monty's, I ate a plate of the traditional Thanksgiving meal: turkey, beans, potatoes, squash, gravy and of course stuffing and cranberry sauce. I took some photos of my meal and then Monty's snarky cousin, who shall not be named, but who sat in the corner, said something along the lines of, "Geez, look at her, taking pictures of her FOOD!" As if that was the craziest thing he'd ever seen.

Monty's snarky cousin and I usually trade banter back and forth, so I said,

"You won't be laughing when I'm a famous food photographer!"

He just chuckled.

"Actually, you probably WILL be laughing. You're always laughing, aren't you?"

"No, not all the time, girlie."

This is the way we interact. My banter with him is like a big arm keeping him a certain distance away from me. I'm sure he'd never hurt me; he's not creepy like that, but there are certain boundaries one must keep. At the same time, though, in a small place where everyone knows each other, you can't be icy to people. Hence, the banter.



Then, today, I met up with Janice and we had a very "fall in a small town" afternoon: lattes and cheesecake at a cafe, then walking along the streets, picking up the Sears catalogs for her Nanny, then taking in a quilt show. This photo above is some Virginia Creeper vine growing beside her Nanny's house. Each year when leaves turn red, yellow and orange, it takes us by surprise. That's part of the beauty.



Here is a detail from one of the quilts we saw. This was from a circular tablecloth that was done in shades of pink and shades of green. There is something so wonderful about quilts. The skill they take, as well as the time, not to mention the pleasing textures and contrasts of which they're made. Then there's the fact that they're practical as well as beautiful! Both Alice Munro and Whitney Otto, as well as Carol Shields, and no doubt many other people, have written about quilts, and all that they symbolize, so I won't add to that here. Suffice it to say, I think they're important.

Happy Thanksgiving! May your harvests come in plentiful.

there are things you do because they feel right

This is a framed art print that hangs in my friend Brenda's kitchen. It reads:

"There are things you do because they feel right + they may make no sense and they may make no money + it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other + to eat each other's cooking + say it was good."

Amen.

feelin' hot hot hot

It's been hot here this past week. After a cold and wet spring, which fostered no end of complaining from just about everyone, suddenly summer is here: temperatures between 27 and 30ºC, lots of sun, high UV index, the wind pushing clouds over the sky. The plants have been taking advantage of all the sun and building more leaves to produce more chlorophyll, so the seedlings I showed you in May are now substantial plants, no denying it.

Farmers across the island are making hay, and Mat and I have been helping a neighbour with his haymaking, Mat more than I. Although, I must say, I definitely hauled and heaved my share of bales the night I helped, and got quite red in the face for my efforts! Not to mention the scratches on my arms. However, I had forgotten how sweet it is to ride back to the barn on top of a swaying wagon piled high with hay bales. And this farm in particular has a gorgeous view of the Bras d'Or lakes, so while I was rocking back and forth with the wagon, which was moving slowly along the field, I was able to take in the view. There was a misty haze fuzzing the lines of the land forms, and an almost-crescent moon jauntily sitting in the sky above. Pretty damn sweet.

A few days ago an older female friend, who I'll just call "M" for privacy's sake, took me to lunch in the village. It was warm, and sunny, and windy. We remarked fairly often on what a beautiful, hot day it was. After lunch, we did a few errands, and were just about to leave the village when M remembered she had to gas up, so we turned quickly into the little gas station there at the entrance. While she was filling up, I glanced across the street and saw some men at work painting an old house. Most of the men were maybe in their mid-fifties and wearing tee shirts, but what caught my eye was the young, incredibly buff man not wearing a shirt at all. He was tanned, and had a smooth, hairless, tattooed and muscled torso, and honestly he looked like some guy in a calender. Now, I'm not saying that's necessarily my type, if I even have a "type", but he was definitely eye-catching. I stared for all I was worth!

M got back in the car, started the ignition, and was about to leave the gas station. I pointed to the men working.

"Look at that guy, look how hot he is!" I said.

M glanced over, then watched traffic, then pulled out.

"Yes," she said absently, "Some people have a much different internal temperature."

"No..." I said, puzzled, "I mean, he was HOT! Like, attractive!"

"Oh!" She said, laughing. "Oh my god, can you tell how long I've been off the market?" (She's been married 35 years.) "I thought you meant, that older fellow who looked like he was really warm!"

So as you can see, no matter what "hot" means to you, Cape Breton's got it!

bees and cherry trees

I just realized that if I wait a few more days to post, there will only be one post for June 2008! While this isn't a crime or anything, I thought I would write at least one more post for this month, even if I'm not particularly inspired. The computer, for today at least, is working.

So here is a photo I took in early June, on the farm of a friend of ours who is also a beekeeper. This is a cherry tree in full bloom, with some blue beehives in the background. Lucky bees!

There have been a number of things going on this June that I could write about, and that perhaps I will write about, come July. For one thing, my elderly neighbour, Jimmy, who I used to go visit and have tea with, passed away a few weeks ago. As well, I was in a parade with my brother Mat, dressed up as though it was 100 years ago, for our village's 100th birthday. There has also been gardening happening, and lots of bike rides. I'm not writing much this month partly because of the computer woes I detailed in my last post, and partly because there's a lot of other things going on. But hopefully, once my laptop arrives I'll be able to write more, and be able to do it other places besides this crowded bedroom/office! Like, the couch or the dining room table, for instance. Or even — dare I dream? — outside!

Anyway, I'm definitely thankful for the patience that you, my readers, exhibit with me. When was the last time you saw a beehive?

happy birthday to mlle. huminbean!

It's been five years!

For the fifth anniversary of huminbean, I thought I would bring you this interview I did today.

***


Q: So, Leah, take me back. What were you thinking about on December 18th, 2002, when you first started "huminbean"?

Well, I'd been reading other people's blogs for about a year before that. I started reading bluishorange, and then followed a link she had to wockerjabby, and those two were my main blogs that I read for a year or so before I started my own. I've kept a personal journal since I was 12, and I'm really familiar with the whole idea of writing every day, and writing at all. So as I read these blogs I kind of thought, "You know, I could do this!" The more I read the blogs, the more attractive the idea became. So I was living in Whistler at the time, and I had already played around with another kind of online journal system, but it didn't really work for me. I think it was called "Open Diary" or something. So I found Blogger, and signed up, and started a blog! And what I was thinking about ... was basically, "This will be fun, I'll give this a shot!"

Q. Where did you get the name "huminbean"?

You know, I honestly don't remember. (Laughs) Probably influenced by those two blogs I mentioned, whose names are similar -- a word that's a play on other words, or a mix of two words. And of course, it refers to "human being", but besides that, I don't know how that name came from the ether into my brain. And nobody called me "Leah Bean" at the time, that nickname came after, as a result of "huminbean".

Q. So at first, who were you writing to? Who was your audience?

It was pretty small at first. I mean, it's still small, but it was tiny. I think my friend Janice was my only reader for a while there. I might have told some other friends, but I'm not sure. And I was writing a lot more openly than I do now, about my party exploits, drinking, dating, all the things I was doing then. Because I pretty much knew exactly who I was writing to, who was reading it.

Q. And you don't now? How has that changed?

Well, after Whistler, when I went traveling to Australia, I told family members about my blog, as a way for them to keep in touch with me and what I was doing while traveling. And over the years I've told various people and gotten more readers. So the result is that these days, I haven't got a clue who's reading -- unless they leave comments, of course. And sometimes you get comments you don't want, really, like offensive comments, or just comments that you know are spam, or just not welcome. And that shows me that my audience is wider than I thought, and my words, my personal thoughts, are going out there where anyone can read them. And sometimes those people aren't friendly. So that's kind of a sobering thought, it makes me write differently, more carefully. I don't want to put as much of myself out there.

Q. You mentioned Australia. How did traveling there change your blog?

Well, it changed the content, for sure. It didn't change the style, that is my own, and actually, although my style has changed over the years, it was never a conscious change. That's interesting in its own right, watching my style change over the years. But the content changed -- I was seeing new things, meeting new people, doing new things. Traveling really opened me up, and opened my writing up -- there was always something to say, because everything was so new.

Q. And then in 2004 you started university. Did that change your content?

Yes, absolutely. It was a big shift, I decided to stay in one place for a while, I started university in Fredericton, a small city in Eastern Canada. I didn't really know what I was doing there. I mean, I knew I wanted to try it out, see what it was like to go to school, but it wasn't because I knew exactly what career I wanted. And after a little while, I started to feel like my blog was boring ... I was working so hard and so intently focussed on schoolwork, that each day was rather similar to the one before, and I started to feel like there wasn't all this new stuff to write about. Of course, when I read those posts now, with some perspective, I really like them, I think, "Those were well-written! And not boring at all," but that's after a few years. I find that when I first write a post, I tend to think the worst.

Q. Interesting. And how did university turn out?

Well, that's the thing, isn't it? I spent three years at it, well, nearly three years, and I had to leave this past year because of illness. So I'm not in school anymore. I'm not sure if I'll go back or not, I really don't know. But it turned out to be an amazing experience, and even though I haven't as yet finished my degree, I'm glad I went. I met people who are now my best friends, and I explored a part of myself -- the academic side -- that needed attention. I now know what that experience is like, so I don't regret it at all.

Q. Your illness, do you want to talk about that?

No, not really, actually. (Laughs) I tend to keep that pretty private. I mean, I'll talk about it with friends, family, if it's in a place that's safe, a place I know that I can trust, trust the people. And I have mentioned it, on my blog, and sort of alluded to it, alluded to it being difficult. And it has been difficult. Any major illness, no matter where it originates, ends up affecting you physically, mentally, spiritually, and it's hard. So I guess I can say that, and say that it has affected me in those ways, and it has been hard. But I'm home now, and I'm recovering.

Q. You're home in Cape Breton now, where you grew up. Any idea what's next for "huminbean"?

That's the big question, right? I don't know. I really don't. I have lots of ideas, but I'm really not making decisions about that yet, because I'm not in a place where I can. I'm home, like you said, in Cape Breton, which is beautiful and lonely and warm-hearted. (Q: What do you mean by that?) I mean that the surroundings are so beautiful, and I've been here now in all the seasons and been able to watch them happen, and there's something beautiful about literally every day. Even now, it's winter and there's snow and it's cold and gross, and there's such exquisite beauty just in the woods, or wherever you look. But it's also a lonely place -- people leave every day to go where there's more happening, or more jobs, or whatever. And we live in a fairly rural place, so there aren't many people around, and it's a long way from other population centers, so I don't see my friends too often. But it's also warm-hearted, the people who are here, are amazing and friendly and welcoming. I have a neighbor I visit, an old man who is 96, and I enjoy that so much, sitting with him in his warm kitchen, drinking tea and talking loud so he can hear me. And hearing his stories about the way things were 80 years ago.

Q. You said you have lots of ideas about what's next. What are some of those ideas?

Well, I'd love to travel again. I really would. See some new places, go exploring. I'd like to WWOOF some more, work on organic farms and learn about that. I might go back to school and finish my degree, but I don't know when, exactly. I've also been thinking about changing schools, or my area of study, altogether. I'm checking out my options, and looking into new things that have interested me for a while, but I've not had the time to give them my full attention. And that's one good thing about being home and taking a break and resting, is that I have time. If nothing else! (Laughs)

Q. Well, best of luck to you, and I'm sure "huminbean" readers are interested to see what happens down the road. Thanks for coming on the show today!

You're welcome, and thank you for having me. And I'd just like to say, a huge thank you to all my readers, because I really couldn't do it without you guys. Honestly, I know that sounds cliché, but without readers I'd just be writing to myself. Your comments make this journal into a community of sorts, and that means a lot to me. So, thanks so much for helping me make it to five years!

***

Now, the best part of an birthday celebration. Let's cut the cake!

mission: dill, part II

So I ended up making dill pickles! Who would have guessed? Considering that I've never canned anything before, I impressed myself, at least! And ain't that who counts? But I'll try my darndest to impress you guys too. Here goes.

I started with obtaining pickling cucumbers from the garden of a friend, as well as dill he'd graciously given, too. I also had two conflicting recipes and the Bible of backwoods cooking, "Mrs. Restino's Country Kitchen", which uses a wood stove as the standard, not a gas-fired or electric range. Hardcore! We don't actually use a wood stove, but her book is certainly helpful for a pickling novice in crisis. So after some deliberation, I decided to use Mrs. Restino's step-by-step instructions, because the first recipe I had was hurriedly scribbled from the dictated memory of another friend who makes dills, but who rarely measures his ingredients, and the second recipe used sugar and I'm trying to cut that out of my diet. So, something plain and easy to follow and not including sugar looked like my best bet.

On Tuesday, after following Mrs. Restino's directions for about an hour, I found myself in the kitchen standing over a pot, in which boiled a mixture of water and vinegar, and which also had peppercorns, mustard seed and garlic cloves dancing in its acidic depths. I was also looking over at a smaller pot which held five new "snap" lids, percolating. On the counter beside me were five pint Mason jars, sterilized, and I had put a dill flower in each, along with five or six bright green pickling cucumbers, small and tough and knobby. Then I poured enough of the boiling vinegar mixture in each jar to come almost to the rim, set a boiled snap lid on top, and a screw lid, but not screwed all the way down.

Had I really done it? The five jars sitting side-by-side certainly made it look like it. I was quite ecstatic, but I had to wait a little longer to see if the jars would seal. In the end, three out of five did seal, and headed for the cold room to live in storage, and the other two went to the fridge. I didn't know how long I was supposed to leave them in there before they could be eaten; Mrs. Restino was silent on that point.

Skip ahead three days, and my brother Mat and a friend of his are home for the Thanksgiving weekend. They've just arrived, it's late Friday night, all the bags have been brought in, tea poured and the necessary introductions made. We're sitting around talking when suddenly I remember my pickles! I jump up:

"Mat! I made pickles!"

I run to the fridge, pull out one of the two jars. Then I grab a plate, a knife and a fork. We unscrew the lid and pull out a now-mild-green pickle. I slice it into pieces and pass the plate around. The moment of truth, and the proof is in the pickle! Amazingly enough, we each bite into a very garlicky, quite vinegary dill pickle. I have the look of a proud mama on my face: I did it! It's like alchemy, at least for a beginner like me. Into the jar: raw cucumbers and boiling vinegar, plus a few other ingredients. Out of the jar: crunchy, tasty dill pickles!

The ecstasy only lasts so long before the agony sets in: in my hurry to eat my pickle, the vinegar has gone down the wrong tube and is making the top of my throat itch and burn. I cough and cough, embarrassed but proud. My pickles may be small, but they're mighty, and I seem to be living proof. Note to self for next year: cut back on the vinegar!

It's hard to top that kind of victory, but the weekend ended up being pretty great all the same. The weather was that perfect Fall blend of cold air, colorful leaves, a high wind and clouds the scud across the sky. All our food and visits were memorable. And I even got the Janice Fuller Dill Pickle Seal Of Approval, and it's not every day she gives that one out!

I'm giving thanks for pickling cucumbers great and small, friends old and new, and for the cozy feeling you get indoors on a rainy Fall day with a good book. Oh and of course loads of thanks for and to Marlo, for letting me use the above photograph. What about you? Best answer wins a virtual dill pickle.

my day in a cabriolet

Sometimes those fossil-fuel-fed machines get it right. Take this:


and imagine that instead of palm trees, this is in the background:

and you have a slight approximation of the experience I am about to describe. It started like this: the other day my friend Brenda, who happens to drive a VW Beetle Convertible in Sea-green, named Luna, was going to have lunch with me. She had said she could go into town to pick up a pizza, and if I wanted, I could ride into town with her, to pick it up, with the top down. I was already excited about this prospect, and then when she arrived, the day was even more brilliantly beautiful than it had been forecast. Brenda said,

"You know, I have the afternoon free. If you're up for it, we could do more driving than we'd planned. We could even do the Trail!"

I hemmed and hawed... would I get overtired? The Cabot Trail is roughly four hours of a drive, if you don't stop anywhere. However, it's gorgeous for pretty much the entire time. Would we have to stop and socialize with people we know, when all I wanted to do was feel the breeze? Brenda read my mind:

"We don't have to stop anywhere, besides where you want. If you get tired, you can sleep. If you want to turn back, we can." Her good mood was infectious, and that along with the beautiful weather convinced me this was an opportunity I should grab with both hands.

I packed a small bag -- sunglasses, Boston Red Sox baseball hat (I know nothing about baseball beyond the basics, this is a memento from last summer's family reunion baseball game, and happens to be the only baseball hat that's ever looked good on me), water bottles, wallet. She put the top down. We drove off, and even before we left the dirt road I live on, I was having a fabulous time. The view from a convertible feels glamourous and adventurous at the same time, and shall I dare say, it became me? That's probably how everyone riding in a convertible feels, actually -- like a totally deserving famous person out for a jaunt. Even the spruce trees along the Bay Road seemed saucy and looked different as we zipped past. The alchemy of a cabriolet!

We ate lunch at the Dancing Goat Cafe in Margaree, where the sandwiches are huge and delicious, and the soups are always creamy. Then onward to Cheticamp, where I asked if we could stop at the Boulangerie de l'Est, thinking I was revealing a gem. Brenda laughed: "Can we?" Turns out she knows the proprietress, and goes there when she can for afternoons of pastries and conversation. This time we had some of both, chatting with Judy a bit, and picking up some delicious chocolate cookies, a Bear Claw (filled with almond paste) and goodies for the less-fortunate (our loved ones who couldn't come with us on this whirlwind trip). The pastries here are seriously well-made: when you eat one, you think, "I can't have had real pastry before this, because this is so different!" Or at least, that's what I think. They literally melt on the tongue, and the flavors are at once subtle, because they disappear so fast, and memorable, because they are so stunning.

And believe it or not, I am not exaggerating.

North from Cheticamp the road entered the park, and the dramatic mountain scenery began. Up and down, over hills we went, always being able to see nearly 365 degrees around. In four hours we hardly stopped talking, and I hardly stopped gawking at the scenery, twisting around in my seat to get the view as we would leave a valley, or turn a corner, or climb a hill. The few puffy white clouds there were laid a patchwork of shadows on the distant green mountains, and helped temper the warm sun beating down on us. Later, near 5, it started to get cool, so we turned on the interior heat for our feet, while the brisk breeze gave our upper halves the feeling of Fall. Oh, the luxury!

When Brenda dropped me at home that evening, and drove off to Sarah's hen's night, I entered the house feeling very much like Cinderella after the ball. No proof of the pumpkin save for crystal-clear memories, which continue to dazzle me days later.

Thanks, Brenda!

"we interrupt the intended broadcast to bring you this news..."

I know, I said I would bring you a piece on Catriona's cooking, and that's coming next. But I heard this today on Maritime Noon and it was too good not to share:

"There are other areas that are more grey--I call them grey areas..."

This wonderful piece of clarification is attributed to one Dave Sulas, a retired bank manager living in Port Hawkesbury, NS, who was being interviewed on the subject of bank tellers being shafted out of pay they are owed. When I heard him utter this line I had to laugh and write it down. And then I had to share it with all of you. I mean, maybe the guy was nervous to be on radio, so it's not entirely his fault. But it still cracks me up.

Other than that, these days I'm doing alright. The garden is starting to flesh out, or rather, green out, and all the trees around are putting out leaves. The gully between our house and the neighbouring property is now fully green, whereas in winter you can see right across. When I go for my daily walks, I smell the scent of Indian pear and wild cherry trees, which are blooming this time of year. There is a plant in the garden with tiny, clove-scented yellow flowers, and when I smell it I go right back to Australia: the Cashmans' back yard in the Australian spring (Fall here), when the air is full of the scent of flowering trees, often clove-scented like these wee flowers. It's amazing how scent does that!

I've got a few books on the go, one of which is "1491: New Revelations on America Before Columbus" by Charles C. Mann. It's a semi-scholarly work, but it pulls the reader in and rolls right along. Have any of you heard of it, or read it? What did you think? I'm only 50 pages in, so I can't comment completely, but it's a summary of the research of the past 20 years that is constructing a whole new picture of the Americas before Europeans--very complex societies, and a diverse history. Which makes total sense when you think about it, but hasn't been the picture taught in European and modern North American schools until recently.

And now I'm going to balance it with Leah McLaren's new book, "The Continuity Girl", thanks to dear Janice, who saw it in the grocery store line-up and thought of me. Lovely! Chick lit or fine literature? That's what I call a grey area.

bah, a rant! or, this is my blog and sometimes i do this

Good things about today:

I talked to my Mum on the phone for a good hour. I ate porridge and we both looked out our windows at snow on the ground and sun shining on it.

I walked in Odell Park for an hour, traipsing around in the snowy woods, in my boots, wishing I had snowshoes. I saw two older women with snowshoes and watched them through the trees, and then continued on my way. It was beautiful out there in the woods with the trees rustling against one another in the wind and big clumps of snow on the bridges, and stopping to look around I noticed that by breathing towards the sun the steam I produced became a rainbow.

Michelle lent me her laptop for Internet purposes and writing a paper, and that brings me to...

The Annoying/Irritating things about today:

My computer decided to be a jack-ass, or rather, some unspecified reason has caused it to be a jack-ass. The moniter image is flickering and the resolution's all out of whack. It's also not getting the Internet signal so I can't check for video card updates. I also have no car to bring the tower to Future Shop to check and see what is going on. I was going to go to school and finish a paper, but I'm not feeling that great, I'm tired and plus it's cold outside. This is why it's really nice that Michelle, gone to hockey, is letting me use her laptop.

I know, this is nothing but whining, but sometimes you just want things to go smoothly, and they don't. Sometimes you want a few days to just sleep and you can't do that without needing to play catch-up at the other end. Now you all know my troubles...do you have anything you want to get off your chest?

on getting on with things

Well, that last post has been up long enough, I think, and even though I haven't got a fantastic one to take its place, this one will have to do.

So it's 2007! My dad says he likes the sound of it better than "2006", and part of me agrees. There's something aesthetically pleasing about 7 that you just don't get with 6. 6 is fair, it's balanced, it's divisible by nearly everything, so you'd think it'd be more likeable, whereas 7 is a little more bad-ass, and to quote Stevie Wonder, "very superstitious". However, when it comes to the year, there's a zingy ring to 7 that pleases the ear. Hard to explain, and highly subjective.

My transition into the new year was a lot of fun, although I paid for that fun the next day by having a hangover that I couldn't quell even with my classic Club Sandwich with Fries Covered in Gravy (no culinary delights there). We partied in Sydney with some friends and made it to several different parties, not really sure where we were at times or whose house we were in (or whose Toblerone bar we were stealing), but that's all part of the fun. The next morning when I woke up there were five kittens to play with, which were the very same ones Kevin tried to eat the night previous. Cuddling with kittens (not eating them) on New Year's Day is a pretty awesome tradition I might just have to start.

And now I'm back in Fredericton, back to school, starting new classes for the semester and jumping back into planning the Film Festival with the rest of "Boost Your Eco!" (Which I'll probably write more about as the weeks progress). The classes are all pretty righteous so far, one of my professors is kind of a mad scientist of Sociology, who mutters and rambles and waves his thin arms and quotes Albert Einstein and trembles a little. Another professor is like a very kindly grandfather who likes to tell us stories about Statistics, and who, when he is taking attendance, says a soft "um" before every person's name, like he is considering whether to offer them tea or juice.

I also like how the further I go into my degree and the more Sociology I take, the more people are familiar to me in my classes; we develop a kind of comradeship. Of course there is the flip side of that, that certain people become infamous from other classes, but that's all par for the course, I suppose. (Pun not intended.)

It's easy for me to get all caught up in the schoolwork, in the readings and things due, and be stressed about it, but I think the most important thing for me to remember is that if you just do the thing, and put as much energy into it as you can at the moment, it will be done. And that's what I mean by getting on with things; like this post, for example.

What are you "getting on" with?

(You can also write about "getting it on" but please be aware that's an entirely different subject.)

thief!

It seems to me that my regular hours and activities have gone missing!

I don't know quite where they went but I think I can attribute the disappearance to Christmas Break, which appears benevolent but is actually a thief in disguise, waiting until you least suspect it to sneak up and grab all schedules you were attached to, all activities which were the backbone of your day, and replace it with those you always wanted to do but never had time. This thief of course thinks you won't suspect, so bedazzled will you be by the sudden opportunity to lie around, watch old episodes of "Sex and the City" and eat lots of chocolate along with dill pickle rice crisps, but then after a few days--alright, let's be honest, more like a few weeks--you realize something is amiss. Something is afoot! Something is a...nother word for wrong. You can no longer reach the old schedules or rely on your body clock to get up at a certain time of day! The horror!

But Christmas Break is not to be feared. It goes away of its own accord, chased off by the bigger and badder Second Semester. Now there's a frightening creature! Trailing papers, schedules and commitments in its wake, it swiftly overpowers Christmas Break and its mamby-pamby thieving ability. Realizing the quick demise of the Christmas Break's reign of terror helps one to enjoy it while it lasts. The positive side is that someone--a birthday girl, in fact, a spring chicken who happens to be Dan's momma--just put a wineglass with Kahlua and milk in front of me, I've only been awake for 5 hours, and I've already walked in the park, climbed in a tree, and done a bit of reading for a paper due next month.

The only thing left to figure out is what to do for New Year's Eve. The last two Eves I spent on the couch due to illness, last year eating Kahlua ice cream and watching a Queen Latifah movie, and the one before that with Janice, who was also sick. This year there is no set party, although one might arise given time and gumption. And gumboots?

To quote Margaret Whiting, "What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

PS I also want to draw my readers' attention (at least, those who know, love or otherwise feel emotion towards one Kevin Lionais) to the latest and greatest link on the left, "Prove It Kevin!" As per Kevin himself, "Merry Crassmas." That is all.