le jardin

The lime basil is going to seed and I can't be bothered to cut the flowers off. I didn't like the lime basil very much, I prefer regular flavored basil. Oh, well. The flowers are pretty.

Same goes for cilantro. I mean, I like the taste more than I like lime basil, but they too are going to seed, and I can't be bothered the cut the flowers off. It's just one more bloody thing that needs doing, and my current attitude towards most things right now (besides work) is "Oh, well!" As in - if it's not an emergency, oh well. We'll just have to live with it. (Or without it, as in some cases.)

SOMEONE was busy in the garden this summer! The garden plants themselves, busy growing growing growing, then my Mum, a close second, then the bees that swarmed and warranted this little mini hive stuck smack in the middle of one of the gardens. Then me, a distant fourth. Very distant.

This is a close-up of the inside of my Mum's brainchild, which is the lean-to for the Scarlet Runner beans. She designed and built it all by herself. It works marvellously. You just walk in underneath and pick the beans that are hanging down.

Now THESE I can take some credit for. I planted the seeds, then transferred the plants between pots and then into the ground. I tied them to stakes. Now I can also take the credit for eating most of them. MM HMM. Fresh tomatoes have got to be up there in my Top Five Favorite All-Time Things. Along with pajama pants and the show The Office and love.

Hey sweet pea! These are- well, you guessed it - sweet peas. Pretty little things and quite a scent to match. They come in all these great colors. Just a delight.


***


Sometimes I come to the weekly blog post with nothing more than a series of random thoughts. I've got some ideas for topics that I'd like to write about, but lately it seems I don't have the time. Anyway, I always wonder to myself, "Hmm, how am I going to tie all of this together? How will I make it more than just some self-indulgent ramblings?" (Whether I actually succeed in that, reader, is up to you.)

For example...

(1) I'm not overly loving my new laptop. My old one, one that I had taken good care of for two years, was sleek and black and, when moved to any position, the lid would stay there. Then suddenly Old Laptop wouldn't start and was doing odd things when it did turn on. So I brought it to a friend who has a computer business - the only game in town, actually - and after a bit of messing around with it, he said he couldn't get the old one to work, so he was going to replace it and get me a new one. We'd cut a deal since my old one is no longer on warranty. So for $150 I got this new laptop. It's grey and somewhat clunkier than my old one and this may seem like a silly detail but when I move the lid/screen up or down, there is "play" in it. It jiggles. Also the mouse is kinda sucky. Apparently I can change the sensitivity of it, and I did try, but it didn't really seem to change. Maybe I'll try again? But sometimes even the thought of doing THAT is too much. Ai! Anyway, I'll live. But the new laptop doesn't have Microsoft Office, which my old one had for free, so I have to get used to new programs.

(I fully realize, as I'm complaining about this, that these are NOT dramas. Really, they're not. I know that. But since my computer is a tool that I use to create stuff, well, in that sense it DOES matter. It matters to my creative process. It matters to me.)

(2) My favorite blogs both inspire and depress me - because I want to be able to do the cool stuff they do, and I don't know how and right now at least, don't have the time to LEARN how. Learn things like Photoshop and other graphic design tools.

(Who are my favorite blogs? Well, daily I read Kal Barteski and Elise Blaha, both in the list on the right, and I've also been reading my cousin Maile's blog Daily Relish, and being jealous of her amazing photographic skills. As well as incredibly inspired by them. You get my drift. And lately, because of Maile's link, Tara Whitney is making it into my quick daily stops. She's kind of AWESOME. There will likely be an upcoming post on here, by me, about a subject that Tara has also blogged about and which I've been rolling around in my brain like a thought marble: TRUTH. And telling it, especially on blogs. More soon, hopefully.)

(3) Adventures in subtle and not-so-subtle sexism and racism: Sometimes, some of the clients at the marina make me go "Wha..?!?" As in, "Do we live in the same WORLD?" I just smile and nod - I'm not really sure what else to do without alienating them - but still. One guy, the other day, casually told me a story about the "nippers" - yes, with a P - in Toronto. I think he meant Mexican people. I wasn't about to ask him to clarify. And today a client - very old, admittedly, but still - told another guy who was standing there that I have a really hot arse. He said I was a "bummer's delight". I blushed and scolded him ("I'm standing RIGHT HERE"), then later on told Flossie and laughed til I thought I might cry. "Bummer's delight?" Who SAYS that? Eighty-year-old men, apparently. And now I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it. It's the kind of thing I sort of just put up with. Oh my goodness.

OK, I'm spent. It's time to get back to Work2, anyway. (Library is Work2. Marina is Work1. That gives it all a Kal-Barteski-esque flair and makes me feel less like a slave.)

(I'm counting down the days to when the library is over, knowing full well I'll also be sad about it. But still - I'm so ready to have more TIME OFF. Holy balls. Working all the hours in the day is OVER-RATED.)

Enjoy yourselves and the little things - and leave a comment if that strikes your fancy. I do SO appreciate you.

Things were feeling a little skimpy around here, without pictures. My camera's part still hasn't come in yet, and the camera store has assured me that if it had, they would have called me. OK, then.

So I thought I might pull out some of my favorite images from the last two years that I've had the digital camera. Then I realized - trying to pick my favorites from the over-10 000 images I have (no joke!) would be ridiculous. So, this morning I went looking, just randomly diving in to the pictures, and pulled out the first seven I liked.

This one was one of the first images I took. It was in March 2008, and it is the teapots that live on the back of the stove. It reminds me of a painting, maybe something by Vermeer - not that I knew who he was until just now, Googling "Girl With A Pearl Earring." But I like the way the light is soft, and coming through a window. Also the colors are mostly muted browns and whites and greys, and then you have this bright green teapot, and the blue one kind of balances it.

This one is from early 2009. I was messing around with my camera and one of our cats, Ginger. He's pretty laidback and forgiving. Sometimes when I'm sad or just wanting a chilled-out moment, I'll go to wherever Ginger is sleeping and just lay my head on his belly. This is what I'm doing here.
This is a cross-stitch piece that lives in my friend Janice's house. Her sister made it. I think it's awesome. I visited Janice and her room-mates last June, and had a lovely time.

While I was there with them, I took a walk around, and down the street came upon this beautiful magnolia tree. I started taking pictures of it, then realized the woman who owned the house was standing in the doorway. I asked her if I could take pictures of her tree and she said yes. I think this particular blossom looks a bit like a light bulb on Christmas lights.

This picture is taken in Pleasant Bay, Cape Breton. It is of Pollett's Cove, in the distance. Last summer I had rented a car, needing to take a break from not having a car, from my little village, from a lot of things. I rented a car and drove away, and visited my friend Ann, who lives in Pleasant Bay. (Well, I suppose it's Red River where she actually lives.) Then I went for a small hike down the Pollett's Cove trail, before having to turn back. I want very much to actually hike the whole trail, which I have done once before. Perhaps this summer.

This plant is called Lamb's Quarters. It is a weed to most people but it is edible, and we let some of them grow in our garden beds. Then we pick them and steam them. Delicious!

This picture was taken the same day as the Pollett's Cove one. It is the beach at Black Brook, also in the Cape Breton Highlands. It actually reminds me of the cover of my friend Bill's book, which I mentioned last post, the book "The Rock In The Water." Or, not, on second glance. Well, whatever.

So, yeah. The point of this post? I miss my camera. But, looking through my old pictures does help to ease the cravings.

.

crazy life

Time is flying. Since last week, I've been "on" - I began my summer job, which is full-time, and looks to be both busy and enriching. I'm a Youth Intern Coordinator for VCCAPS, and I'll be travelling around the county to advise and supervise the youth interns on their work. There is a lot of planning to do, and coordinating (hey - it's in my job title, fancy that!), but luckily I'm strong in those areas. So, bring it on!

It's also getting warm here, like summertime warm. And the garden is growing and crying out for us to weed it, water it, plant it, and tend to it. But watching the biomass multiply is very rewarding! It's also really nice to wear skirts and short-sleeved shirts, and sandals.

This past week, for work, I travelled to Truro to attend a conference. It was a really good experience and I met some awesome folks. It was great to toss around ideas with people who do jobs like mine, around the province, and talk about how we want to use our time with these organizations to increase access in our communities to technology and to community resources. It felt good to connect with these people, too, because so often with my work I'm communicating over the Internet with my colleagues, and not often in person. It's ironic, but true, that even though we are living in the Internet-age, and even though we're working on projects that aim to increase technology in people's lives, we need this human-to-human contact. In fact, I think that because we're in such an age, and doing such work, we need it even MORE.

This weekend I plan to rent a car and go somewhere on the island where I have a friend who has a house. I'm not saying where - I don't want any Internet stalkers! But I'll be able to sit by the ocean, possibly see whales, and be all by myself, no Internet, no people, just the sound of the waves and the wind.

Here's to this crazy, delightful, busy and/but rewarding life. Also, happy Solstice!

egg-cellent

It's Easter this weekend, and it couldn't come at a better time. These past few days, and today in particular, really feel as though things are awakening. The snow cover is cracking open and receding on all sides. The ground is again visible, after months and months of snow, and everywhere in my neighbourhood living things are perking up.

In the ditches, there are small green leaves of water-plants beginning to poke up out of the mud. The tips of willow trees suddenly went "Phwoing!" and issued tiny white pussy-willow buds. In our garden beds, some of which are now out from under the sugary, granulated snow, green nubs of daylilies and daffodils are emerging. The seeds I've started indoors have germinated, and though they are fragile and tiny yet, they have the living force of a newborn baby; they are present, urgent, ALIVE.

I just went to dump the compost, both because the bucket was filling up and because I needed some fresh air after making some phone calls all afternoon. I needed to take my mind off lists and organizing, and bring it outdoors where the wind could blow through me.

I put on gumboots and walked across the muddy, squishy-wet lawn, and kicked through the vestiges of snow. I dumped the compost, then set the bucket down by the pile and went walking to the back garden, a section of garden that's a five-minute walk from the house. There I saw that the beehive is completely uncovered now, as the beekeeper has been by to take the winter wrapping off it. I knelt by it, and saw small piles of black bee bodies: the bees who died over the winter didn't go far from the hive to perish. There was a faint, but heady scent of honey coming from the blue stack of supers.

I walked through the garden, where only two weeks ago I was on snowshoes, on a two-foot layer of snow that covered everything. Now I could see some beds bare. In the last year and a half, I've become more of a gardener than I ever was; I've started plants and grown them from seed to fruit, and I've turned new beds and weeded the old ones. And I'm beginning to see how this is tying me to this land, which means that in spring, when things begin to waken, I waken with it. It's the beginning of the New Year, I realized this afternoon. Without the fanfare of January 1st, yes. But just as important.

Are things awakening where you are? Does it affect you? How do you feel about it?

Also, how do you celebrate Easter? Do you decorate eggs, hide chocolate around the house, go to church? What will be your ritual this weekend?

Whatever it is you will be doing, enjoy it.

untitled, unthemed

I sort of fell out of love with Free Will Astrology a while back, although I'm not sure why. Maybe I went through a phase where his flowery prose wasn't suitable for my weekly horoscope need. For whatever reason, last week I decided to write out, by hand, the horoscope for Taurus, so that I would have it with me. I find in this fast-paced Internet-y world, I read the horoscope quickly online, then forget what it said a few minutes later. So when I write it out by hand, I slow down and read it. Then I read it later in the week, too.

So now I'm doing it again, for this week. I like it. I like seeing the words in my own handwriting, and this way I take his little nuggets for better living with me throughout the week.

I write them on pieces of paper that are in the scrap paper basket, but which are originally from my "Word Origins 365-Days Calender". You know the kind where you rip off a piece of paper each day? So these pieces of paper are a good size. The word on the back of this random scrap is from June 16th, and it is "Pima".

Pima: Imagine the scenario: a conquistador rides up to an Indian tilling a field in the Arizona desert and asks, politely, Quien es usted? ("Who are you?") The Indian replies, Pim'ach, and, satisfied, the conquistador enters that name on his map. "Pima" it has been since, naming an Arizona county and a kind of cotton, but what the Indian said was, "I don't understand you."

I spent the last half of this past week up in North River, at the home of two friends, a couple from New Hampshire. They needed some walls painted, and we also enjoy each other's company, so it was time well spent. I also learned a few new things about interior wall painting, as the female half of the couple used to be a professional painter. It's always good to acquire new skills! It's also good to spend most of a day just applying vibrant color onto white walls. It's meditative and it's pleasing to the eye.

Now I'm home. I unpacked, then cuddled with my favorite cat, and then went out to the back garden to check on my Cherry Grandes. So many more have ripened! I picked some to bring to the house to ripen them indoors, eating the most ripe on the way. This is why I grew them, after all. To be able to eat tomatoes without worrying about buying more. To eat them to my heart's delight.

There's no theme to this post, nothing that runs through all of it and ties it all together. Except me, of course.

picking black currants in the mist

So far August hasn't been very August-like. There has been lots of rain, drizzle, fog, mist, clouds, and other precipitation-category weather. Every now and again the sun pokes out, but not enough to dry clothes or justify going swimming. The snow peas are doing pretty good, but the sugar peas are pretty pathetic, growing only a foot or maybe two on the trellis, where in other summers they climb five feet or more.

The currants, however, are "busting out all over". They're not ripening very quickly, but they are ripening, which is inspiring. And they have to come in and be frozen, and saved for the winter, so despite the lack of sunshine, we're picking them. In the mist.

It gives one a certain hardy feeling, however, to be accumulating fine drizzly drops on one's surfaces, as one picks the purple-black berries, popping every fifth berry (or so) into one's mouth. It's as if one is a crofter in Scotland, thinking ahead to winter's porridge, which will be augmented by these Vitamin-C laden jewels.

Barbara Kingsolver, in the much-lauded (especially by me) book "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life", writes, "In my view, homeland security derives from having enough potatoes." (p. 80). Or enough black currants.

Other than harvesting in the mist, summer is ticking along as normal. (Besides for having no hot weather, that is.) For one thing, it's going way faster than it "should", which (of course) happens every year. We realized the other day that in three and a half weeks, my brother will be going back to school. It really, honestly does seem like it was last week he came home for the summer!

I'm hoping that we'll get at least a few more days of summer weather before autumn comes. As much as I love autumn, and as happy as I was yesterday when it felt like autumn (temperature around 18ºC, a stiff breeze blowing the trees around, clouds scudding across the sky), it's August seventh, dammit! I know global climate systems are a little bit bigger than I am, but so help me, I need at least one more skin-toasting, hot-ass summer's day before the end of the month. Stat!

Oh and, the pie shown above didn't actually contain any black currants. I made it a week ago, and it contained blackberries, raspberries and blueberries, which are all admirable berries, as well.

the subtleties, both named and unnamed

Note to future boyfriends: food gets me going.

Well, I should clarify. I don't mean as an aphrodisiac, although I won't rule out the sexy, intoxicating powers of a delicious, home-cooked meal, either. What I mean is reading about food, planning meals from food my neighbours grew, and just plain thinking about good, organic food gets me excited, in a way some people get excited over their academic calling or a trip abroad.

Just now I was on the couch, having a wondrously lazy Saturday afternoon, dozing off and then waking up and reading a bit more. I was reading some of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle", a present from Grandmaman, which means I can savor it one paragraph at a time, and even write in the margins. (If there's one thing I like about as much as homegrown food, it's writing in the margins of my books.) Barbara Kingsolver, the bestselling author and Kentuckian mother of two who wrote the book, has a wry yet hopeful and enchanted tone that carries the reader through the book, and which was carrying me this particular afternoon.

There was more than just a tone of voice, though. Maybe it's the fact that we need food to live, and therefore, I hypothesize, I'm biologically hardwired to find it interesting. And even if this were the only reason I'm drawn to reading recipe books, it wouldn't necessarily have to be a mundane reason. Just because I have to eat, that doesn't mean it's boring to me. There isn't a causal relationship there.

But there really is more to it than that, to my mind. It's more than just an "instinct". There's a science about it, about gardening and growing, and there is also an art to it, to using one's intuition in mixing tastes and textures on the plate. And the supposed dichotomy of science and art isn't all there is, either: there are so many subtle enjoyments to "food life" that you'd have to be akin to a wine connoisseur to name them all. (Personally, I've never tasted hints of black currant or chocolate in wine, but I still like the wine. Just because my palate isn't as sensitive as another's doesn't mean (A) I don't believe them, or (B) I don't enjoy the subtleties unnamed.)

Even though Cape Breton's climate is behind Kentucky's, so that Kingsolver's harvest of peas and early broccoli in late May doesn't QUITE apply here — we're lucky if we're harvesting those veggies in late July — reading her words got my mind wandering through the garden beds, daydreaming about the tomato seedlings I planted the other day, which I had grown from seed. (Yes, the same seedlings I featured on this blog in May!) I also got thinking about the local farmers I know who grow far more than we do, quantity-wise, and from whose bounty I am excited about purchasing summer vegetables, as they ripen. Not only that, but these thoughts generated sparks of electricity which in turn touched off more thoughts. The possibilities of the future: of meeting other farmers as yet unknown, of exploring the properties of farmer friends I'm only just getting to know now, of maybe someday owning my own patch of Cape Breton land, and bringing up crops on it.

So now you can see why I say that food gets me going. And I'm only a third of the way through the book! Not only that, but it's only June and the peas are still vines climbing their way up the trellises!

Back to the couch, methinks. At least for today.

Also: I know, I said I'm on a writing break of sorts, but after reading and then getting all excited, well, I just had to write, and then once I had written, I had to post! I hope you enjoy both this one and the one I wrote yesterday. Lemme know.

seedlings in may

The seeds are teaching me something about myself.

You wouldn't think so; they're only tiny seeds, after all. But there you go: the seeds are teaching me that deep down, I like things quick, I like things NOW, I like to set the pace. And boy, is that not possible with these little guys!

Last summer, I saved the seeds of two different types of cherry tomato, Tumbler and Cherry Grande. (How that is done is a topic for another post, perhaps this coming fall.) I saved them in two small, black film containers and waited for spring. Then when spring came, I planted them into eight pots, four for each kind. I mixed dirt with manure, and loaded each pot up with nutritious, delicious soil. I set them in the oven to germinate, as tomatoes need darkness to germinate, and our propane stove's pilot light provided just the right amount of heat. And germinate they did! After several days, during which I (of course) checked them every few hours, up came little green leaves.

Excited, I set the pots onto a tray and sat them by the sunny windows, rotating them every so often when they would start leaning too much towards the sun. And in a week's time, they put on about an inch or an inch-and-a-half worth of growth! It was fun to watch them coming along, the speedy little dudes. (Or dudettes.)

But now... they've slowed down. They're taking their sweet time, and only putting on a millimeter or so a day. (Not that I'm measuring...) And this is how the seeds, now seedlings, are teaching me about myself. I've realized that I see tiny seedlings and I start thinking ahead, all sorts of grand thoughts about how they're going to grow into big, bushy tomato plants, dripping with little red globes. I see the first rapid growth spurt and I think, "Wow, this will only take a month until I'm eating cherry tomatoes on my salads!" (And I'm only exaggerating my thought-process slightly.)

But, no. Life works differently. Nature works differently. And for sure, tomato seedlings work differently. They work at their own pace. This is only May, they keep reminding me. Relax. Sit back. Have some tea, and watch the rain falling on the sodden garden. We will make cherry tomatoes, but it's going to take a bit of time.

I do still check them often, rotating them on sunny days. But now I look at that checking time as an opportunity to just appreciate the little spunky seedlings, instead of bemoan what they aren't, just yet.

***

In other news, my brother Mat is home now from college, and he is working at his co-op job. So now my "office" is back to its previous function, which is his bedroom, so I'm not online as much, now that I have to dig under piles of clothes to even find the computer. (I'm mostly kidding. Mostly.)

I'm also not online as much for a few other reasons: one being that since Mat is home, I hang out with him more, and when I'm not hanging out with him, I tend to be doing my own thing, but not wanting to be on the Internet. Another reason is that the weather is nice now, or at least, it's not sleeting or snowing, so there is outdoors stuff to be done. And by outdoors stuff, I mean the gardening, but I also mean the very necessary "task" of sitting on the deck with my big sun-hat on, reading or listening to my portable radio. Ah, it's rough, this life.

One more thing: I recently finished two really good books, pretty much one after the other. The first one is "The 100-Mile Diet", a book which has gotten a lot of press over the last year, but which I hadn't yet read. So I requested it from the library, opened it to the first page, and didn't leave until the last page, give or take a few trips to the bathroom, and sleeping. It's a fantastic book, but rather than get into an in-depth review, I'll just say, you should check it out.

The other book really, really worth checking out is "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. It was also published in the last year, and has gotten a lot of press. Different people have recommended it to me, but it wasn't until I heard the author speaking with Shelagh Rogers on Sounds Like Canada that I thought, OK, I really need to read this book. So I went on the library website and looked it up. The regular-print version had a waiting list 40 people long. The large-print version had 3. Guess which waiting list I put myself on? So that's how I came to be reading "Eat, Pray, Love" in 16. pt lettering, which is a little hard on the eyes after a while, but not so bad if you hold the book far away from you.

Anyway, I inhaled the book. I started it Friday night and finished Sunday morning. I laughed, and though I didn't cry, I did take in an awful lot of an amazing journey to the center of the self, to God, to the bliss that is possible. I found I had a lot in common with Ms. Gilbert, and I also found she had a lot to teach me. So now the book is on my "Gotta-Buy" list, which I'm compiling until it goes over $40, at which point I can get free shipping at the Chapters-Indigo website.

So that's our news of late: it's been raining a lot, the garden and lawn are greening up, Mat is home now, and we're here, breathing and reading, loving one another, and eating as much delicious, local food as possible.

How about you? What are your thoughts? What green things are you watching? Have you read either of these two fabulous books? Do tell.

idle scraps for sale

Chloe sent me peppermint in the mail. Not peppermint tea, all dried and ready, but the leaves and a flower from a peppermint plant. I left them too long in the plastic bag and they grew a little moldy, but now they are drying properly. I don't know if I'll make tea from them -- afraid of residual mold -- but the thought is certainly more than enough. Thanks to sweet Chloe.

~~~

My mother's brother and his family were just here, from Ontario. They have two young boys, 10 and 12, and before they arrived we worried how to entertain them in case of a rainy day. We needn't have: on their own steam they motored around the garden picking up slugs and snails, putting them in a bucket and letting the snails make slime trails all over their hands. "It feels like really small teeth, like a cat's tongue licking," said the 12-year-old.

Later, we went out on Monty's boat in the pouring rain. The edges of the Bras d'Or lake were blurred by grey clouds and grey water-top, and the grey was all different shades from white to dark, and the rain pocked the surface of the dark blue waves with tiny needle-sized specks. The rain also got us all soaked, but I wouldn't have worn rain gear even if I had it -- I secretly relished the little-kid feeling of being drenched top to bottom, drops making their way from scalp to chin, a drowned-rat feeling that easily erases when you go home, get in warm clothes and bundle yourself on the couch.

~~~

Earlier today the phone rang. "Hello?" I said.

"Hello," said the caller, which was a long-distance, unrecognizable number, "Is this the party to which I am speaking?"

I thought it was a confused telemarketer. Plus, my brain was tired, too tired to pick up the joke swiftly.

"Well, that depends." I said, wary.

"It depends on what side of the river you're on," the caller replied, confusing me further, especially as his voice was becoming more familiar. There are no rivers forming territorial boundaries here, besides for maybe the North River that marks the difference between the Baddeck and the Ingonish RCMP jurisdictions. I didn't think that's what this caller meant.

"I'm sorry," I said, "But you're calling Nova Scotia."

"I know!" He said, laughing. "This is Herb!" Herb Rosenberg is an artist friend of ours who lives in Jersey City, NJ, and who is eccentric enough to be interesting, but friendly enough to make his eccentricities merely odd, not off-putting. "Ohh!" I said, "I thought you were a telemarketer!"

"Well then, what may I sell you today?" He asked.

Today I'm hawking idle scraps of summer life. Any takers? I'll barter with you.

rise up!

I wish I could show you how beautiful the garden is. I think even photographs taken by someone skilled would fail to do the plants and the sunshine and the fresh breeze justice. Sometimes when I'm in a cranky or desultory mood, I go sit outside, somewhere on the deck, and look around me. It is July, and I am home, and this is what I wanted. This is what I dreamed about in February and March when things were so miserable, and this is what kept me afloat through April and even May, with the snowstorms and slow growth. Things may not be perfect, there are still issues to deal with, and my energy is still low. But it is July and I am home.

This means: forget-me-nots and buttercups, delicate blue and yellow, mixed together the length of the driveway. Calvin mowing our lawn every few weeks and making the lush growth of the garden stand out. Irises a splashy dance in many colors. Scented stock and sweet rocket making the air smell of clove at night. Tall grey clouds and the sudden rainstorms they bring. My cherry tomato plant putting out little yellow trumpets that will one day in late August be little cherry tomatoes. Green, green, everywhere green, and most everything putting out buds or new growth of some kind. Sitting on the deck in the shade of the maple that grows through it, reading and drinking juice, while the cats lie splayed beside me.

Speaking of reading, what I'm mentally devouring these days is a book Grandmaman gave me last Christmas, which I'm finally getting to, called "Ride the Rising Wind: One Woman's Journey Across Canada", by Barbara Kingscote. It's the true story of how Barbara travelled across Canada when she was 20 on the back of her mare, Zazy, in 1949 and 1950. It's incredible in pretty much every way: her age, her inexperience with that sort of travel, the way people (in general) were so kind to her, not to mention her writing describing the places and people she passed. Also, she travelled at a time when horsepower on farms still came partly from horses, but this was changing rapidly to the modern, mechanized way of doing things. Kingscote thus witnessed both small, subsistence farms, which she describes as having dignity and eking out a living while respecting the land around them, and the larger operations of farming, logging and urban sprawl that were creating a space that was "an obsolete battleground where the battered corpse of wilderness lay unburied, for everyone to see and no one to mourn." Kingscote calls it like she sees it, with clear, dancing prose, and I'm only halfway through--we're just about to enter the prairies. We being the three of us, of course: Barbara, Zazy and me, riding that "rising wind".

And speaking of rising, I've been thinking about mornings, the time one rises, what one does soon after rising. I'm enjoying having time in the mornings, to do those important stretches, eat breakfast on the deck, spying on the birds at the same time. And sometimes, when I get up extra early (7 or 8 am, these days) I feel like I've done something productive just by getting out of bed. There's something special about the early morning and the few times I do get up early, I enjoy it -- there are mists that will later burn off, and shades and angles of light not seen at other times of day. Of course, my body is usually extra cranky at an early hour, so there's a pay-off.

Now it's your turn to rise to the occasion. What's your morning routine? What's early and what's late? What's so special about getting up early, anyway? Do tell.

"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.