You can see how my week has gone

Puzzles:

(some of the weird-shaped pieces!)

Naps and books:

Long walks outdoors:

The perfect hygge moment

Hickory nut tarts baked and eaten. Fireplace on. Three Pines on the telly. Warm canine curled up against my hip. Wind howling outside. A week off work stretching before me. Turkey thawing in the kitchen. Christmas tomorrow.

Perfect.

Finally got it this Christmas

The tree is decorated. The Christmas cards are sent. The presents are purchased, wrapped, and hidden until Christmas Eve. The annual baking spree is done and distributed. The holiday music is on (the good Classical stuff, not the Burl Ives and Bing Crosby stuff). The nativity set is displayed on the bookshelf. The turkey is actually already cooked and in the freezer to make dinner easier. (Full confession, sometimes we just have frozen leftovers from Thanksgiving.) Family get-together time has been coordinated. Church choir is primed and ready. Grandkids' festive recitals have been attended. Snow shovel and bags of de-icer are poised by the door. 

Nothing left to do but enjoy a peaceful week running up to Christmas. Reading by the glowing tree. Picking out carols on the piano. Sneaking a carton of egg nog into the shopping cart while the diet police are distracted. (Well, and wrapping up things at work in preparation for a week off after Christmas.) Just staying home and crocheting by the fireplace. Lovely!

Every year I vow to get things done ahead of time so that there's no last-minute panicking, and so that I can avoid the inevitable frenzy of traffic and line-ups at stores. Some years I'm good at it, and other years I'm not. Sometimes it involves last-minute gift-finding. Sometimes I fall back on "That'll do" and abandon grander plans. Whatever preparations I've made for this important season, they're enough. At some point, you sit back and just be in the moment.

I'm hoping I have the same attitude when it comes to Jesus's Second Coming. I can picture it now. I'm standing there with my incomplete Ministering assignment and my good intentions puddled around my feet, my heart not quite loving, my spirit not quite humble. A list of To Do's still in my head. And there's Jesus on CNN, gleefully announcing "Ready or not, here I come!"

I hope I will be able on that day to forget my To Do list, quiet my anxieties, let go of everything I'm clutching in my fists, and turn to him with open hands and heart.

I hope I can do that now.

A writing day

Yesterday I took the day off work to attend a brief virtual writing seminar and to spend the day pondering what to do for my next book. I have lots of ideas, but most of them sound boring or too small to flesh into a full book. Some of my pet projects seem to be stalled for one reason or another. Some ideas sound promising but too labour-intensive to take on right now. I think I feel an historical fiction story coming on, but I'm not entirely sure about it yet, and there would be a lot of research required.

While I was waffling on what to do, the day was wasting, so I decided to scroll through a bunch of ideas and half-starts on an old memory stick to see if anything jumped out at me. I came across a romance/mystery manuscript I began years ago and forgot about. It's already at 53,000 words, which is a solid beginning. So I turned on the fireplace, got myself a snack of raisins, peanuts, and coconut (and there may or may not have been chocolate chips stolen from my baking stash), and spent the day writing.

There are times I feel like taking the time to write is selfish or narrow-visioned, with all that is going on in the world and so much good needing to be done. But I have to say, taking a whole day to just sit with my thoughts and explore creativity was wonderful and nourishing. It has been a long time since I had the luxury, and I had forgotten how all-consuming it can be. It seems I hardly sat down before it was 3:00 and time to go do other things. It was like waking up from a nice nap. Will this particular story end up going anywhere? Only time will tell, but meanwhile, I had a great day!

It's important from time to time to immerse yourself in something you love, something that feeds your soul. Ideally, you also incorporate it in bite-size pieces each day instead of making yourself wait for a rare, dedicated, entire day. You don't thrive just eating one big meal a month, after all. It has to be a habitual part of daily life. Unfortunately, we often let life's Have-Tos squeeze out the more soul-nourishing things.

I dream someday of conducting writing retreats and artist workshops, of offering other people a respite from the world and a time and space where they can make their thoughts tangible. I imagine myself offering to take care of all the little irritating distractions (like cooking) so that they can focus on their passions. You know, it's a small thing we could do for each other, here and now, without having to go on a formal retreat. You cook for me this evening, I'll cook for you that evening, and we give each other a break. You weed my garden so I can spend today writing, and I'll watch your kids so you can spend tomorrow painting...

Cooperative creativity. I like the sound of that.

It's taken me a long time to get it

All my life, I've been fascinated by real estate. I think part of it stems from going to Home Shows with my mom, or sneaking through half-built construction projects (with that magic feeling of being able to walk through framed walls). Exploring properties brings stories to my mind and fires my imagination. All my life, I've asked myself a stream of rising questions... What would it be like to live in this place? Who used to live here and what did they love? How did this place shape them? What did it look like before this community was built? How would it affect you to grow up with that view? 

Which led to further, more personal questions: If I had to pick one view to look at forever, what would it be, mountains or farm fields or forest or ocean? Which style do I like better, Mid-Century Modern or Craftsman or Edwardian or Victorian or... I even ask myself if I had a farm, what breed of cows or chickens would be best to raise? As if I needed to choose.

Ever since we bought the old church we're renovating, I've found myself asking a new question: Which place do I prefer to be in? There are advantages to living in the city (everything within walking distance, and decent sidewalks to walk on). There are advantages to being at the church (quiet, no traffic, you can see the stars, and you can walk two minutes and see goats and horses). I have to split myself between two beautiful locations, and I don't know which I prefer.

It has finally dawned on me that I don't have to choose which I prefer. I have both options, and I can be happy in both places. I can be happy now and not have to wait until I'm in one place or the other. And that makes me very, very lucky. Of course, I've always known intellectually that happiness is something you carry with you regardless of circumstances or surroundings. Most of you are probably saying to yourselves, "Duh!" But somehow, lately I've just been understanding it on a deeper level.

Self Reliance and Passing on the Knowledge

A couple of weeks ago, two of our faucets at home were leaking, and my brilliant husband fixed them himself. Then the toilet was leaking, and he got a part and fixed it. Then the dishwasher rack wheels broke, so he got parts and fixed that. Then yesterday the oven element stopped working, so he got a new one and fixed it. The framers missed doing some vital parts of the basement job, so my husband got some two-by-fours and finished the project. I'm married to Superman!

Not only did he save us a lot of money, he showed me how to do things while he did them. That way, I'll be able to cope better in future if/when it happens again. There's something very satisfying about knowing how to do something yourself. Even if you're never called on to do it, just knowing you could gives you confidence. Hence my loom and knitting needles and soldering iron and... Get the tools, learn to use them, and enjoy more peace of mind. You never know what potential scenarios could arise in the future, but just knowing you are capable of learning is strengthening in itself.

And now that I have a functioning oven again, I'm doing my Christmas baking. Buttertarts, here I come!

This Shining Life by Harriet Kline

Sometimes you read a book that hits you in just the exact way you needed at that moment. This Shining Life is a beautifully haunting book, and the more I think about it, the more in awe I am of the writer's skill. She draws you into the story, yes, but she also makes you experience the story. The same struggles and frustrations the characters face. You want to fight against what the characters are going through and the mess they make of things, but in the end you have to just love them and accept their flaws and ways of being. And in doing that, you might just have to accept your own, too. Masterfully done!

There's a theme throughout the book of searching for meaning, to know what it means to be alive. But it's the search itself that gives life meaning, whatever conclusions you arrive at. The hope and wish for meaning lends meaning in itself. 

At the end of the book, the author has written a short essay explaining the story's origins and the writing process she went through. One part especially jumped out at me: "Though I had glimpsed what it might be like to be a slide rider, I knew I'd never be one myself. But that didn't mean I wasn't living life to the fullest. My experience of clinging to the safety rail at the top of the slide was as rich and valid as the experience of letting go."

I think sometimes we watch Bear Grylls crashing through the wilderness, read about intrepid people who go zip-lining through Costa Rica, or hear about those who have relinquished everything and pushed every limit in order to plunge into their passions, and we think that life has to be that bright and loud in order to be fully satisfying. That you have to immerse yourself so intensely before you can soak up that precious moment and feel alive. We're always waiting for life to begin. But it doesn't take an explosion to set life in motion. The moment doesn't have to be technicolour. Life can be just as vibrant and fulfilling and intense lived on a calmer and more pastel scale. I can paddle in my backyard pool and feel just as alive and thrilled as the person who goes over Niagara Falls in a barrel. The key is awareness. Gratitude. Focus. A willingness to open our fists and grasp whatever is right before us.

A profound book I'm going to have to read again, to sop up every rich drop. 

Looking for Gloves in all the Wrong Places

(Apologies to Johnny Lee)

It's that time of year again, when normal people put away their summer clothes and pull out their winter clothes. I don't tend to have summer and winter clothes, just as I don't really have casual and formal clothes. I have about five outfits, and I cycle through them all year round. I wear sandals up until the snow flies, and then I pack them with me, wear boots to wherever I'm going, and swap them for the sandals once I'm indoors again. 

I keep my outerwear (coat, hat, muffler, gloves) in the front closet year round. They are somewhat shoved to one side, but they don't get stored anywhere else. The smaller stuff is kept either in my coat pockets or in a fabric shopping bag on the shoe shelf. No variation, year after year.

Why is it, then, that every fall, when I pull it out to wear for the first time, I can never find my gloves? And why is there always a stray black mitten no one in the family recognizes or claims? Why do I find two left-handed gloves but never a right-handed one? Do they crawl away by themselves when I'm not looking? Do we have elves? Are the Borrowers living under my floorboards?

I find the same thing with gardening gloves every spring. Lots of left-handed ones, no right-handed ones, and every single glove has holes in the seams.

And while we're at it, whose snow boots are these? Why is there only one left-footed boot size 9 but no right one? No one in the house wears a size 9, incidentally. Is there someone out there wandering around with one soaked left foot? And how did we end up with a Molson Canadian ski hat when none of us drink beer?

These are the questions that keep me up at night.

Coming to Canada

This week marks 33 years since we moved to Canada. It's hard to fathom how it could be that long. It has been an incredible journey, and I feel we've landed in a good spot. We've raised our children, had grandchildren, bought property, finished our schooling, dealt with health issues, worked at solid jobs. We have made friends, gotten involved in our community, and gotten to know the interesting places around us. This part of Canada is gorgeous, especially in the fall, with so many rivers and waterfalls and parks that invite wandering. There's just enough "wildness" close to home to nourish my soul.

I do miss the mountains. I do wish I could be there for my family's gatherings and ball games and celebrations. Canadian politics can sometimes disappoint. But Ontario is home now, where I've put down comfortable new roots, and I look forward to exploring more of Canada. 

On the weekend I went walking in Rattray Marsh and sat beside Lake Ontario for a while, just soaking in the last of autumn's sunshine and feeling the breeze on my face and feeling lucky to be alive and here in this place. The temperature was perfect, the light on the silver water was perfect, and the thump of my shoes against the boardwalk was satisfying. A Great Blue Heron watched serenely from not far away as I passed. I found myself thinking, "No matter what days may follow, I have had this perfect day, and the memory of it will carry me through whatever comes next."

Thank you, Canada, and the lovely people I've met, for letting me join you.

Addictions, unwanted and otherwise

At church on Sunday, someone mentioned in a talk "unwanted addictions." Which got me to thinking about whether there are wanted addictions. And of course, books immediately came to mind. I don't just adore reading, I adore the books themselves. The shape and heft of them, the scent of old paper, the patina on a particularly old cover, the beauty of them on the shelf. An entire bookcase is like a patchwork quilt, bringing warmth and personality into a room. The act of reading itself is an integral part of it all, of course, but just being around books makes me happy.

I also feel intensely -- though I'm not sure it's an addiction quite yet -- toward wood. Running my hand along the smooth, satin surface of an antique table. The smell of fresh-cut pine. The feel of it under my hands as I sand and stain and varnish, buffing to bring out the glow. I like the solidity and earthiness and authenticity of wood furniture. I want to learn more about woodworking, and watching someone use a lathe is as fascinating as watching a pottery wheel, as a shape rises out of nowhere. The soul of the wood being revealed.

So yes. Some addictions are very much wanted. Life would be a dimmer thing without them.

Meanwhile, happy plants

The lettuce, basil, tomatoes, cucumbers, and sweet potatoes growing under my lights seem happy. I've gotten several batches of pesto out of the basil so far, lots of salads from the lettuce, and now it looks like a tomato is imminent. Also flowers on the cukes. I'm in my happy place.

Surreal thoughts at 7 a.m. -- the great disconnect

This morning I went to let the dog out, and the sky was the most amazing delicate salmon colour, fading to pale blue. The trees were a dense silhouette against this dramatic backdrop, and there was the most perfectly-placed sliver of silver moon. It was the most incredible sunrise, full of peace and promise, and I was filled with a strange mix of joy and sorrow. Joy that I've been given the chance to live on this amazing planet, with all its beauty and intricacy. Gratitude for the ability to see and appreciate all this goodness around me. Sorrow that the earth has had to bear with us and suffer for so long. That line from the Book of Enoch kept coming to my mind. When will the earth rest? It has done its job amazingly well, and now it's time to let it rest. It has earned the right to go to its next stage. I wonder if it can -- if it should -- forgive us.

I find myself in the surreal position of waiting for the geopolitical situation and climate change to end life as we know it at any moment, and yet still writing out my grocery list and organizing the septic tank cleaning, deciding whether to spray-foam insulate the garage, ordering garden seeds for next year. Without the full expectation that there will be a next year.

But humans have unconquerable hope, and we have to plan for a future just in case there is one. Well, there will be one, just maybe not the one we have always assumed will come to us. There is tension in that anticipation, but there isn't anxiety. Whether the world lasts another two days or two decades, I suppose in the bigger scheme of things it doesn't matter, if we have taken the time to soak in the sunrise and be grateful today.

Maple Syrup (Nectar of the Gods)

A friend of ours produces maple syrup, and we recently bought a 500-ml bottle from him. His is the most delicate, wonderful syrup I've ever tasted. It's almost like butterscotch. He doesn't blend his like many others do, so it's pure and light and amazing.

Here's the thing -- he told us that next spring he won't be tapping his trees, in order to give them some time to recover from this year's drought. If other producers are taking the same approach, there may be a shortage of syrup. We immediately ordered four more bottles from him. 

Nevermind the freeze-dried turkey cubes and stroganoff in mylar pouches, the Crisco candles, and the bottled peaches. Stock up on syrup! :)

Coyotes

Twice, in the night, I have heard the yipping of coyotes. It's a weird sound, like frightened puppies. The first time I heard it, it sounded like a bunch of doomed rabbits being carried off by foxes, and it took a while to figure out what I'd heard. A neighbour told me the woman down the road saw about 45 coyotes in a pack running down our street one night. The pack included several young ones. I know coyotes don't often attack humans, but if they have their young with them, they might get defensive/aggressive, so I don't plan on any midnight strolls. I think it's rather wonderful to know we're in such close proximity to the wild. But yes, caution is prudent.

Question: where do they go during the day?

Someone gets it!

I saw this on Facebook and just had to share it here. Yes. This is me, every night.

Whee!

Apparently when my husband is out of town, I turn into a fourteen-year-old. Staying up late watching chick flicks, eating an entire loaf of zucchini bread and cream cheese by myself, snacking for supper... To redeem myself, I did do two batches of laundry and beheaded the catalpa trees in the front yard. But it's not much accomplishment for a week on my own...

I went to physio this week, and when I mentioned my husband was away, the therapist crowed that her husband was away too, and it was chick flicks and eating whatever she wanted while he was away, and then she high-fived me. Snicker.

He comes home tonight, though, so it's time to smarten up and try to appear a bit less indolent. He'll be tired after a week of intense renovations up at the church, so I want him to be able to walk into a home where nothing needs to be done. I might even cook dinner...

Tomorrow and Sunday I have General Conference, a ten-hour church conference broadcast from Salt Lake City, spread over two glorious days. My favourite time of year! Life is good.

...and Jelly

Turning some of the juice into grape jelly. We can use some of it for gifts and some of it for those times when we're just not feeling the low-carb diet. Ambrosia!

Grape juice time!

Homemade grape juice is the best stuff on the planet. I didn't get around to bottling the tomatoes, peaches, pears, or apples this year, but the grapes just HAD to happen. I got three bushels from a farmer in St. Catharines, and it was a glorious drive to pick them up. Cool autumn air, the sun glinting off Lake Ontario, the delicious tang of the grapes scenting the air, and the windows rolled down to blow the fruit flies out of my face as the car filled up...

I've juiced half and have 20 bottles of lovely deep-purple juice so far. It froths a brilliant pink unlike anything Welch's can produce, and it doesn't stain the way commercial grape juice does. Which is a good thing, because a clogged pipe in my steamer resulted in a bit of a puddle on the white tile and down inside the stove...but it cleaned up perfectly and we were soon back in business. 

As an extra bonus, on my drive back to the city I passed an antiques flea market. Stopped on an impulse, walked up to the first vendor, bought a beautiful but inexpensive oil lamp, and got back in the car. A 2-minute transaction to acquire something I've been looking for for weeks. I'll have to go back, though, to explore the flea market more thoroughly, as it looks like a fun place to browse.

Time to start putting the garden to bed

It has been a good gardening year, in spite of a late start and almost no rain all summer. The green beans have outdone themselves, and now I'm letting them slow down and produce seeds. The cabbage was a bit disappointing compared to most years, and while the planted tomatoes were pathetic, the volunteers coming out of the composter were incredibly productive. Cherry tomatoes the size of golf balls, and hundreds of them! Just goes to show you the value of compost. 

I have potatoes and spaghetti squash stored in the basement, peas in the freezer, and I have a couple of bottles of dehydrated/powdered mizuna, lamb's quarters, and beet greens. The kale struggled in the heat this year, but the onions were happy. The carrots are still to be harvested. I've told you my garlic woes (ended up purchasing some from a garlic farmer friend), and the zucchini were yummy but sparse. The cauliflower never formed, but they never do, but I keep planting it optimistically. The raspberries and strawberries really shone this year, but the asparagus wasn't much to brag about. And more rhubarb and lettuce than I knew what to do with. The good-old reliable dry beans did well as usual. Finally, the cucumbers were amazing and kept us well fed, and the peppers produced one (1) blossom which amounted to nothing.

So, yeah, it was a weird year. Lots of ups and downs. Some things that usually flourish produced zilch, and other things that are usually ho-hum were amazing. I'm letting things go to seed now, winding down and starting to empty the beds in preparation for mulch for the winter. Need to clean and oil my tools and organize the shed. Need to try to locate matching pairs of gloves (I always seem to end up with a dozen left-handed gloves and no rights). Time to trim back the lavender. I've planted red clover in one bed to try to break up the soil a bit and add some humus. I've also scattered some milkweed and coneflower seed for next year's butterflies. I need to focus on digging in compost, as I've seen the good results that come from that.

While I'm putting it all away for the winter, I'm watching the descent of the dark earlier and earlier, and I'm thinking up strategies to mitigate the seasonal affective disorder depression that inevitably follows. I have stacks of books to look forward to (thank you, Sheri!), and I had a long talk with my weaving instructor about projects for this fall. I have all this lovely stored garden produce to look forward to eating. I have fake sunlight grow-lights in the kitchen and near my work space in the dining room.

Still, it's hard to let go of the real sunshine. It has been amazing this long, hot summer.

The Long Emergency

I just finished reading The Long Emergency by Kunstler, an interesting, thought-provoking, and slightly terrifying book about the post-peak-oil economy. The book was written in 2005, but everything the author talks about and anticipates has come about, with a vengeance. This includes the housing bubble burst in 2008, the pandemic, droughts, the set-up to potential U.S. civil war, and current geopolitical events. It was one of those books you have to stop and ponder frequently as you read, and afterward I was left wishing there was a 2022 update. Or that I could invite Kunstler to dinner and just explore his brain and his thoughts for the future.

One of the things he discusses is the inevitable attrition facing the human population and the likely end solution in smaller, localized economies. Think small, resilient, agrarian communities pulling together and drawing on the skills and knowledge of each member for the common good. It made me want to start inventorying my neighbours to learn what skills and tools they have to share. I also need to look at ways to increase my own utility. I know how to do quite a few things, but there is always so much more to learn. I'd especially like to do more woodworking and basic building and repair. Kunstler noted that one of the most valuable skills will be to take old things and repair them and restore them to usefulness. I like the sound of that.

I may not be around long enough to take part in the full collapse. But I want to be around long enough to help smooth my kids' and grandkids' journeys however I can. I have been preparing my whole life for this without even realizing it -- I've always been drawn to the simple farm life, growing food, preserving it, weaving and crocheting, making things with my hands. This coming year I'm going to look for more ways to increase my resilience and that of my family and those around me. We're going to need it.

Times They Are A-Changing

Every year for the past 35 or so, I have faithfully bottled tomatoes. I can never grow enough in my garden, so I always get 2-3 bushels from the farmer's market (or once, memorably, from Food Basics) and bottle them. That way I can have spaghetti sauce and macaroni-and-tomatoes all winter. It's always a handy thing to have available for a fast meal.

Two years ago, I got Romas for $17 a bushel. Last year it was $19 a bushel. This year it is $26 a bushel! So instead of going on auto-pilot, I sat down and crunched the numbers, factoring in the 50 cents for each canning lid. And discovered that, milliliter for milliliter, it's actually cheaper to buy the commercially canned whole or diced tomatoes. There is a no-salt-added brand that sells for $1.29 a can. Factor in also the time spent bottling, the energy use, and the fact that I have two grandkids underfoot, and I caved and went with store-bought this year. 

There was always something beautiful and satisfying about seeing the bottles lined up on my storage shelves. It isn't as gratifying to look at rows of cans. But it makes financial and practical sense this year.

I don't think I can bear to eat store-bought peaches, though. They are always so woody and rough. I will hold out for bottling my own, and if summer runs out before I get a chance to do it, then I will do without this year, because some compromises are really just a step too far.

The future isn't what it used to be

I was lying on a bench at the park today, watching the clouds and enjoying the breezy shade while the grandkids played in the sand, building a pyramid they swore would use up all the sand in the playground. As I lay there contentedly listening to them play, it occurred to me that even though I wasn't expecting to have the grandkids with me this summer, I'm still doing basically what I would have done with my summer anyway. I'm out in the garden, I'm enjoying the sunshine, I'm reading and going for walks and going to the lake. When I first learned I'd be babysitting all summer, I sort of assumed that meant giving up all my plans, but really, even though some things have to be postponed, the essential stuff is still happening.

I was talking today with someone who told me his daughter was studying animation in school, and how he hoped she'd find work as an animator. We discussed how, back in our day, going to school guaranteed you a job, and the job would likely support a family. But these days, education does not guarantee employment, and even if you're lucky enough to find work, it likely doesn't pay enough to live off of. While we assumed we'd be homeowners, the next generation assumes that dream is out of reach. They have much different expectations, and frankly not a lot of hope or optimism. With all that is going on in the world right now, I suspect my grandkids' futures will not end up being what I or their parents anticipated or hoped for when they were born.

Along the same vein, I heard someone the other day refer to their company's ten-year strategic plan, and I was startled. Did they really think life would be "business-as-usual" and that all was returning to normal? Did they think they could predict or control the long-range future? But then I was startled that I was startled, and I stopped to examine my own mindset. Have I really developed the conviction that we don't have ten years left as a species? How can we possibly, I argue, when we've passed so many tipping points and set up such dire circumstances for ourselves? There's really no pulling out of it. Life may continue, but not along the same old lines with the same familiar and predictable patterns, and I balk at the thought of even trying to pretend nothing has changed or will change. Rigid long-term plans will have to adapt or crumble. Sooner or later, even the most apathetic or optimistic will have to concede that "the norm" is no longer possible or even ethical.

This concept can either depress you or exhilarate you, depending on whether you see it as an ending or an opportunity to begin afresh. To redefine what we want life to be. To identify what is truly important and capture it in the way we live in the future. We can't create a new way of being, though, until we acknowledge the old way didn't work and abandon it. As long as we keep doggedly insisting on "business-as-usual," we'll never move forward into something better.

I'm not sure if this post is coherent or captures what I'm trying to say. Maybe I need to ponder it a bit more. Lying on a bench at the park, with the wispy clouds above me and the sound of children building a monumental sandcastle nearby. As good a place as any to contemplate the end of life as we know it. Somehow the idea doesn't frighten or disturb me all that much. The essentials are still possible. It's everything else that must fall away.

Grandchildren and the Garden

Sorry I haven't written lately. It suddenly turned into a busy summer, with the unexpected but happy necessity of caring for my grandkids for six or seven weeks. Luckily, we have the swimming pool, and they seem quite content to splash around and hit each other with pool noodles while I work on my laptop on the patio. Suddenly the diet is out the window, though, and I find myself shopping for Freezies and breakfast cereals for the first time in a long while. I may not be getting as much reading or knitting done as usual, but I'm outdoors a lot more.

One of the happiest things is watching my grandkids discover the garden. They will hop out of the pool to go search for raspberries. They'll hunt through the beds of strawberries and look for green beans. Once we gathered a handful of pea pods and sat in the shade under the maple tree to pop them open and eat them (nothing as good as fresh peas!), and my granddaughter worried that we were eating them all. She thought we should save them for later, as she knows I usually freeze them. She was delighted to learn that eating them now is just as possible as eating them later, and that there will be more coming tomorrow. It doesn't all have to go into the freezer.

Like me, Brio has had to learn to pace himself. The first few days he spent barking and running up and down the edge of the pool, trying to catch the kids' splashes, dropping his frisbee in the pool for them to return to him, and turning himself inside out with joy. But he paid for it with sore paws and a limp afterward, so now we try to remain calmer and do less running on the pavement. He sleeps very soundly at night now.

Tomorrow I think we'll go for a walk along the river. Maybe take a picnic. There's a zucchini almost ready to pick, and soon there will be fluffy lettuce seeds to gather. Lavender to cut. Tomatoes and cucumbers to collect. Lots of weeding to be done. Peaches to be bottled. But amidst the work, it's nice having two little weights to slow me down and remind me to enjoy the taste of fresh peas.

 

What I'm growing

It occurs to me I should tell you what you're seeing in the photo in my last post. We are growing: asparagus, rhubarb, bok choy, tomatoes (several kinds), cucumbers (two kinds), cabbage, cauliflower, green beans, peas, lettuce, mizuna, perpetual spinach (which is actually a type of leaf beet), carrots, kale, potatoes, onions, green onions, leeks, edible lilies, edible lavender and violets, sedum (also edible), lambs' quarters (okay, they're a weed, but they're yummy), zucchini, butternut squash, spaghetti squash, raspberries, strawberries, basil, parsley, and cilantro. And soapwort, which isn't edible but its roots can lather up and be used as soap. 

I also planted the 60 cloves of garlic, as stated in an earlier post, and only about six have come up, in other places in the garden than where I put them. That tells me maybe squirrels carried them off, burying some of them elsewhere. A few developed nicely, but the rest are spindly. However, a friend of ours is a garlic farmer, and he says his crop isn't doing well either, so I guess it's just a bad year for it.

Today I replanted bok choy, spinach, parsley, and basil for a fall crop as well.

The garden is finally starting to thrive

It was a slow start to the season, but things are finally looking better. But it's the first time I've ever seen peas start producing at the same time as the tomatoes! What a weird year.

I Survived!

First day back in the office in two years. Went shopping for clothes yesterday, because I'm pretty threadbare by now. Got my hair cut so I look somewhat domesticated. Couldn't sleep last night. Kept checking the clock, waiting for the alarm to go off, and finally gave up and got up at 3:00. Had to make an effort to remember which bus to take, only to find that the terminal at the other end had been relocated. Bit of a hike to get to the subway, but I followed the herd and found my way. It was so weird but kind of exciting to be back in the office. Couldn't remember the passcode for the photocopier or how to use it, but I doubt I'll need it anyway, after two and a half years of being paperless. My office still had my name on it. Found my spare reading glasses in the desk. That's where they went!

I wore my mask and washed my hands a lot, and I hope it was enough. I haven't been around so many people in a very long time. But it was fun to see familiar faces, especially those coworkers with whom I haven't had videoconferences. Hey, it's you! Good to see you're still alive! I am too.

Sad news

The baby bunny seemed to do all right for about four days, perky and alert and interested in grass and lettuce more than the milk replacer I offered him. He would let me handle him softly, and he recovered enough to start grooming himself. But yesterday he turned lethargic again, spending most of the day facing into a corner of his box. This morning he ate a little and then lay down on his side, which wasn't a good sign. He spent the day quietly lying there, breathing gently, not in any apparent distress but obviously not doing well. I don't know, maybe the shock of his injury was wearing off and he was beginning to feel the effects. At any rate, I could see he wasn't going to survive, so I carried him out to his old birth nest and laid him beside it, near his mother's fur, and tonight he died. I've buried him in my garden.

The woman I spoke to at the wildlife rehab centre said in their 30 years of experience they've never had a wild rabbit thrive in captivity. They are prey animals and are in a constant state of freeze-or-flight around people, which just isn't sustainable. As they get older, their instincts just get stronger, and it isn't any quality of life for them to be caged. With Harvey's injuries, I knew there was a strong chance he wouldn't make it, and he'd never be able to return to the wild, but I had to do what I could. I gave him four or five days of peace and safety and the chance to enjoy lettuce, which he really seemed to love. Ultimately, whether he lived or died wasn't my call.

I have a strong belief that animals have souls and a place in God's heart. I am comforted by the thought that he has two siblings with him on the other side, and that he can hop now. Even knowing that, it's still going to hurt for a while.

Stressful Times in the Garden

Well, the rabbit saga continues. Two nights ago, something clawed apart the rabbit nest. One baby was killed outright, one was wounded, and the other three are okay and running around the garden with Mama. The injured baby has lost the use of his hind legs (looks like something bit him -- he has a puncture wound on his back). He obviously can't survive in the wild without his legs, so I brought him into the house and made up a bed of straw taken from the nest, with a "burrow" made of a flowerpot, in a plastic tote. Okay, it's a blue recycling bin, and it has an unfortunate sticker on the side that says "Time is running out," but we're thinking positively here. 

My farm girl side has been warring with my Buddhist animal-lover side, and I decided I had to at least try to save him. Even if it doesn't work, I can try to make his last moments more comfortable than leaving him for the neighbour's cat to finish the job. My husband got some kitten milk replacer from the pet store, but he hasn't been too enthusiastic about it. He licked a drop from his lips, and he licked one drop off my finger, but he won't open his mouth to let me feed him with the eyedropper. He doesn't seem to be in pain or shock or anything, and he lets me hold him for a while before he protests and wants to be released. He perked up in spirits a bit when I took him out onto the lawn, and he even nibbled one blade of grass before hiding again in his flowerpot. He looks quite wilted and lethargic but becomes more animated when I take him outside. But there's just no way to keep him safe outside without a solid hutch to keep predators out.

I have to admit, watching Mama Bunny hopping around with his rough-and-tumble siblings broke my heart. I so want to be able to give him back to his mother, but it just isn't possible. I want him to be able to snuggle with his nestmates. I want him to be able to nurse. If he misses tonight's feeding, he may not make it to morning. Is it kind to try to save him? How can I not?

I went up to Mama, who was nonchalantly chewing on my spinach in the garden, and told her I was sorry about the one who died, and I promised her I'd do my best to help the little one I have.

Brio has been glaring at me all evening for fraternizing with the enemy, but he'll just have to be patient. This little being is going to take up a lot of time and focus and psychological energy for a while. 

Surprise!

I had some bare spots in the garden so thought I'd fill them in by planting some black beans. There was a layer of straw over the earth to keep the weeds down, so I moved handfuls aside as I worked my way down the raised bed, pushing beans into the soil.

And then I lifted a handful of straw and exposed about five little baby rabbits. They started to stir, probably expecting mummy. Oops! So sorry. Quickly covered them up again. Hoping mama rabbit won't be too upset by the disturbance when she comes back. Tiptoed away.

Not a smart move for a gardener, I suppose, to preserve a rabbit family. But there's something lovely about wildlife finding your yard a safe and peaceful place. There's room to share.

Writing Crossroads

So...A while ago, my publisher rejected my latest manuscript. It seems they've decided to publish only romance, historical fiction, and suspense now, and my manuscript doesn't fit those genres. My husband has always counselled me not to be so quick to get from point A to point B, and it seems I took his advice too much to heart, because they also said my story was "meandering." I think, when you peel back the layers to the core of it, what they're saying is "not enough suspense." There is no mechanism for rewriting and resubmitting it.

I sulked for a day---it's hard not to, when you've spent a year on a manuscript only to learn the carpet has been yanked out from under you---and then I decided to fall back on my other publisher, who put out my last book. But...drum roll...it seems they no longer want to do fiction. They're accepting non-fiction only.

I have two choices: I can either give it a quiet burial in the filing cabinet, or I can try to get a literary agent. Most publishers won't accept manuscripts "cold"; they want you to have an agent. But I'm not sure what I write is really substantial enough to warrant an agent. I don't write Great Literature, and it's probably too vanilla for a broader audience. It may be that my writing days are over.

I think I'm okay with that, except that this particular manuscript had something to say about cooperating and working with people who think differently from you. It's a timely topic, with nations being torn apart over divisive political viewpoints. We may not agree, but we can still tackle a problem together. It also featured an 87-year-old protagonist, because I feel older people are not well represented in books. And it would have brought my publishing credits to a nice round 12, which had a final sort of ring to it.

I suppose I could go with the self-publishing route, but I've never had much respect for it, to be frank, and I don't relish the idea of having to do all my own marketing. Life is exhausting enough without that. So...

I'll let you know what I decide.

Meanwhile, the world is on fire and famine is staring us bleakly in the face and refugees are standing at the airport hoping to be let into a new life, and I can't get too worked up over a rejection letter. Actually, not even anything so substantial as that -- a rejection email. It's hard to take it seriously. Life is changing in every aspect, and I guess my writing is going to change along with it. It may be the end of an era, or it may be high time for a revamp. I've been feeling the tug to focus more on non-fiction, on vital topics, on things that will build resilience and not just entertain. It may be that this is the start of something new.

Workout for the Knees

Today has been a productive, satisfying sort of day. I made 7 dozen cookies (some peanut butter, some chocolate chip), froze some, took some to a neighbour, and will give some to the grandkids tomorrow. I worked in the garden for a while, putting up strings and netting for future green beans. I cooked a chicken. I walked the dog and played ball with him at the park for a while until the heat drove us home. I did a little grocery shopping and vacuum-sealed some lentils and such for storage. I mowed the lawn, showered, and did three batches of laundry. I watched the news and listened to some Avi Kaplan.

Now I'm sitting and reading a lovely little book called Wintering: The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times by Katherine May (the irony isn't lost on me) and sneaking some chocolate chip cookies, while watching the wild ducks that have returned to our swimming pool, as they do every spring.

I love this kind of day. Though when I tried to get up just now to get my husband's supper ready, I found my arthritic knees aren't cooperating. Might have been a bit too rough on them today!

Husband just returned from playing for a wedding and asked if I wanted to go to Home Depot to look at flooring for the church. Um...Maybe a rain cheque? I'm in my nightgown already, and the knees definitely wouldn't be happy with the hard floors of Home Depot.

Besides, I'm in the middle of a chapter...

Garlic Collapse

Every year, I always get a lovely crop of garlic, enough to last the year and to have extra to sell as well. But somehow this year it didn't turn out. Usually by this time, the garlic is six inches tall and thriving. This year there are a couple of wispy shoots and absolutely nothing else. Did squirrels eat it all? Did the bulbs rot in all the precipitation? Did I somehow just get dud bulb stock last fall? No idea. But it looks like we have to purchase it this year. Luckily, we have a farmer friend who grows garlic, so I don't have to rely on the golf-ball scentless garlic at the store. 

I guess you win some and you lose some, but I'm hoping this isn't a forecast of the garden to come!

I ate the mint

My grandfather was a mint farmer in Idaho and one of my favourite people on the planet. I would follow him everywhere and ride on the tractor with him as he worked his fields. He would distill the mint and extract the oil to sell to gum and candy companies. I have fond childhood memories of sitting in the recliner with him in the evenings, watching Johnny Cash and sucking on the football-shaped little mints his oil went into. They were just the right size and shape to fit on your tongue, the peppermint was sinus-clearing, and if you sucked on them long enough they turned into sharp shards that would cut your tongue, but they were amazing.

After Grandpa died, those mints became a tangible link to him and to my childhood. My mom found an outlet that still sells them, and every Christmas she sends a little bag of them, which I hoard and ration out carefully to make them last as long as possible. They no longer contain Grandpa's oil, of course, but the feel and taste of them in my mouth bring me such happiness. They say taste and scent are powerful triggers of memory, and I know for myself this is true. I made sure each of my grandchildren had one and told them the significance of them, and I gave one to my son's girlfriend as a way of welcoming her to the family. So much meaning imbued into one little candy! 

The latest bag of mints was eaten, carefully shared out if someone had a sore throat or a bad day, like medicine (you really had to earn one!), until only one mint remained. I tenderly set this aside, reluctant to consume it, wanting to draw out the joy as long as possible. But watching what's going on in Eastern Europe right now, knowing that at any moment life as we know it could all come crashing down...well, I decided it would be a shame if the world ended and I hadn't eaten that last remaining mint. There's enough to regret in life without that. So yesterday, with some ceremony, alone in the kitchen, I ate it. 

Seize the day! Soak up every bit of joy life offers you, while you can.

Seedlings

Ordinarily, I would have started my seeds weeks ago, but I've been out of town, and the spring seems to be getting a late start anyway. We had a dusting of snow last night, and the temperature is dropping to a high of 4 later this week.

Nonetheless, yesterday I got my seeds started -- peppers, tomatoes, cabbage, cauliflower, leeks, parsley -- and we'll just have to hope for the best. I doubt the brassicas will do much with this late of a start, but it's worth a try. I also planted the peas and onions (seeds, not sets) outside yesterday. I took the lettuce and spinach I've been growing all winter indoors and stuck it out as well, not because I thought it would survive so much as because I needed the pots. It felt kinder to give them a shot at life instead of dumping them in the composter.

The next thing I need to do is built trellises for the peas and beans, which will provide them support but also provide a bit of light afternoon shade to some of the beds this summer. They are predicting high temperatures this year, and a bit of shade will be welcome.

It felt so wonderful to be out in the garden again, poking at the soil and getting back in touch with myself. I know that sounds weird, but I'm my most authentic self when my hands are in the dirt.

Sword, Pestilence, and Famine

Well, we've had two years of pestilence, swords are being raised in eastern Europe, and next up is famine. It's difficult these days to watch any news broadcast or Youtube video without being told about coming food shortages. The supply chain disruptions have been building for many months. Weather conditions have been harsh, and drought is a real, ongoing thing in many places in North America. And yet I still get the impression that many in the west think that famine is something that can only happen in the Sudan or Ethiopia.

There is one Youtube channel I watch periodically where people write in with updates on the shortages they see in their areas, from around the world. It helps to get a bigger picture of what's happening. I'm always sort of amused, in a dark way, by the ones who write in to say they see only four or five choices of salad dressing in the grocery store, or only a couple of kinds of pasta. They report that stores carry only certain brands and not others. We have become so accustomed to having a multitude of choices that any reduction in choice almost becomes an affront. Any limitation at all becomes a "shortage." We still enjoy vast abundance in the west compared to many people in the world. I fear reality's going to hit us harder than others simply because we're so used to not just quantity but variety on demand.

I'm also finding that many items that people are worried about are items I have never purchased, like "Manwich" (which I gather is come kind of canned sloppy joe mix). I have tried to focus in my life on being a producer more than a consumer, but I suppose eventually I will also feel the pinch at some point. I'll be interested to see what that reveals to me about myself. What expectations do I have that I'm not even aware of? What unknown brand biases might I have? What will I miss most? We shall see.

Am I Just Wimpy?

I mentioned it snowed, right? Actual snow, on the ground. Biting wind. I go out to walk Brio, wearing my hoodie with a jacket over it, hat and gloves, and leg warmers over my sweat pants.

The kid next door is out playing without his shirt on, and his mom is in the back yard wearing a tank top.

Made me feel like a marshmallow.

Kindness

My lovely neighbours Mary and Paul decided that it was too sad to be alone with a can of Spam on Easter, so they delivered a gift bag yesterday with lemon-buttermilk cupcakes, cookies, and a nice book. Isn't that the sweetest thing ever? A lovely gesture that brightened my whole week. A reminder that stockpiling and preparing and being independent are important, but having ties to community is even more so.

It's Easter Sunday. There's a dusting of snow on the ground, the furnace is running nicely, the dog is snoring beside me, church is on Zoom, and I have lemon-buttermilk cupcakes I fully intend to eat for breakfast (along with the homemade yogurt that, I am pleased to announce, appears to have worked). Days don't get much better than this. 

"There is a resurrection, therefore the grave hath no victory, and the sting of death is swallowed up in Christ. He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened..." (Mosiah 16:8-9).

Food Shortages and a Home Inventory

I came up to our old church we're renovating, intending to stay for a week. But some of the tradesmen needed to have us around the following week and my hubby had to get back to the city for something, so he left me here and returned home. He won't be back up to get me until the 25th, so instead of staying for a week, I'm staying unexpectedly for four. While I'm here, I have no car and no access to a grocery store.

I am sure everyone is aware of the food shortages and empty shelves going on right now. This three-week stay will be a test of how well we are prepared. I have enough staples to keep me going, though the fresh fruit and vegetables ran out the first few days. When the frozen veg runs out, I have canned. But I see I am lacking in fruit and some of the frills, such as chocolate... I know, I know, chocolate isn't technically a staple, but it's amazing how one's body begins to crave it as soon as it isn't available! I also see that the low-carb diet is an impossibility right now...

I also see that I should have stocked up on more puzzles and books. There's only so much I can work on stained glass before my hands give out, and there's only so much Netflix one can endure.

I'll be on my own for Easter, but I have Spam I can pretend is ham, and I have instant mashed potatoes (I know, I know, but it's better than nothing). And I have enough eggs to make brownies. I can watch church via Zoom, and yesterday I watched the Tabernacle Choir Easter presentation on Youtube. So all in all, I'm fine for the holiday.

I have frozen milk, but was running out of yogurt, so I took the last half cup of it and tried making a batch of homemade yogurt with it in the crockpot. I'll find out in a few hours if it was successful.

I've started making a list of the things I'm running out of, so that I'll know what to stock up on next time. This has been a good trial run. I would recommend it to anyone -- stop shopping for a month and see where your weaknesses are.

  

Good Friday

Today I slept in until 6:00, read for a while, caught up on the news online, did a puzzle, listened to music, did a batch of laundry, went for an hour and a half-long walk in the sunshine, played ball with the dog at the park, winnowed my dried seed corn (windy days are perfect for this), made homemade yogurt, cooked a chicken, read some more, and ate a chocolate bar. Now it's 4:00 and I'm settling in to write for a while.

This. This is what days are supposed to be like.

Update on the Project for Ukraine

I've made 40 sunflowers now. Proceeds will go to the Red Cross for humanitarian efforts for Ukraine.

Project for Ukraine

The Watford/Warwick Horticultural Society is making and selling crocheted sunflowers and knitted stuffed hearts to raise money for humanitarian efforts for Ukrainians. The flowers can be worn as pins (like poppies) and the hearts can hang from your rearview mirror to show where your heart is. I've volunteered to help with the sunflowers (have made 13 so far).

There's a lot to stress out about right now, and having a small project I can focus on is calming and grounding. I may not be able to solve all problems, but I can deal with this yarn, this hook, right here in front of me.

Continuing from March 3rd

If you'll indulge me, I'm going to add somewhat to my post of March 3. I've continued to read my Book of Mormon each morning, and the storyline continues to parallel what is going on in eastern Europe right now. This morning's reading is pretty uncanny and gave me chills:

Helaman, head over part of the Nephite army, wrote to the chief captain Moroni: "...We do not know the cause that the government does not grant us more strength" and explains the dire situation his army is in, under-provisioned and with an insufficient number of men to hold against the Lamanites. Moroni in his turn wrote to the central government demanding aid:

"...Behold, great has been the slaughter among our people; yea, thousands have fallen by the sword, while it might have otherwise been if ye had rendered unto our armies sufficient strength and succor for them. Yea, great has been your neglect towards us. And now behold, we desire to know the cause of this exceedingly great neglect; yea, we desire to know the cause of your thoughtless state. Can you think to sit upon your thrones in a state of thoughtless stupor, while your enemies are spreading the work of death around you? Yea, while they are murdering thousands of your brethren - Yea, even they who have looked up to you for protection, yea, have placed you in a situation that ye might have succored them, yea, ye might have sent armies unto them, to have strengthened them, and have saved thousands of them from falling by the sword.

"But behold, this is not all - ye have withheld your provisions from them, insomuch that many have fought and bled out their lives because of their great desires which they had for the welfare of this people...And now, my beloved brethren...ye ought to have stirred yourselves more diligently for the welfare and the freedom of this people...Behold, could ye suppose that ye could sit upon your thrones, and because of the exceeding goodness of God ye could do nothing and he would deliver you?...I say unto you, there are many who have fallen by the sword; and behold it is to your condemnation...

"But behold, now the Lamanites are coming upon us, taking possession of our lands, and they are murdering our people with the sword, yea, our women and our children, and also carrying them away captive...and this because of the great wickedness of those who are seeking for power and authority...Is it that ye have neglected us because ye are...surrounded by security...Or do ye suppose that the Lord will still deliver us, while we sit upon our thrones...Yea, will ye sit in idleness...while there are thousands round about in the borders of the land who are falling by the sword, yea, wounded and bleeding? Do ye suppose that God will look upon you as guiltless while ye sit still and behold these things?...Behold, I am Moroni, your chief captain. I seek not for power, but to pull it down."

I don't claim to be politically savvy. I don't know what the right thing is militarily regarding Ukraine. Intervening might escalate the situation and bring about dire consequences for even more people. It might bring a quicker end but a more awful end. But still, it's hard to see what's happening to our fellow human beings (NATO club members or not) and not act. If one's peace is brought about by another's suffering, is it really peace?

Hydroponics gone crazy

My husband has tinkered with hydroponics systems off and on, always indoors. This year he is proposing to rig up a system the length of the garden fence, a series of PVC pipes running back and forth across approximately 40 feet. So maybe 160 feet in total. That would grow a huge amount of food, and I'd have enough to sell or share or donate to the food bank. Because there's only so many greens one can eat. I'm not sure what else I can grow hydroponically in a PVC tube, but I'll research it. The idea of being able to garden standing up (and not having to worry about weeding) appeals to me. It would almost double my space. It would also keep the rabbits out of the greens. 

Mama rabbit is once again setting up shop under the hedge and keeps returning to work on her nest no matter how many times I or the dog shoo her away. She will sit on the other side of the chainlink fence and sneer at us, knowing we can't get at her, and then returns to our yard as soon as we go back inside. I spent yesterday peeking around the corner of the house while she peeked back at me, each judging the timing. Of course, she will win in the end.

Victory Garden 2022

There are faint signs of spring---swelling buds on the maple trees, skeins of geese stretching across the sky, and the distinct smell of skunk when I step out in the morning. Time to think about gardening!

I ordered my seeds ages ago, and somewhere I drew up a map of where to plant what, but I seem to have lost it somewhere. Redrawing this morning. Every year I plant something new, and this year it is bok choy. I have some started on the kitchen counter, and I have to say, it's darling. I have a favourite soup I make with bok choy, celery, green onions, tofu, and coconut milk. 

This year I'm also planning to plant:

• various other greens, spinach, and salad stuff
• peas
• green beans
• two types of cucumbers
• leeks
• onions
• bell peppers
• tomatoes
• kale
• parsley, cilantro, basil
• cauliflower, though it hasn't done well in the past
• broccoli
• beets
• carrots
• celery
• zucchini
• spaghetti squash
• potatoes
• sweet potatoes
• cabbage
• and of course the garlic is already in.

This is in addition to the perennial asparagus, rhubarb, strawberries, and raspberries. I usually plant a lot of dry beans, too, but I have quite a bit in storage already and I could use the space this year. With the cost of food going up, I think I need to focus on giving room to the pricier vegetables.

Here's the dilemma---The garden will need care and attention all summer, but I'm also supposed to be up at the church we're renovating, working on stained glass and keeping that yard maintained. The idea was to eventually move up there fulltime and establish a garden there, but with the yard now slated to become the bed for the new septic system, my gardening space up there is somewhat limited. Decisions, decisions. I think the need to grow fresh food may have to win out this year.

The manuscript is finished

Yesterday I submitted the latest manuscript. There's always this elated feeling, combined with terror, whenever I hit that "send" button. I'm not sure what that's about. "Here's my creation. Don't judge me harshly." "Here's my blood, sweat, and tears. Tell me if I've wasted the last year of my life." "Please read this. I hope it's of value to somebody somewhere." Well, it is what it is, and it's out of my hands now.

I sent my husband for ice cream when it was done. Either I'm trying to reward myself with sugar for having hung in there, or I'm hoping to slip into a diabetic coma and not hear the results...

I gave myself last night off, at any rate, and today I'm combing through my half-finished starts to see what to work on next. Because writers are gluttons for punishment that way. Regardless of editors, insecurities, reviews, sales, or rejection letters, words have to happen.

Getting ready for spring gardening

The hyacinths are starting to nose up through the frozen ground. I've repotted my cherry tomatoes (I'm growing four plants indoors), and I make frequent salads with the greens that live under the growlights on the kitchen counter. I also repotted the oak and hickory trees I'm sprouting just as an experiment. I've got all my garden seeds for the spring, and a sketch of where I'm going to plant everything. I'm planning to build bean and pea trellises to affix to the raised beds on the south, to provide some shade for the other vegetables, as last summer the sun was too intense. I have a supply of straw to mulch under the squash this summer. I just need to buy some new heavy-duty gloves.

Does anyone else find it surreal to be puttering around their homes doing ordinary things, knowing that there are such crises going on in the world? I can't do much about it all, but I can grow food. I can make sure my immediate neighbours are fed. Maybe that will be my contribution. My husband has started referring to it as our Victory Garden.

An echo of the past

This has been a frightening and anxious week, watching what is going on in Ukraine. There's an unreality to it, even while there's an immediate surge of anger and heartache. How, I think, can I possibly go about my day, making dinner and walking the dog and cleaning out my dryer lint trap while the whole world is screaming? The Ukrainians are a strong and faithful people, but how can this possibly end well for them?

Every day as part of my worship, I seek solace by reading a chapter of the Book of Mormon, and today's was so timely! In Alma 43 it describes a war between the Nephites and the Lamanites, and when I got to this part I got a shivering sense of déjà-vu:

 ..."Zerahemnah appointed chief captains over the Lamanites...that he might preserve their hatred towards the Nephites, that he might bring them into subjection to the accomplishment of his designs. For behold, his designs were to stir up the Lamanites to anger against the Nephites; this he did that he might usurp great power over them, and also that he might gain power over the Nephites by bringing them into bondage. 

"And now the design of the Nephites was to support their lands, and their houses, and their wives, and their children, that they might preserve them from the hands of their enemies; and also that they might preserve their rights and privileges, yea, and also their liberty, that they might worship God according to their desires."

It goes on to describe the battle and says that the Lamanites fought "like dragons," and "never had the Lamanites been known to fight with such exceedingly great strength and courage." But "the Nephites were inspired by a better cause, for they were not fighting for monarchy nor power but they were fighting for their homes and their liberties, their wives and their children, and their all..."

The Nephites won.

WH Auden

I recently listened to a video of Michael Sheen reading WH Auden's poem "September 1, 1939," and several lines of it jumped out at me. Here we are, poised on the edge of a similar war, and his words ring as true now as they did then: "We must love one another or die." 

It can be easy, as we listen to the news, to become despondent and anxious, to feel helpless in the face of so many catastrophes. I find lately I'm watching too many Youtube videos on doomsday prepping, and so of course that is all my feed presents to me now. I purposely searched for some cheerful content yesterday to reintroduce some lightness to the line-up Youtube offers me. As Auden says, "habit-forming pain" can feed itself and soon you can't get out from under it. Preparing is one thing; wallowing is another.

Amidst all that is going on, we must remain positive, not in a naive or blind way, but purposefully, to intentionally keep the darkness in the world in balance. It's important work.

I've written lately about how difficult I'm finding it to write "fluff" during these heavy times, but I have to remind myself that sometimes you need the fantasy in order to survive the reality. You need the breath of cool air before diving back into the inferno.

Auden ends his poem thusly: "May I...Beleaguered by the same Negation and despair, Show an affirming flame." Which makes me want to shout for the first time in my life, "Burn, baby, burn!"

Prepping in the time of choler

What with everything blowing up around the world lately, I've been thinking a lot about personal emergency preparedness. I've always been big on food storage and whatnot, and of course growing my own vegetables. I've researched wood stoves and generators, I've got rechargeable lights, a dehydrator, canner, juicer, and vacuum-sealer. I've got a high-volume water filter and, yes, a large supply of toilet paper. I've tested out various kinds of can openers (not happy with any of them -- anyone got a good recommendation?), frozen vegetable seeds for future years, bought extra canning lids, and laid in a lot of hand sanitizer. I've got books on survival and first aid, and I know how to knit socks and weave fabric.

But there's one area I'm woefully unprepared in, and that is the emotional part of emergencies.

I've been watching the protest/coup/blockade/siege/pick-your-noun going on in various places in Canada, and I'm swamped with feelings I can't even accurately identify. I've always been a bit smug about how peaceful and reasonable Canadians are. They're usually unflappable sorts, and when things went bad January 6th in the U.S., I think many of us here in the North sat back with a smirk and said, "That would never happen here."

And yet, a year later, here we are. 

I think it's the disappointment that's the hardest for me to grapple with, more than the fear, anxiety, anger, or impatience. It's the disillusionment. Come on, people, you want to say. This isn't who we are. We're better than this. We have a legal system, a voting system, and the populace has a say in the government and a formal channel for registering disagreement. That's a great advantage we have over many countries in the world. Do we really need this extreme entrenchment, this refusal to hear anyone's voice but our own? Endearing snowball fights aside, I really expected more of Canadians. That dismay is what unbalances me. All the cached toilet paper and freeze-dried beef cubes in the world won't do us any good if we are at each other's throats.

I understand there are real grievances and that everyone is tired and feeling beleaguered. I've gone on protests myself, but only ever to raise awareness or register my unhappiness, not to dig down and refuse to budge until the government was overthrown. When we were marching for the climate or Ugandan child soldiers or the preservation of local rivers, we didn't pull our children out of school and pack along guns. Protesting is one thing; aggression and hate are another. It's a fine line between useful, effective protest and mere temper tantrum. It breaks my heart to see this infiltrating the country I chose and love. I'm left feeling there is no safe place left in the world. How do you prepare yourself psychologically for that?

 

It's come to this...

I have mask envy. I went to physio yesterday, and I saw someone with the most perfect, form-fitting mask. It didn't poke out like the prow of a ship. It didn't fog glasses. It didn't have to be worn in double layers to be effective. It didn't slide down her nose or slide up to poke her in the eye. It was, may I say, flattering. I lay on the table with my doubled-up boring blue surgical masks with the gaps at the sides and the elastics pulling my ears forward and experienced my first-ever wardrobe-related bout of covetousness. Forget your Jimmy Choos and your Armanis. I must find out where she got her mask.

Dr. Seuss was brilliant

When we were children, we all enjoyed the zany stories Dr. Seuss wrote and illustrated. But the older I get, the more profound truth I find in those stories. I look at habitat destruction and economic greed and think of The Lorax. I learn about Communism and have a new appreciation for Yurtle the Turtle. I look at discrimination and inequity and think of Horton Hears a Who. Conflicts between countries and political parties remind me of the north-going Zax and the south-going Zax. Prejudice and prejudgment bring to mind Green Eggs and Ham.

These days, I'm struck by the appropriateness of The Sneetches. What a metaphor for what's going on with the vaccination argument! Whether you're one with a star or not, I hope our story can end equally amiably. With an elbow-bump, maybe, instead of a handshake.

I'm going to go back and reread all of my old Dr. Seuss. And the ones that haven't got modern-day parallels that I can see -- well, give it time. He hasn't been wrong yet.

Greek to Me by Mary Norris, and thoughts about learning foreign languages

I'm currently reading Mary Norris's book Greek to Me, and I was struck by one paragraph in particular this morning:

"The study of any language...opens the mind, gives you a window onto another culture, and reminds you that there is a larger world out there and different ways of saying things, hearing things, seeing things...In learning a foreign language, you have to humble yourself, admit your ignorance, be willing to look stupid..."

It struck me as I read this that it would be a very helpful exercise if all of us learned at least one other language. Maybe that would help heal the divide we see going on between people, that sense of "If you don't agree with my viewpoint, I hate you." We need to recognize that other people have their own views, and they're as valid and important as our own. We need to stop demanding everything conform to our wishes. We need to stop protesting against reality. Maybe, just maybe, language could bring us closer together.

I've studied, to greater or lesser extents, a number of languages over the years. Some of them I can remember enough to sing songs or recite poetry. Some of them I can only read and not speak. Some of them I understand when spoken but can't read. Some of them I can carry on actual conversations in. And there are a host of them I would still like to explore. They have all affected my view of the world by making it seem smaller and more accessible. I can catch a glimpse of how people think because of the way their words and constructs differ from my own. I can glean new meanings to things I thought I understood. I can grasp new metaphors and idioms that enrich and enlighten the way I see ordinary stuff around me. And hopefully I can understand better people who are not from my culture or world view. (Though I have to say, some of the languages I've studied haven't been overly useful. You don't tend to run into Mayan or Bislama speakers walking down the streets of Toronto.)

Just as small examples of things that delight me: The Greek word for spring (the season) means "to open or uncork." The Hebrew name of God, Elohim, is plural. Glasgow means "blue fields" but they didn't differentiate between blue and green, so really it meant "green fields." (Not the description I'd give Glasgow today.) The Daffodil may have come from "Asphodel," the flower of Hades. The German word "der Kummerspeck" literally means "sorrow bacon" and refers to the weight you gain from comfort eating. The reason the Nova car didn't do well in Italy is probably because in Italian its name means "doesn't go." Similarly, the Citroen is a lemon in America. Tee hee. That just tickles me. If nothing else, language has made my brain a playground, so that I'm never bored.

Well, you can see I'm easily entertained!

High on my list of languages to study next are Maltese and Ojibwe. I want to dust off my Italian and French and learn more in-depth ASL. I think Icelandic would be fun. I've been absorbing Korean from the Netflix dramas I've been binge-watching. But if I wanted to learn something really useful, I should focus on Cantonese or Arabic, as that is most prevalent in this area. 

So much to learn! So many worlds and people to meet! So little time! What languages have you learned, dear readers, and how have they impacted your life? What do you want to learn next?

50,000 words and counting

The new manuscript is flowing along better now, and I'm more than halfway there. I'm trying not to get hung up on detail and perfection and just getting it all down first. The clean-up can happen later.

There is something magical about sitting in a warm room, nothing expected of me but to write, my dog lying on my feet, with the sun glinting off the snow outside my window. The sky is a perfect cloudless blue. That's because it's cold enough to freeze your eyeballs out there. But lovely to look at from indoors!

Tonight's dinner will be a quick tomato-cucumber sandwich, nothing that will take too much time. I'm on a roll, and I can't break the momentum.