Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

There's no snow but the trees are bare. The temperature is in the single digits (C) but not to the freezing point. The squirrels scamper through the yard with their cheeks bulging but the call of the Canadian Geese are silenced, they have packed up and headed south. The colours are washed out, like a favorite pair of jeans that you hang on to even though they are thin and ragged. Winter's coming, he's just dawdling. It's not like Winter to be so sneaky. I suppose he's having way too much fun in other parts of the country to make his way here yet.

The Naked Pumpkin

As it happens, we had some people show up the other day. They knew about us through friends and had contacted us by phone. Well, actually they left a message which I was meaning to return as soon as possible...and the weeks passed.

They were driving by and saw me in the butterfly garden and stopped in for a visit. Which was great, it's always nice to meet like-minded people. They are interested in raising meat rabbits and wanted to see my set up. I certainly don't raise rabbits in a conventional way but who knows, may-be they could pick up a useful tidbit or two of useful information.

The conversation meandered and jumped as it often does when people are just getting to know each other. When we were talking about gardens, they mentioned they had planted naked pumpkins. That was curious, so I asked what was a naked pumpkin. And the answer fascinated me; naked pumpkins don't have hulls around the seeds, they just have seeds.

In the summer, I give the dogs ground up organic raw pumpkin seeds to keep worms away. I cannot use the pumpkin seeds I have because it is such a pain to husk them. In fact, I find it impossible. The only recommended way I have ever found suggest to whirl the seeds around in a food processor then add water so the broken husks float to the top and the broken seeds sink to the bottom. I was planning to try that this Autumn. But if I can just grow pumpkins that don't have to be husked, well that's the way to go.

So when these kind people explained the naked pumpkin to me, I sort of gushed and was amazed and said I just had to get me some. A few days later, that kind lady showed up again bearing gifts: a few Scarlet running beans with a bit of thyme growing with them and a naked pumpkin. All, she said, were extras that she wouldn't be using anyway. It turns out that I had a few things that she would like to try. Some comfrey, lambs ear, lemon balm, catnip and apple mint that all could comfortably give up a clump or two. I like trading plants back an forth, it's comfortable and it's interesting. The plants grow and so does the spirit of co-operation.

So now I have a naked pumpkin. I hope it grows well and has lots of pumpkins. I am not going to rush summer, it can stay as long as it wants; but I kinda can't wait for Autumn now. I should really bite my tongue for saying that.

So Where's Winnie the Pooh?

I know living a rural life has its surprises but this getting ridiculous. This morning as I was walking through the dining room, I casually looked out the glass doors and stopped dead in my tracks. There's a dog, a boxer, in my yard. Unfortunately, loose dogs in my yard are a common enough occurance here and that is not what has me gazing outside with my mouth open. Following closely behind the dog is a pig. A little pink pig. Well, there goes the neighbourhood. As soon as I go outside, the dog takes off, the pig decides to hang around for a while.

This little pig is checking out the chicken coop. He tried for a while to get into the chicken area and has decided may-be he can get into the coop. My teenage daughter, absolutely charmed by this little piglet, promptly christened him Herbert and declared she wanted him. Fat chance, kid. You have two dogs, one cat, rabbits and chickens, all of which you ignore ninety-five per cent of the time. Forget the pig.

OK, well he's finished investigating the chicken coop so he's decided to mosey over and investigate me. I back up a wee bit. He's a charming little guy but I have a thing about personal space when it comes to pigs, even little piglet ones who should be romping around the 100 acre woods with a stuffed bear.

So now Piglet is heading home. Good-bye little pig, don't come back because you are awfully cute and sweet and may-be the idea of keeping you would be too hard to resist.

Seed Catalogue

I have a few new books to read, just fiction (and pretty much run-of-the-mill fiction at that). Some I picked up at second hand stores and some I received as Christmas Gifts. (I do not buy new books yet I am thrilled when someone gives me one as a gift.) There's one by John Grisham, a collection of short stories, that I can't wait to delve into. So there's a small pile of books, 4 or 5, glaring at me to get it together and start reading them. When I think about it, books really don't have the 'glaring' thing going for them, they are described better as "waiting patiently" or even "sadly discarded". But I guess after a while they lose all patience and just glare.

But as much as I'd like to get to reading them, there is one volume that I will get to first. It is a thin, limp thing, cheaply made as possible and distributed as fast and as carelessly as possible. None-the-less, it is the one I will enjoy the most because not only will it spark my imagination and take me to great places; it will get me planning for the next SPRING! My first seed catalogue has arrived. WHEEEEE!

After the Christmas rush dissipates leaving great memories (and teeny, weeny little pine needles lurking in the most unlikely places) the inevitable dullness follows. Then the catalogue arrives in the mail, it's cover a-bloom with colour and hope. It's time to think of SPRING!, which means it must be coming. I mean, I know SPRING! is not just around the corner by any stretch of the imagination but the seed catalogue tells me SPRING! is in my future. (unless, of course, I'm not in SPRINGS!' future but that is beyond a mere catalogue's clairvoyant abilities).

I love seed catalogues. I'll brew a cup of apple cinnamon tea and sit on the couch looking, exploring and planning. I'll decide if I want to try celery from seed and which kind. I'll look for new herbs to try and see if I can add a new type to an old tried-and-true standby. I'll look at the gimmicks and accessories and see if anything there looks like it could be half-way useful. I'll even make a list of ideas, thoughts and plans for the SPRING! Then I'll put the catalogue away and not buy a thing. But no matter, the catalogue has done its job, it has produced something no amount of money could buy; a vacation from the cold, the snow, the dull. And that's all I need to get revved up again. Just don't tell the seed companies, they might stop sending me their catalogues, or ~gasp~ try to find a way to charge for their dream inspirations. I can see it now, "This catalogue will not open unless you pay X amount of dollars as an Inspiration Tax, just add it to the gst, hst, pst and any other st we can think of, an oh, by the way, have a nice day."

A Bread Lifestyle?

A friend popped by for a visit the other day. As she entered the big kitchen, she sniffed appreciatively and asked what I was baking. I said bread. That's when things got interesting.
`

"Oh, that makes sense, goes with your lifestyle." She said, kind of offhandedly if not downright dismissively. Made me want to look down to make sure I had shoes on and no bun in MY oven. It also kind of confused me, any real bread maker or homesteader would cringe at the way I 'make' bread. I'd be scorned, I'm sure.

Way back when bread machines were new, we bought one. At the time, we were living in a very congested, urban suburb of Vancouver. Not quite the homesteading/farm/back-to-the-land Lifestyle but any stretch of the imagination. But my mom (Eileen) made bread when I was a kid and I loved the smell and taste of homemade bread.The yearning a comforting memory carries was not the only motivation, of course. The taste of warm fresh bread certainly had something to do with it. But mostly we were thinking that making our own would be more nutritious and cheaper. It turned out the bread machine was great. Dump in the ingredients, hit start and that was that. House smelled great and the bread tasted greater. We saved money, knew exactly what was in our bread, and man, did it make the house smell wonderbar!

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After 11 years or so the bread machine gave up the ghost. It had a lot of issues by that time, some age-related and some not. I think me banging on the pan sides with a knife to loosen a stubborn loaf probably had something to do with it. At any rate we decided to get a new one 'free' with airmiles (yeah, I know just another sales gimmick but there's so many of them, it's hard to resist them all).

It turns out bread machines had changed a lot in a decade. Special flour, special yeast, special this, special that, all designed to work with bread machines specifically. And all costing way more than the regular stuff. I've got to admit, one of my pet peeves is this whole 'specialized item market' that has emerged. I figured I always used the regular stuff and my bread was fine. So that's what I did. And the results were awful. Ew. They were very nice oversized hockey pucks though, but I didn't have much of a use for them. The price of the 'bread machine' stuff was so high that it really deterred me from buying it. Besides, I could go to the bakery and pay about the same as making it and the whole point of making bread in the first place was to save money.

So the spanking new bread machine reposed on my kitchen counter, all shiny and metallic. It's LED display and little tiny computer innards wasting away. It was probably gloating, "Ha, Ha, you got me 'free' but I'm too expensive to use, Ha, Ha, Ha, SUCKER!" Then I had a brain storm. I'd mix up the dough and let the machine do the kneading. I can't really knead well on account of my shoulder. I fell off a ladder in the chicken coop last winter and my shoulder has never forgiven me. So now I mix up the dough using a free standing mixer, throw it in the bread machine to knead, let it rise and toss it in the oven. Any 'real' bread maker would be appalled. I'm sure I have ancestors who made bread ~properly~ now spinning in their graves.

So the way I make bread has nothing to do with the homestead or farm or back-to-the-land or whatever the lifestyle term is for what I'm doing. I simply had a perfectly good machine squatting in my kitchen and it was driving me nuts. Hhmm, may-be that is a lifestyle, one that has nothing to do with where one lives.

Nice November

It's been the nicest November that I can remember. This time last year we had already had our first snow storm. Unlike the typical greyness of brooding clouds and cool morning fog, the month showed off its golden side. The usually shy sun has played with Natures' colour palette and has found the gold shades ranging from light tan of cut wheat to the darkest browns of the discarded leaves.

It's been mild for November, while the frost decorates the land most mornings with a chilling reminder of what is to come, the days warm in the weakening sun. Sometimes it even hits the double digits. I've rarely had to keep the wood furnace running all day. Usually I get it going in the morning and let it burn out by mid day. I'll start it again as the sun sets and the damp settles in.

I've been able to continue to do outdoor work and get to know November a little bit better. I always thought that November was bitter and mean, uncaring. Now I know it's more thoughtful than that and actually can be reflective. It has a prettiness that's easy to miss when I rush from its usual wind-pelted rains that keeps me indoors as much as possible. I like this warm side of November, it's a nice change.

A Frosty Flight of Fancy

Around this time of year, I start waiting for the first frost. I know it's coming, it's just a matter of time. Almost everything in my garden can tolerate one light frost but once that happens, whatever's left out in garden, usually tomatoes, zucchini and pumpkins need to come in or I'll lose them. Carrots tolerate frost pretty well so they'll come in last. I've been known to pick carrots right into November. As long as they're in before the first snow.

I begin listening for frost warnings on the radio and watch Autumns' touch in my garden; her tattle-tale signs are everywhere. The most delicate plants have edges bleached musty white as the nights become too cold for them. The green fronds of the carrots burnish orange embers at their tips. I know Autumn is whispering, I hear her voice on the winds as Autumn tells them of their new purpose. Winds move through the branches, coldly shaking weak and fragile leaves from the trees. Things pale in the winds' cooling breath. The sky is pale, the sun is pale, the grass loses its green vibrancy. The colour has faded. But before Autumn splatters all hues of red, yellow, orange and brown on the earth, the colour needs to drain even more.

Autumn will walk at night, looking and selecting what will be colored and when. She'll dress the landscape as she dresses herself; in all tones of yellow, orange and brown. She'll lean over the ground, her long, red hair flowing down. With a slender white hand she touches the earth and a shiver runs over the ground. She's brought the frost. And a warning, "Get ready. Prepare what you need to stay warm, fed and safe. My father Winter is coming and he is not a gentle nor fair man." Autumn helps us become strong because Winter will take the weak
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In the morning, the shiver Autumn brought crunches under my feet as I walk on the stiff grass. The first hard frost is here. As the sun touches the earth and the trees' shadows move away slowly through the day, the frost will vanish. But the results will remain. Whitened pumpkin leaves and black tomato plants protect their fruit for the last time. The last of the crop needs to come in and the garden will be put to bed. The season will end with a blanket of snow.

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Thanks for the warning, Autumn. Thanks for giving me just a little more time to finish the harvest. While your touch is cold, your colours are warm. Now I wait for them, delighting in their vibrancy and the crispness. Stay as long as you want, don't hurry away. I'm in no rush to see your father again.
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Frost vanishing from my garden in the sun's early light.

Even the roof of the chicken coop gets a touch of frost at its edges.

Heavy Rain

What a difference a deluge makes. The river by the end of the summer is a weary, nonchalant thing. It meanders, it pokes along, doesn't seem to take an interest in anything. Birds come and fish, tourists take pictures, fish jump and the water continues to trickle over dam much like a leaky faucet. It's uninterested and, for the most part, it's uninteresting. The dam stands solidly, dark and bored.

Then we get a heavy rain, usually it's the remnants of some post hurricane or tropical storm. That perks the dam up. All of a sudden, it's got more water than it can handle. I can hear the water thunder over it in a continuous and rhythmic drone. Under the dull roar and splashes, the rhythmic drone sounds like heartbeat. And all the dam was made to do, hold the water back, is pushed to its limit. While the water will not be held back, the dam stand firm. The river expands and a new edge is made. The pristine clear water, tinted only by the sky's reflection turns a frothy red as the river bed churns.

After two or three days, the water is spent and the creek goes back to its placid self. The dam lets a trickle of water over its edge. It has done its job, the houses and the road nearby were safe from flood water.

Before And After Hurricane Danny.

Deceptively Frozen

Everything is frozen solid, or so it seems. The Dam looks like nothing but ice. But in the still of the morning, when the grey sky is just tinged with orange and red, I can hear the water flowing under the thick frozen skin of the river.

Everything is chilled to the bone, or is it? I found one of Ceilidh's kits out of the nest box, not moving, cold and stiff. I brought him in and wrapped him in a towel. Placing him in front of the heater, I hoped for the best and prepared for the worse. Ten minutes later, the towel is moving slightly and soon enough, a little furry head peeked out. Didn't even have frostbite on his ears.

Every thing has been frozen lifeless or perhaps not. Our house, still and frosted on the outside looks frozen in time. Yet inside, it is warm, full of life and movement.

Beautiful and amazing inner warmth; where would we be without it?

Memories of a Winter Storm

We got our first winter blast this week. Cold, windy, snowy and a pain to drive in. (Gotta get those winter tires on). Anyhow, it reminded me of our first winter storm here. We had been in PEI less than a month and still living in town while when the snowstorm hit. It has gone down in local history as "White Juan", referring to the Hurricane that had hit in the summer before we moved here.Here's the account I wrote to my parents (Colin & Eileen).

A couple of days before the storm hit, we had been told about it on the news. My whole attitude was, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Rather blasé, I admit; but having heard these reports before in BC about windstorms and nothing come of them, I’m prone to be skeptical. In spite of my non-believing stance, Wednesday night we did go out and do a grocery shopping and the laundry, just “in case”. P and T, barely 11, were pretty excited about the prospect of a big snowstorm. I told them not to get their hopes up.

At midnight, I went out for a walk with Dusk (one of the advantages of owning a BIG dog most people mistake for a pit bull, you can pretty much go where you want, when you want). The night was clear and mild. So many stars in the most interesting patterns decorated the sky. The waning moon was the barest of smiles. “Hah!” I thought, “Blizzard my left foot.” (edited for language).

By the next morning, I sort of change my mind. The wind is high and the snow's coming down sideways. “Well, it’s not that bad, I’ve seen worse.” Think I, proving once again that no matter how delusional my thoughts may be, I really stick to my guns. At 9:00, I take Dusk out for a walk. He is overjoyed. He pretty much figures this was all done for him and has a grand time. He loves to stick his face in the snow and then toss his head back, making the snow fly. When he lifts his head up, his face is completely white with two large black eye holes and two small black nose holes. He looks like the world’s stupidest KKK member (well, except for the nose holes I guess, but you have to admit, there is no such thing as a smart klucker). It's very windy and I notice when Dusk jumps into the air, he tends to stay up there longer than he should. I this point, I decide to head back in, knowing there’s a big difference between walking the dog and flying the dog. Besides, it was getting hard to see with all that blowing snow.

Inside, the kids all warm and toasty of course, are totally impressed by the magnificence of this storm. They look out the window, “oohing” and “aahhing”. “Oh, look, there goes our compost and garbage cans. They’re empty now.” “Look, there’s a mountain forming in our backyard, WOW!” Kids…so full of wonder and too young to shovel snow.

By 10:00, the only thing I can see is the tree in the front yard, it’s about 15 feet from the door. The wind is making the inside walls creak. At noon, I step outside and ask Dusk if he’d like to come. Dusk goes to the door and throws me a look that says, “Yeah right, you stupid human, keep dreaming, you’re good at that.” I try to encourage him and discover that dogs can go quite fast in reverse. I had never seen a dog run backwards before. The wind outside sounds like a subway station when a train is approaching. I was out for less than five minutes and I was caked in snow and pretty much frozen solid. Taking off my coat inside, I discover the wind blew a couple of buckets of snow up my shirt, well that accounts my frozen state. The kids have lost their amazement with the storm. They’re rather upset with me because they have home school while everyone else in the province doesn’t have to go to school.

Noon, I finally decide the weatherman is right and we have ourselves a bonafide winter blizzard on our hands. I start watching the weather station and find out Nova Scotia has declared a state of emergency – the wimps. From what I see, it’s a lot worse in PEI than NS; they look positively Hawaiian compared to us. The wind has us convinced there is someone walking upstairs in the house. Don goes to the washroom and notices the water in the toilet bowl has ripples. Remember that scene in the first Jurassic Park movie when the T-Rex approaches and the water in the drinking glass ripples? That’s just about what’s happening in my toilet. I can no longer see the tree in my front yard. But I did see a little of my neighbour’s garage siding flit by like a deranged bird with no navigational skills. P looks out the window, figuring pretty soon he will see polar bears…

3:00, the subway train has moved inside, it sounds like it’s upstairs. The cable and Internet are gone. I am so thankful we have power. 3:10 the power goes off. Oh well. I decide to take a nap – it’ll be better when I wake up. Note: Please refer to the above remark about my delusional tendencies.

By 5:00, the candles are lit and the sleeping bags pulled out. No one is wearing less than four layers of clothing. We discuss the options for supper, peanut butter sandwiches or peanut butter with BANANA sandwiches. Or may-be we’ll shoot ourselves a polar bear and have raw bear meat. T brightly suggests we go to a restaurant (well, at least she gets her delusional quirks honestly). We hear on the battery radio that the Confederation Bridge is closed and a state of emergency has been declared for PEI. “Well,” I think, “it’s about time!” (Notice the complete absence of bravado and smirkyness, making way for a smidgeon of commonsense). Now the subway train is going around in circles upstairs with increasing speed, I’m pretty sure it’ll be heading downstairs in no time at all. The kids are NOT sleeping upstairs and the dog WON’T go outside to pee. Yup, pretty much a state of emergency as far as I’m concerned. Can’t see outside, period. The windows are caked with snow.

At 8:00, we start getting ready for bed. We’ve been listening to the news and since we already know how horrible it is, it’s not really “news” to us. They say don’t expect power until late morning or early afternoon when the storm passes – well, DUH. Before going to bed, I decide to take Dusk outside. I haul him outside (and I do mean haul) and immediately get slammed against the railing by the wind. The dog panics and takes off. I start yelling for him. The end of the 15-foot leash tightens and suddenly goes limp. My heart stops. What if he broke the leash? How am I going to find him? Clinging to the railing, casting my flashlight over the night white, I yell his name. I decide to let go of the railing and search for my stup…uh…beloved pet then there he is! My beautiful brindle dog is completely white all over, snow inside his ears, up his nose and possibly … well, you get the picture. I start screaming, “Dusk, go PEE, go PEE, Dusk! He looks at me stupidly, “You’re kidding, right? It’ll probably freeze before it hits the ground.” I re- iterate, “Go PEE!! For the love of GOD, GO PEE YOU DUMB MUTT!” Finally, he takes the stance and proceeds to have the longest whiz ever recorded in dog history. This one is going to make the Guinness World Book of Records. My frantic cries of “Go PEE!” change to “OK, done? OK, you’re done, let’s go. Come on, let’s go, you can’t possibly still be peeing! OK, done?” Finally he’s done and I try to get up the stairs. No dice, I can’t get footing and the wind is blowing the wrong way. I get the dog in front of me and he pulls me in. Dusk is totally ticked at me, won’t talk to me, won’t look at me and has decided NEVER to go pee again. P and T snuggle down with me in bed. Don won’t sleep with two small, wiggling, kicking children and decides to sleep in the living room with the dog. Some guys get all the breaks. Just as we are all settled in, the power comes back on! I don’t know how, but the power company managed to hire a bunch of angels. We pretty much figure it will go out again but it doesn’t. As we sleep, the wind rattles and blows, not only talking the talk but walking the walk. Snow taps evil Morse code against the windows.

Next morning, we can see outside, kind of wish we couldn’t. Surprisingly, the stairs and front walk are free of snow; the road right in front of us is bare black top. Unfortunately, the bare road is book ended by two walls of snow. Yes, I know they are called drifts but when they’re over 8 feet, they’re walls. The front yard is covered in garbage and compost. Countless white plastic bags decorate the trees in the backyard. SIGH. The drift in the back yard reaches over the edge of our neighbour’s roof. The wind is still high and the blizzard warning is still in effect.

We all go outside. The kids think it is wonderful. The dog thinks it’s wonderful. He even goes pee in the fresh snow. The drifts are so hard packed that P and T scale them without sinking. Whee!! Down drifts they go, happy and carefree. Kids, old enough to slide on their butts and still too young to shovel snow. Don and I, snow shovels in hand, are anything but “carefree”. The drive way looks insurmountable.

But it’s over and we have about 24 hours before the storm from Ontario hits us. That should be enough time to teach the kids how to shovel and the dog how to use the toilet!

Originally written by Marnie, Feb.20, 2004

A Good Soaking

Generally speaking, it's been a long, dry summer so far. No gentle rains to wash the grit and grime away from the tired looking clover by the road. Without rain, everything outside tends to take on a brown sheen as the wind coats whatever it touches with a fine red dust found only on PEI. The humidity adds Nature's own cement and keeps the wind's painting job nicely stuck to objects. It looks like everything is sweating brown jewels. While the humidity is high, the ground is dry. The plants listlessly sit in the garden remembering damper days. Even my scarecrow looks thirsty.

Well that all changed yesterday. The remnants of some tropical storm edged by and generously dumped a load of liquid refreshment all over us. All afternoon the wind was restless. It alternated between obsessively chasing itself over the fields and through trees then disappearing completely letting the blazing sun broil the earth. I worked in the vegetable garden, pulling weeds, and progressively getting soggier as sweat tried to make up for the lack of rain. Where The Three Sisters are growing I carefully wove the sweet peas around the cornstalks hoping the gentle reminder would encourage them to latch on to the stalks and not each other. The clouds began to make a major appearance, throwing increasing grey patches of shadow to the ground; they ran through my garden and down the road. I scanned the sky for signs of rain. This has happened before; the sky would get all moody and touchy, have a fine old sulk, shed a couple fat drops,then get all sunny and happy again. Basically, a menopausal sky. I top dressed the three sisters with a combo of rabbit manure and compost. Hot and tired, I figured I'd wait till that night to water it in if it didn't rain.

Around five, the sky started grumbling. Rolling complaints and flashes of temper off to the west or southwest, may-be. I think. I am extremely directionally challenged and that's my best guess. If you are giving me driving directions, don't say "south" or "west", it's got to be "right" or "left" or I am going to get lost. Anyhow, the weather was off to my right when I was facing the house from the garden. As I watched the movement of the dark clouds, I sighed because it looked like it was going to pass us by. That's a funny thing about this island. You can watch the rain pour in the distance yet never get a drop yourself.

I had to go pick up my daughter from work. As I drove away, I left the dark brooding clouds behind and entered the sunny zone. Sigh. I so prefer rain to watering. Watering does the job and all, but it's a pain and call me crazy but the plants seem to prefer their water from the sky, not a hose. While waiting for my daughter, I called home and was told there were buckets of rain coming down. I drove right into the downpour going back home. Lightening flashed, thunder followed grumbling about the lightening showing off. Daughter ran inside squeaking only the way middle teens can - kind of a cross between a startled mouse and stepping on a cat's tail. I stood outside and enjoyed. It was cool, it was refreshing and I didn't have to fiddle with the hot/cold knobs to get the temperature just right. The garden shivered and trembled with joy. I swear if the corn could, they would have reached down with their long slender leaves, picked up their roots and danced. Welcome rain, soak in the ground and stay a while.

Emu Egg

I was given this empty emu egg from a couple down the road. They raise all sorts of fancy birds. I've never seen an emu egg. In fact, before this summer, I've never seen an emu up close and personal, let alone pet one.

I think the egg is pretty amazing. That's its natural color. You can't see in the picture, but on one end of the egg has an intricate swirling design on it. Apparently all the eggs have it and every pattern is unique, like a fingerprint. The emu egg is incredibly strong. The couple says an emu does not lie down to lay the egg, it just falls to the ground, from a height of about 2 feet at least. The eggs don't generally crack or break. They are edible, and one goes a long way, basically a one egg omelet. The egg beside it is your average large chicken egg found in any egg carton. I put it in for size comparison.