Based on research, I’ve attempted to collect content from a variety of sources and write narratives that will invigorate family interest and help make connections the world over.
My children, parents and, now, my grandson are treasured people in my life. In these posts my readers will learn more about them.
A blessing that has come to me during these strange times is a weekly check-in with my siblings and Dad on Sunday, after I attend my ‘virtual’ Mass with Bishop McGratton. 10:00 am Comox Time, 11:00 Calgary Time, 1:00 Ottawa Time. These conversations are always so pleasant and I feel so grateful. While these are not ‘real time’ connections, they are more than we’ve chosen to do over the past many years, through our years of separation from one another.
I love my family. I miss them terribly. But, we are making the best of things. I hope that my readers will make sure to connect with family as much as is possible through these strange times. Happy Sunday!
I never get tired of remembering the birth of my sister. As a little girl there are only certain details that are real, so a woman, once older, has to sift out the details that would belong to others.
My memory is of the air. It was an April evening. There were shear curtains hanging on my window. The bed lined up along that wall, I turned to face the window. There was still a soft light. I already had three brothers.
I said (spoken or in my head…I don’t remember) “Dear God, if you are giving me a sister, please move the curtain.” The window was closed. I remember being hot. The blankets were tucked around my neck. I fell asleep, looking at those curtains, waiting for them to move and believing that God could do it. Already, I believed in miracles.
I fell asleep.
In the morning, my next recollection was my father touching my shoulder. “Kathy. Kathy. You have a sister.”
The next recollection was of her home coming. I remember the front hallway and a beautiful bassinet where my mother placed her so tenderly. Most wonderful, I remember my mother looking so absolutely beautiful. I remember embracing her.
In 2013, these photographs finally surfaced in a packet of undeveloped negatives. These would be photographs of Valerie, taken in the hospital. In those days, a baby couldn’t go home with a mama until after the mother had demonstrated that she could bathe the baby. It’s amazing to think that these photographs were snapped by someone in the hospital, using colour film, 53 years ago.
Next, one of my favourite photo memories, this time, in black and white film.
Next, one of my favourite family reunion photographs…simply because Val and I are together with our Mom and Dad. Little do people know when snapping a photo or two, just what that image might mean, years down the road. I’m likely more attached to these memories than most….I’m pretty caught up in nostalgia. In these days of isolation and separation from family, these become more important.
And finally…just snapped yesterday…a photo from the very current on-line communication format…my sister, Val, with her beautiful daughter, Eliane. They are both angels.
I love you, Val and Happy Birthday! You’ve always been such an efficient and hard working woman. You have had remarkable strength. You have accomplished so much and raised two amazing children. We’ve spent more years apart then years together, but I want you to know that I could not have been more blessed than having you come into my life on that April night. Mom would be so proud. She, is loving you into your life, still.
One day, when all of this is over, I really really want to go on a road trip with you. I want to go to one amazing concert with you. I want to hang with you again. I love you. And for now, remember, Love Can Build a Bridge.
While speaking with my sister, this morning, she reminded me that today, January 15, is the anniversary of the day our brother, John, went into hospital. It was from this date, onward, that our family was sucked into the vortex of the medical system and diagnostic testing. As it would turn out, our brother would celebrate his last birthday in Peter Lougheed Hospital.
I begin this particular post, writing about my brother, because I’m thinking about comfort food and what happens when people gather with foods that are familiar and rooted in memory. These foods will often vary depending on cultural context…sometimes an affordability context…regardless, if my readers look back into their journeys, they will find foods that mark various moments along their journeys. Stories and narratives will endlessly surface of childhood and Mom or Grandma or Great Gramma’s cooking.
For example, if I type the words, FRIED BOLOGNA (Baloney) SANDWICH…what memories are evoked?
We brought foods to hospital and those we love, also fed us. My brother enjoyed jello and Cozy Shack rice pudding during those end days. He also enjoyed fresh ju-jubes for the duration of his hospital stay. My sister-in-law sent loaves. John shared birthday cake. Spaghetti was brought from home. Things we create in the kitchen, we have control over (usually). Sharing food creates a feeling of joy, constancy and being rooted. I am grateful for how food brought some pleasure to my brother in his last months. Now, the remainder of this blog post will explore one particular recipe that comes from my memory banks and my Acadian family’s tradition.
Our little Airforce family found itself in Quebec and New Brunswick for two of its postings. These postings gave some proximity to my Great Grandparents, Mamie (Sugar Arsenault) and Papie (Gabriel Gallant) and my great uncles and aunties.
My Grandmother, in back and my mother, directly in front of her. Jimmy Fardy, my Mom’s cousin is directly to her right.
My Mamie, with my mother in her arms.
Mamie and Papie.
I knew when I went to Prince Edward Island that I was among some of the dearest people who were in my mother’s life. I knew, also, that when we traveled there, my mother was home.
Memories of that little Summerside house on Front Street are connected with wood stoves, home made rolled cigarettes, potatoes grated and cooked up into pancakes, horse drawn milk delivery wagons, coal chutes, seaside smells carried on the wind, bingo chips, coffee, bottles on the kitchen table, loud laughter and kitchen gatherings.
Shortly after the session, I sent my Mom’s youngest sister an e mail. “I was telling Dad about a cookbook that was mentioned at a Library program I attended last night. It’s called Feast: An Edible Roadtrip. I asked the speaker if the recipe for “Rapeur” (don’t know the spelling) was in it. One Acadian lady sitting next to me said it was called Rappi Pie hmmm…Dad told me that you make Mamie’s recipe and I was hoping you might send it to me. I know it’s a big job to make and that it needs a special touch to turn out right, but I would like to share it with my daughters. If you would be so kind…I’d really appreciate it. Kath”
I sent that note in 2015 and received an expedient reply that included these steps. I quickly learned that the spelling of the recipe was Rapure and that its translation is coming from the word grate in french.
[cheese, carrots]râper
to grate some cheeserâper du fromage
This recipe was followed by one through the post…thank you, Auntie Pat.
Some time during the Christmas break, I decided to invite a small circle of friends to the house to share some Clam Chowder, also made in my mother’s east coast tradition. Clam Chowder also varies depending on where you grew up in eastern Canada.
With the invitation to my friends, came an opportunity to try making my very first Rapure, without any of my matriarchs present for help. My friend, Hollee, was visiting from Vancouver in order to attend her Auntie’s 100th birthday, so she became my cheerleader as I endeavored to bring my east coast traditions in comfort food, to life. I remember, well, this dish being prepared by my Great Grandmother, my Grandmother and my Mom. It is important to me that I share this, along the journey, with my children. One thing I decided, after looking over the recipes and speaking with Hollee, I was going to borrow my daughter’s food processor!!
The Rapure brought back particular aromas in the little PEI kitchen of my memory, pork and onion fried up on the wood stove, along with a scoop of lard. This dish, along with my mother’s Meat Pies, was very much a symbol of home for me.
Nervous, the night before, I spent a lot of time seeking out Youtube videos, learning for the most part, that the Acadians from Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, were using chicken stock and chicken in recipes that they called Rappie Pie.
On the Arsenault Facebook group, I put out an all-call for recipes and these are some from the Rappie Pie tradition.
These were the posters’ connections with their recipes.
Judy Arsenault I recently made a Rapure from the cookbook Abram-Village Handcraft Co-Op Recipes (which I purchased from the Bottle House (PEI) that my cousin use to own) and it didn’t turn out. Has anyone used this recipe from this cookbook? How did it turn out for you
Thelma Arsenault Hack I have varying results with rapure, regardless of the recipe. Choice of potatoes makes a difference – I don’t think ‘baking potatoes’ work as well. And whether the grated potatoes are rinsed and dried well makes a difference. It’s a lot of work and very frustrating when the results are not good. I’ll be interested in what others comment. Good luck to you.
Jim N Wendy Spain This recipe was made by my great grandmother Catherine (Lefave) Doucette, from Nova Scotia. I recently typed it as shown, for a family reunion. 🙂
With great courage, Hollee and I peeled 10 lbs of potatoes and I chopped up the pork roast into 1 cm cubes, setting aside the pork fat to coat the roaster surface, keeping all chilled and prepared for the morning’s culinary adventure and the visit with my friends. I decided to stick closely to my Auntie’s recipe.
At 7:00 am…I began my processing of the potatoes and put my pork to browning.
I’m going to log my notes here, for future reference. I had my daughter’s food processor set for grating and tried both the medium grate and the fine grate. In future, I would use the fine grate setting. Whoosh…out spewed the gratings of ten pounds of potatoes. The kitchen smelled yummy and CBC radio was turned up, as the pork, onion, salt and pepper were bubbling in the 350 oven. (use the roasting pan for this)
Once the potatoes were done, I quickly covered them with wrap so that oxidization wouldn’t happen. (green bowl) I cut up my cheese cloth and began the process of removing starch from the potatoes. (I will use my red bowl for this next time.) I transferred my shrunken potatoes into my large soup pot. Once finished the cheese cloth step, I added the yummy pork and onion to the big soup pot and mixed and mixed and mixed some more.
This is the step where I decided that in future I would use the fine grate. I remembered my Great Grandmother’s Rapure being smoother in texture, but being coated with crunch. This is what my kitchen looked like, right before beginning my Clam Chowder.
From the mixing stage, I pressed the mixture into my roasting pan…nicely greased with some cubes of pork fat (not all), and pulled from the oven. (don’t burn your hands, here) I roasted the Rapure at 275 for an hour and turned it up for three hours at 350. Next time, two hours at 350 for me!
Thank goodness, Wendy brought a salad as it made the appearance of the square of Rapure look more appetizing, on the plate. I began apologizing before we even sat down because I knew already that the topping was TOO crunchy.
My guests are such dear friends that I could tell them I expected them all to try a piece, as I was very much in the mood to share my PEI nostalgia. They all carried on, without complaint. I love them so much! Photo Credit below: Wendy Lees.
Later, I discovered that the crust softens with just a short wait after removing from the oven, so I would serve it a little differently next time, and definitely crust up instead of flipping it over (lol). I have been happily nibbling on the leftover Rapure ever since and I am generally really happy with the flavours and it very much reminds me of Mom, my Grandmother and my Great Grandmother.
See the next post…the feast…for the treasured gathering.
When I remember my brother, I also remember the family meals that brought us together. I remember celebrations and loud responses to the yummy-ness of food! Much of the recollections of family come with the memory of food. I am so grateful for this.
Thanks to Lauraine, who remembered that her mother made ‘Snowballs’, those red cherries wrapped up in coconut buttery sweetness and rolled in graham cracker crumbs. Isn’t comfort food amazing?
We lived on Ferguson, just off of Fox Farm Road, in Great Falls. The Marlens were our neighbours. Charlie, a medical professional, was a big hunter. I remember, at my age, thinking that was a pretty amazing thing, but really different. My Dad and brothers were big fishermen, but they had never journeyed into that world. As for Pam, she was a life-giving free spirit. She exuded creative and fun-loving energy. Our families shared many wonderful times. A little younger than me, the Marlen kids; Jimmy, Donny, Chuck and Ann, were all sweet.
When I headed to Lethbridge for University and my family was moving east, my mother had my etching framed up professionally and I gave it to the Marlens as a gift. I believe Mr. Winenger allowed me to take the copper plate home, and yet all these years later, I haven’t a print or the plate, but have only a strong recollection of both the process and the piece.
Searching for a photograph of the etching, led me to go deeper into the rabbit hole and there I found young Chuck’s tribute to his mother, eloquently written in 2017. I tried leaving comments on his blog, but every time I clicked “POST COMMENT”, my words were eaten up and disappeared into who-knows-where.
I think that it is the fact that I haven’t been able to connect that has led me to this series of posts because today has been a day of nostalgia since coming upon the blog post about Pam. Once, through University, I traveled by bus to Great Falls and visited Pam and Charlie. I have also tucked away the gift of a Fanny Farmer cookbook they gave me as a wedding gift. It is one of my treasures.
Young Charlie’s blog…
Art Studio Poster Explaining Pam Marlen’s Glass Bead Making Process
Today would be my mother’s 79th birthday, she passed away in 1997.
Pam Marlen ( Mary Pamela Smith) 1938-1997 Artist
I have very little of my Mother’s artwork, and if not for the kindness of my little brother sending me several items I would not have any.
As-well-as designing Passive Solar Houses, Gardens, and Landscaping – She also created amazing fused glass creations, pottery, glass beads, quilting, water colors, stained glass, and probably many other items I’m not remembering as I write this post.
She would even make the unusual fun vests she would wear to events …
Back label on Pam Marlen’s ‘Buttons to Beads’ Self-Portrait
Much of my mother’s artwork was sold and anything left after her death was distributed amongst the family; therefore, the stunning Fused Glass pieces are owned by others, but I am very happy to have what might be one of my mother’s only artistic self-portraits.
Buttons to Beads Quilt with Glass Beads by Pam Marlen
Pam Marlen didn’t do anything normal, and if she was going to do a self-portrait of course it would be something unusual like combining Quilting & Glass Bead making to make the portrait of her making Glass Beads …
Paper that was pinned to Quilt – Houston National Quilt and Beads Showing
She also included herself playing with buttons as a child in the portrait …
Pam Marlen as Child Playing with Buttons
All of the Glass Beads attached to the quilt were made by Pam Marlen and they were sewn to the quilt using buttons on the back …
Back of Buttons to Beads Self-Portrait Quilt by Pam Marlen
My mother liked to save items that she didn’t feel were worth selling because there was an imperfection on those items… she didn’t save much but some items had imperfections she liked and would save them inside her studio, just for her own collection.
I’m not sure how many people knew about her ‘imperfection collection‘, but she and I talked about them once and it was fascinating how she liked something special about each one.
Fused Glass Examples in Background
A few years ago I found 2 new glass fusing/ceramic kilns for sale at a very good price and I purchased them … While my mother had taught me a little about fusing glass, I took a private ‘one-day’ class to refresh my memory.
This Firebox-8 Kiln’s Temperature is Manually Controlled
Creating Fused Glass artwork is about predicting how it will look when finished semi-melting/fusing together … Thus, having no idea how to predict, I just overlapped interesting colors of broken glass into a pattern.
Cut & Broken Glass in Kiln before 1st Melting
After the first melting the instructor was very let down that the glass had cracked, but being my mother’s son I said, “Oh that makes it even more interesting, lets leave it and do the final melting to fuse it as is” …
Broken Slumped Glass that Broke and Re-Fused in Kiln
The final kiln firing softened the broken edges and created an interesting Fused Glass piece … I placed it on my dresser and consider it the first of many of my own ‘imperfection collection’ artwork pieces.
I imagine there will be many future Metal Castings to add to this collection 🙂
First Try and Glass Artwork on My Dresser
In addition to saving imperfect pieces, my mother also would create small pottery pieces that she could use to test out Pottery Glaze formulas …
Mini Glaze-Test Pottery Parts by Pam Marlen
It appears the items my little brother sent to me were part of a Green Glaze test and even these little items had her signature on the bottom.
While I only have test pottery pieces by my mother, I am proud to have those items because that is how I remember her – Always experimenting!!
Bottom of the Green Glaze
Formula Test Pottery by Pam Marlen
She signed all of her Pottery with a PM symbol (Click images for larger view)
Pottery Signature on Test Glaze items by Pam Marlen
She had shelves of these small glaze-test pottery items in her studio …
A larger piece of pottery that was probably a Green Glaze-Test item
Mary Pamela Smith (Pam Marlen) was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma to E.R. and Mildred Smith on July 31, 1938.
She created most of her artwork in or near Great Falls, Montana.
This looks like a Bowl she used to test some Green Pottery Glaze
The pottery I remember the most as a child was a natural wash look as shown in the image below with hand-touched clay items added to pottery she had thrown on her potter’s wheel.
Natural Glaze with Clay Hard Artwork on Pottery
For years she would make pottery Christmas Ornaments and give them out to friends and family… Many times having us as kids help her.
Received photos of an items my mother made that I had not viewed before …
Hat made for Pat Erickson by Pam Marlen
Pat Erickson sent these photos to me of a hat my mother made for her …
If you enlarge the photo and look closely the bugs on the hat are glass beads.
Hat with Glass Bead Bugs made by Pam Marlen for Pat Erickson
Pat mentioned Pam Marlen made this hat for her birthday 🙂
Hat created by Pam Marlen with Painted leaves & Glass Bead Bugs
Thank You Pat for taking the time to send these photos!! 🙂
. . .
Pam Marlen had a stroke at age 58 in April of 1997 while giving a speech to get donations for the flood victims of the Grand Forks, North Dakota flood of 1997… passing away later in the year.
She lived an interesting life … and myself being a Star Trek fan it was almost surreal to come home to visit and learn her quilting group was asked to be extras in a movie directed by Leonard Nimoy… being very private director he would rarely talk to people on set; however, he would come over talk to my mother about quilting and other artistic items.
My mother met SPOCK …Too Cool!!
… MISS YOU MOM
. . .
Old Photos of Charles J. Marlen Jr. … So when I lose them they can be found
online in a Google Search 🙂 CMR High School called Chuck Marlen
I think this photo was taken in about 1966
This photo looks to be about 1985 … Sometime during College
Sometime in the Late 1980s
Chillin’ in Hot Key West, Florida
Drysuit Scuba ‘Cold-Water’ Diving in Alaska
There *grin* … at least when I pass away, something will be online. *lol*
Yesterday I heard two presenters say that Remembrance Day is not to be confused with Veteran’s Day. Armistice Day is on 11 November and is also known as Remembrance Day. It marks the day World War One ended, at 11am on the 11th day of the 11th month, in 1918. A two-minute silence is held at 11am to remember the people who have died in wars.
Like everyone else, I am disappointed that the Don Cherry fiasco stole so much from the highlights of a beautiful day remembering those soldiers in our families and in our Nation who offered the ultimate sacrifice in past wars, Afghanistan and because of selfless service.
I was really pleased about attending the commemoration at the Southern Alberta Jubilee Auditorium this year and taking in the various rituals, but indoors, while cozy warm. Last year, we headed to the cenotaph downtown and it got a bit cold at times, although it was also an amazing experience. Next year, the field of crosses.
The seats were assigned, as we arrived. This created a sense of calm and order. Beautiful music was provided by the HMCS Tecumseh Band along with Jeanette Embree, Detachment Commander, CF Recruiting Center, Director of Music, Royal Canadian Navy Reserve. What a lovely repertoire.
I thought about my Dad while singing this hymn. I used to sit next to Mom in the Protestant Chapel pews while Dad directed or sang in the choir. I felt them beside me yesterday…and I felt surrounded by my family, many who have served. My Great Uncle Joseph Gallant gave the ultimate sacrifice, as did my Great Grandfather John Moors. This hymn was a perfect one to bring everyone home to me.
While we were prompted to save our applause until the very end of the laying of the wreaths, two of our Veterans from the Colonel Belcher caused our hearts to stir and we broke into wild applause. I cried my face off at these points in the service, as well as during the Last Post. Our friend, Helena, laid a wreath on behalf of the Alberta Retired Teachers. We were very proud of her for representing us.
After the commemorative service, and as we were leaving, I noticed that Ralph MacLean, the 97 year old Veteran who had served with Canadians in Hong Kong in 1941. Please follow the link and listen to his story on the Memory Project. Through various circumstances and very quickly, I connected with Ralph’s son, daughter and grandson, author of Forgiveness, author Mark Sakamoto.
I won’t soon forget the kind hearts of Ralph’s family.
I had the opportunity to exchange quite a number of stories with Ralph and I feel that it was a huge blessing to meet him. I will be visiting him at the Colonel Belcher.
As I took my evening walk, slow around the circle because Max is ailing badly, I took in the beauty of the day, my friendships with Janet and Pat, my children, the freedoms I enjoy. I thought about my family and their huge military connections. I contemplated including their photographs here…but, I’m leaving the images of their faces and my research in my heart. I’ll leave it all up to peace…the sky…the river. I will always Remember.
Three Halloween nights with my grandson…this year was so much fun because he actually made the big connection between the act of knocking on the door and enjoying an interaction with the host, as well as gaining a little something in the way of a snack. I am grateful for every bit of fun and laughter we can share.
I had a couple of weeks where I had a chance to spend the days with my grandson and don’t want to be remiss in acknowledging that time. I look back on those days with a warm and happy heart. He is changing so fast and so much and he is just such a funny person. I love to talk with him. I treasure every moment. A collection of images for our times shared will be included here…but first…
All of the poems I read on the internet…poems for grandsons…were stupid. The intentions were lovely and they were very very sweet. But, none of them suited my grandson. ‘Perhaps one day I will try to write a poem for you, my wonderful magical Steven.’ For now, the poem that best suited our little boy who loves ants and lady bugs and spiders is this one, written by William Carlos Williams, for his grandson. It is titled, The Turtle. I apologize that these bits are unclear.
The snow has been coming down steadily since last evening and this morning there was a thick blanket. It’s beautiful, but it is also a bit overwhelming as one anticipates the many months of darkness and cold.
The weekend, however, held many blessings. I spent the past months contacting people, media and organizations about the importance of recognizing that on September 28th each year, we are to remember and recognize over 100,000 children who were brought to Canada to serve as indentured servants across the nation. My great grandfather was one. This year marks 150 years since the arrival of the first of these children.
I really enjoy my friendships in this group, including Bruce, Hazel, Connie, Donna and Anna and really appreciate all of their hard work and their dedication. I am also grateful to my daughter, Erin, who attended but who also dragged chairs around, assisting where she could and Kelly, Hazel’s daughter, for her wonderful support in loading, displaying and just generally being helpful and included.
Five descendants shared their family narrative with the large group of people who came out on a dreary bad-weather day. Every generation was represented and questions were thoughtful and engaged the panel. There was lots of time for socializing and connecting with one another. A very special artifact for the group in Western Canada, of course, is the Memory Quilt that was lovingly constructed by Hazel.
As I drove home late in the afternoon, I felt grateful for the presentations and grateful for the people I worked with.
In the evening, I turned on my porch light, but unlike other nights, I took a moment to pause and think about the injustice that was perpetrated on so many innocents. I hope to, over time, help in educating the public about this part of Canada’s history.
The Beacons of Light, in recognition of 150 years included the lighting of the Calgary Tower and last night’s lighting of Reconciliation Bridge. Thanks to Bruce Skilling for his photograph of the bridge.
Photo Credit: Bruce Skilling
Photo Credit: Anna Webber
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Connie Falk
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Kathleen Moors
Photo Credit: Session Attendee
Photo Credit: Session Attendee
Photo Credit: Bruce Skilling
Photo Credit: Bruce Skilling
If you would like to be included in our contacts, have any questions at all or would like to suggest venues and activities, we’d love to hear from you. You may contact me through this blog or through the e mail connected to this blog. We also invite you to peruse our Facebook page, although our group is primarily made up of descendants living in the west. We are most agreeable to helping you with your research questions.
Finally, I will try to post Mayor Naheed Nenshi’s remarks.
“Later I will tell him: our courage comes out in different ways. We are brave in our bold dreams but also in our hesitations. We are brave in our willingness to carry on even as our pounding hearts say, “You will fail and land on your face.” Brave in our terrific tolerance for making a hundred mistakes. Day after day. We are brave in our persistence.”
― Kyo Maclear, Birds Art Life: A Year of Observation
My dear friend, Bobbie, lived bravely, passionately and his spirit transcends everything that bound him to the earth…I love you and my life has been incredible because you have been here for me…for us. No words for now, but I’ve sipped coffee this morning in the quiet of the house, Max at my feet, revisiting our friendship. These are, in part, moments along the way. But, we spent most of our friendship looking out at others and beauty. So, I can not possibly share all of the immensity of that. Know that you were loved, my beautiful Bob.
ACAD third year…and we gathered to celebrate spring. I will forever be grateful for meeting you.
After meeting you, you were a part of every celebration. My children love you. My friends love you. And we became family, all of us.
Bob is found written into so many journal pages…a few appear in this post.
I will let Ed know…
Gatwick Airport, before the train.
Oh, the places we have seen! Angel Glacier, beautiful hikes…so many hikes…walks…galleries…Paris, Giverny, London…Argenta…road trips…books, art, family, friends.
I am blessed for having Liz, Janet, Bronwyn, Peter, Artemis, Cedar…I am blessed for the circle of love.
The morning I took my tent over to set up in my grandson’s back yard was the last day I saw Mrs. alive at the river. I didn’t know it then, but the female Bald Eagle’s beautiful and peaceful time with me at the Bow River’s edge would be her last and so I will always treasure the archive of photographs my readers might enjoy, here.
I kind of chuckle about that sentence as I leave it behind in my first paragraph, imagining that anyone at all might read the thoughts or passage of time shared by a 64 year old woman. I feel some days as though I am still a young girl who marvels at the beauty and rich loam of the mysterious gully across from my home on Market Street. I don’t feel different and yet so many years and so many places have gone by!
When in doubt about how a camping trip might be arranged between a Gramma and her Grandson, it is best not to let the logistics interfere with the experience, and so, sometimes you just have to go ahead and make things happen.
Little did I know that a tent would simply provide yet another way for trucks and diggers to be celebrated. In the tent we went with the big yellow trucks…and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
Thank you, Linda, for our tea and snacks. Steven and I headed out to a very busy construction site. Once returned, Gramma rolled up her sleeping bags and packed up her tent and was on her way. A call for severe thunderstorms that afternoon, made this call, the safe call.
The river is no longer silty and the clarity of the water in the morning, allowed beautiful hues of turquoise and green to shine through. Max is always my trusted companion on these early morning walks.
First things first…the fly sheet goes down. ‘Say fly sheet, Steven.’
‘Fly Sheet’.
There was an orangy-yellow glow to everything that evening at the river. I watched two beaver for almost a half hour before walking north west and finding Mrs. quietly observing her world from above. That night I confirmed that her talons on the left had damage.
