Southern Alberta Roads

P1130699What a wonderful feeling to hit open roads…heading south always gives me some sense of going home to my peeps.  I weep when I see this blue up against this yellow…reminds me of grampa and our talks as he drove, with his racing cap on (ball cap turned backwards).  The past two days, I moved between Raymond and Magrath and Lethbridge…connecting with that feeling, pretty much the whole time.  Interviewing two of my beautiful aunties about family history was a joy.

I started Tuesday morning off with bacon, eggs, hash browns, toast and coffee at Ying’s Chinese and Western Cafe.  I love that there is no choice here…no brown and white toast, for example.  This was where I bought my penny candies as a little girl…and where grampa went in to catch up on the stories.  I chatted with these folk (different-but-the-same) over my first two coffees.  Thing is, the place looked so different years back.  Apparently, one of the fellas told me, May died some years ago and Mark lives in Lethbridge.  There used to be booths with high backs…dark wood.  These Canadians were a part of my childhood story.  I felt blessed in remembering.

P1130678 P1130680From there, I went out to the cemetery to have some time with my relations who have passed and who rest in such a beautiful and peaceful spot.

P1130683 P1130684 P1130690The mill…a spot where family photos were taken…keeps on changing as it changes hands.  For our family, though, it will always be connected to that smell of wool and grandma’s roast beef.

P1130691 P1130693 Sister in MagrathOn the Steps of the MillIMG_5619Ruth and RoyWoolen Mill 001P1130516

The Harvest

It’s been a tough week…a friend landing in the hospital and other such things.  And here it is Saturday and the most simple of tasks causes me renewal and joy.  The sun is shining for the time being, the autumn air, crisp.  I pull some carrots from my flower garden and feel so happy.  I remember when Dad worked in the garden, how he’d pass me a fresh carrot to bite on or some snap peas or fresh green beans.  This is the exact feeling I have right now.  Memories of my father…and his gesture of wiping the soil off of a fresh carrot and passing it to me to eat, there in the garden, with him.

My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living. Anais Nin

This Morning in the Garden

The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.  ~Albert Camus

Delicious autumn!  My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.  ~George Eliot

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.  ~Stanley Horowitz

For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together.  For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.  ~Edwin Way Teale

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
~John Donne

This Week In the Garden: First Week of September

Yes, Dad, I DID let the lettuce go to seed!  There is ONLY SO MUCH lettuce that one lady can eat!  It was nice just to relax after Max’s off leash romp in the wind and the rain this afternoon.  I really have enjoyed the peacefulness of my back yard this summer!  The video represents only a segment of the zillion sparrows hanging out in the yard…the others were all sitting in May (the Mayday tree) above my head and behind my back…cautious of the sounds I was making with the camera.

This bee, among others, was clinging to one of the sunflowers…gathering up the last pollens of the season.

Student Painting

A Few Minutes in the Garden: Mary’s Lilies Bloom

I have been spending time on two missions in the garden recently…trying to disband a wasps’ nest that is tucked in between my Cremona flat stone and the tomato planter and trying to identify what sort of creature is digging holes exuberantly at my veggie garden boxes.

There is such evidence that the evening temperatures are cooler and autumn is around the corner.  The catoni asters have some red leaves in places.  The columbine have their second growth.  The mayday tree is providing the birds with plenty of berries to supplement their diet at the feeder.

Mary appeared at my house on my birthday a few years ago and gave me the gift of some beautiful lilies.  Their blooms are spectacular and I always consider them a remarkable way to end things in the gardens.  The sunflowers are now seven feet tall.  I wonder lately, if they will ever bloom.  I feel a little like ‘Jack’, if you know what I mean.  There are some rust spots on the leaves, but otherwise the tomato plants are producing generous amounts of fruit.  I have enjoyed being home this summer, watching things change.  I enjoy my back yard so much.

In fact, I am going to head out there shortly and dependent on the cloud cover, I might have the chance to witness the Perseid Meteor shower that will come to its climax tonight and in the wee hours of the morning.  Unfortunately, I do believe that our weather is going to be uncooperative.  I encourage my readers to go and take a look, wherever you may be.

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Yet Another Bowl of Strawberries!

STRAWBERRIES

There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love youlet the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills

let the storm wash the plates

Strawberries just seem to be created for romance…summer…beauty.

Writing is the only profession where no one considers you ridiculous if you earn no money. Jules Renard