November the Fifth

Yesterday was November the Fifth, which in Canada doesn't mean much but in England is a day for fireworks, potatoes cooked in embers so that they are burnt on the outside and inedible inside, and of course the extrememly medieval practice of committing the effigy of a man to the flames of a bonfire. Burning Guy Fawkes-who was really just the fall guy for the mastermind of the gun powder plot, Robert Catesby - may have fallen out of favour in our more politically correct times (when I tried explaining what to me was a fun childhood tradition to my children, I found myself reeling from my own explanations), but Guy himself, largely due to the graphic novel and movie V for Vendetta, has made something of a comeback as the face of protest.

As interesting as this all is (and in the wake of the current Occupy protests, there are some interesting parallels) it's not what this blog is about today.

This weekend, my parents visited, and since it was such a glorious day on Saturday I had the bright idea to have a November 5th bonfire. Dad bought some fireworks, the kids and Andrew dragged wood, and I sat around sipping wine. The usual division of labour on the farm. It was a cold enough night once the sun went down, we had a brief interlude of rounding up sheep (never a dull moment), and then we settled in around the fire and managed to make it through to dark when the fireworks lit up the night.

We did not burn a guy. But we did cook potatoes in the embers to go with dinner. And they were excellent.

Flash

It's no secret that Fall is my favourite time of year. I drive home the long way just to travel the winding country roads in their mantle of vibrant oranges and dusky reds; I take the dog for long walks just to kick up the coppery leaves on the road; I rake the gold and crimson and brown into piles just to watch the kids dive into them and throw them up into the air again.

But today...ah, today...

I walked out the door at 7am this morning into a perfect world. The sky to the south was layered - dark clouds the colour of granite over silver clouds with peeks of bright blue beneath. To the east, the sun, low in the sky, beamed brightness over the corn fields, just tipping the golden sheaths in the fields and highlighting a broad swath of metallic colour across the fall forest.

It was like being hit by a flash of something so grand that words, pictures, even thoughts could not do it justice. I felt like I'd been consumed by the moment and all I could do - all I even wanted to do - was stand there and be part of it.

Just me...and the sublime.

It's happened before. Many times, but more often as a child. I used to call it the "flash" because that's how it seemed to me. A moment of intense beauty and the feeling that all's right with the world. It's there and gone in a heartbeat sometimes, and other times - like this morning - lingering, slowly fading away, but leaving me with an overwhelming sense of goodwill. Today, I might describe it like a veil being lifted to reveal a world more gorgeous, more breathtaking than I had previously imagined. If I were religious, I might call it divine. Certainly, Gerard Manley Hopkins - poet, Roman Catholic convert, and Jesuit priest - springs immediately to mind:

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The school bell tolls for thee...and thee...and thee

I don't know about everyone elses children, but mine were happy and excited for school to start again. Tuesday morning came bright and early after our last salute to summer weekend away at the cottage (one last swim in the lake--somewhat more refreshing now than it was in July, one last kayak against the backdrop of yellowing birch, one last attempt to catch and study the water snakes--we failed - they're too quick).

There's a great Vinyl Cafe story that Stuart tells about Marley wanting to make sure the first day of school is perfect for her children, and I get that. It's about starting the year off on a high note, about setting the stage for a successful year. Nutritious dinners and early nights, laid back non-rushed mornings, favourite sandwiches, and a bookbag full of fresh school supplies...these are the things that we do as if they are a talisman against things ever going wrong.

First day of school 2011

I called the school last week to find out what classes they were in, because they deal better with the first day knowing what to expect. I don't understand why some schools won't tell you until the day of school - it seems a bit over controling to me. (Then again, maybe it speaks to our reluctance to relinquish control of our kids' lives that we want to know in advance as much as possible.) And judging from what I know of their respective teachers, all three are in for a year of top notch education with teachers who will inspire and challenge them and their abilities.



My 1st day pic - at the insistence of the kids



This morning I was back in the classroom too, facing a fresh new cohort of students some fresh out of high school and others transitioning into college from the work force or other university programs. One of the many things I love about teaching is that sense of anticipation, of optimism, and of hope that crackles the air this time of year. Students in their new indigo jeans with laptops and books and plaid jackets crowded the campus and the place fizzed with excitement. It's now wonder back to school feels like the real start to the year.

Here's to September.

Gracious Autumn

When the leaves have fallen and the world darkens; when the gardens I worked so hard on all summer stand stark and devoid of colour, I find a gracious beauty in the landscape.

The leaves that cross my path seem symbolic of the months of the year passing by, all the things we have done and seen and experienced in the last eleven months.

And I sit for a while to reflect. To think. To smile in remembrance of things past. And to be content in the knowldege that the even as the year draws to a close, a new one will surely follow.

Broken Record

We were blessed with a gorgous Saturday in Eastern Ontario. Oh, it was cold when we got up at 6, and the kids had to dress in their winter gear to go fishing with the cubs, but by the time they returned at noon, the day had shaken off the chill and the sun had burned the frost away.

I feel sometimes that I say the same things year after year. That I do the same things year after year. I suppose we all do to some extent. And so Saturday afternoon was spent in the garden. We dug up the rest of the potatoes and put them away into storage to get us through the next few months. We roto-tilled the gardens, and added rich compost to the soil, and then planted and mulched 150 bulbs of garlic that I had saved from our August harvest. The kids raked leaves into a huge pile and we spent a good hour leaping into them in the late afternoon sun.

All these things we do every year. And every year they seem important enough to write about.

As the sun started to get low, you could feel the day's warmth start to evaporate and I went inside to make pasta and stoke the fire. Andrew came in behind me and being the wise man he is, stopped me from making dinner.

Come and watch the kids in the sunset, he said, pouring me a glass of wine. We won't get many more days like today for a while.

And so wrapped in my plaid, I sat beside him on the deck and we watched the kids play together and laugh and race and run until the sun slowly sank behind the trees and the chill drove them, hungry and happy, into the kitchen.

Autumn Walks

All the leaves are brown

And the skies are grey

I went for a walk

On a winter's day

Not winter...yet. But late fall in Canada always makes me hum that song. Today I have the day to myself, and after waving farewell to my family as they set off for cub camp ("so long, cheerio, pip pip, farewell, but be back soon..." just not too soon), the dog and I tromp off for a long autumn walk.

Many of the trees - including the maples, elms, oaks and ashes on my property - still have leaves, and a wave of gorgeous colour paints itself across the countryside. But there is a strong wind today, and yellowed leaves swirl at our feet as we follow the road over hills and through the glen. 

The ground is damp and the air filled with that rich earthy scent that reminds me of Flambards (that's a post for another day). Lady disturbs a couple of massive puffball mushrooms that dissolve into fungal dust, and I am taken back years to my first puffball feast and how disappointed I was (not to mention how much butter I put on to make them edible and not hurt our hosts' feelings).

Down the lane, through the woods, across the pebbled river and back across the fields. Every year it seems I take the same pictures, say the same things.

The golden canopy, the crunchy path of dead leaves, the pungent aroma of the forest, the inspiring awesomeness of nature.

I could have taken this picture today or a year ago, or five years ago. In fact I probably did.

The only thing that changes is the height of the children.

But today it was just me and the dog, a mad squirrel and a flock of arguing birds.

And a beautiful Autumn walk.

At the end of it all, on this blustery Winne-the-Pooh day, we came home to a quiet house, lit a fire, made a hot cup of tea, and am spending the next couple of hours with a book. Or two.

I might even make soup. A nice bowl of potato-cheddar chowder accompanied with crusty rolls always goes down well on a day like this.

Thankful....

For good health...

For family...

 For fresh air and room to run...

For plentiful food...

For a happy home...

It was a spectacular Fall weekend in the Glen. All across southern Ontario the sun was bright and the air crisp and we enjoyed having Andrew's family here for the day. Nothing says Thanksgiving like a houseful of family, the laughter of children playing with their cousins, and the smell of turkey roasting in the oven.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Change in the weather

A month ago we were at the cottage and then in Niagara, and it was Summer.

Today...not so much!

First Week Of School - And All Is Well

That sigh you hear…? It's the collected sigh of relief from parents everywhere as their children return to school, as they mingle with old friends and new, as they get used to new teachers and new routines, as the dust settles on the first week of classes.

A sigh of relief not just because a return to school means a return to a routine (a routine that us parents become very good at over the years), and not just because for us working moms we now get a reprieve from the summer expense of child care. But also a sigh of relief because the first week is so fraught with concerns and worries – all little, but as a parent, you can't help but enlarge them. Will he be okay on the bus? Will he make new friends? Is she going to like her teacher? Will she eat her lunch?

A friend of mine was upset because her daughter and son had been put in the same split grade; another friend whose daughter started kindergarten was worried because she wouldn't know any of the other kids; the mother of one of Erik's friend's confided that she was concerned her son will have a hard time adjusting after a summer of fun.

Oh yeah. Been there. And I'd like to say now that my three are in grades 5, 4 and 2 that I've stopped listening to those niggling doubts and worries. But I haven't. I still wonder if Anna will mind that she is in a different class from her friend. Or if Erik will be more assertive this year. Or if Grace will make a special friend of her own instead of always hanging out with her sister.

But while I can't stop my brain from thinking this stuff up, I know from experience that I am making it bigger than it needs to be, and that in the end there is one over-riding truth. The kids will be all right. No matter what gets thrown at them, what obstacles get in their way, or what concerns I may have, they will adapt and they will succeed.

All is well.

September Morning

The first of September is a good day in my world, conjuring up promises: the promise of a glorious fall; the promise of new routines, new menus, new adventures; the promise of possibilities – endless possibilities; the promise of change, electric and static in the air.

I love summer, I do. All the seasons actually. I feel blessed to live here where they vary, sometimes dissolving into one another as Spring becomes Summer; sometimes striking unexpectedly as when an October snowstorm turns Fall into Winter overnight.

But if I have a favourite, it is Autumn. Fabulous autumn with its colour and vibrancy. Crisp days and the smell of apples on the air. Making soups and eating them hot on the veranda, a rug around your shoulders against the chill. The crack of a bonfire and the smell of woodsmoke as the last of the yard clearing is completed. The herbs hanging to dry, their subtle pungency wafting across the kitchen in the breeze. Piles of crimson and golden leaves under the maple trees. The gardens cut back, the vegetables harvested and the ground tilled in neat rows, next year's garlic in the wheelbarrow ready to be planted before the frost. Wearing an old faded pair of jeans and a colourful wool sweater to go for a hike through the woods and then come back and watch the early sunset over the fields.

Today is still Summer. But Fall's promise is just around the corner.

Bring it on.

Thoughts On A Clear November Morning

I awoke three times in the night.

The first time I woke up, it was more sort of a roll over as Andrew left my small thermos of coffee next to the bed before he left for the dairy at 4:30am. The second time was to hear a small dog barking by the river and groggily realise it was actually a coyote yipping, a warm up for the group coyote howl which followed. I was awake then, momentarily. until reassured by the deep barking that followed that Tundra the sheepdog had the situation in hand,  I fell back into sleep. It was around 5:30am. The third time was at 6:30am when Grace punched her way into the room (in her usual delicate fashion) to tell me the dog had thrown up three times in their room. It reminded me of Mother's Day last May, and I lay back on my pillow, sipping my coffee, reflecting that I'd seen the dog in the back fields yesterday and wondering just what disgusting things she'd been into.

I felt a bit like Scrooge - like I'd been visited three times in the night - and like Scrooge, by the time I was finally awake, the sun was shining, the sky was bright and clear, and I felt full of joy and optimism.

November, on the cusp of both fall and winter, can be a bit of a bleak month, but I've always found it beautiful in its austerity. If October is like a king (think Henry VII), resplendently robed in gold and crimson, November is like a nun, (think Mother Superior from The Sound of Music), simple and pure and wise.

And as I sit here this morning, gazing out the window, past the pine trees and over the field towards the river and the forest behind, I am thinking only good thoughts.

Except of the dog. She is still disgusting.

Every Day

Every day, you should do something that makes you happy.

Every. Single. Day.

Hallowe'en

If it weren't for the kids, who love Hallowe'en, I'd probably be one of those grumps who hide in my basement with the lights off so that no-one comes to my door. Not that anyone, in the six years we've lived here, has ever ventured down the quarter mile long laneway even when all the lights have been on and the kids' jack o'lanterns are glowing in the windows. Most kids are more savvy than to bother with the country when they can go to the nearby villages and towns. Which is what we did last night after a leisurely get together dinner with friends.

We started off at the firehall where the volunteer firefighters and Sparky the fire dog served hot chocolate and snacks to anyone who ventured by (about 700 kids most years), and then went trick or treating through small town Ontario. And I discovered that despite it all, there are benefits to Hallowe'en.

1. Walking the leaf-strewn streets of a small town past the library and the senior's centre and the community hall and the century brick and gingerbread homes is a wonderful experience, and on a night like last night, where it was cool but not cold, and a full moon scurried in between clouds, was downright beautiful.

2. We got to socialize and catch up with all the people we know but don't always get a chance to see. While the kids ran up to doors, we stood in the streets chatting and exchanging news with old friends, as well as meeting parents of friends the children have made in their new school. I had the urge all night to say things such as "Well met again by moonlight" but resisted because Andrew would have disowned me if I started quoting Shakespeare at random.

3. While there are always some teenagers who think regular clothes and a mask do a Hallowe'en costume make, some of the other costumes were clever and intricate and really very well done.

4. As for the kids, they were all just adorable. Nothing is more cute than a wobbly 18 month old in a Tigger costume or a Bat Man suit.

5. On the way home we stopped at the rural homes of some of our older neighbours because they don't get out as much and because they love to see the kids, and though it took roughly 10 minutes at each house, it was worth it just for the smiles.

Thanksgiving at the Cottage

Usually, we play host at Thanksgiving and enjoy having the family over for a day at the farm. But this year we went to the cottage for Thanksgiving and spent the long weekend walking through the woods, canoing on the lake, and sitting cosily by the fire with Andrew's parents, grandmother and brother & family.

Anna wrote a play, and the kids had a great time making costumes for us all as we acted out the story of how Thanksgiving came to Sherwood Forest. Erik was Robin Hood.

And my three got to play with their cousin, running through the golden trees on this last, long, perfect weekend before the cold weather really sets in.

Thanksgiving is my favourite holiday of the year. There's something so simple and wholesome about it. It's about family and friends, and serves as a reminder of what is truly important.

Fall Reading List - Part I

I'm going to forego my usual banal tribute to Autumn to talk about something else that I'm reminded of this time of year.

(No, not how fall makes me long for a weekend in a log cabin in the woods with a fireplace and Barry Manilow music on the stereo - though it does, and I know that makes me a sad git who likes cheesy music , although when I mentioned that to someone the other week he said Barry Manilow was classic now, though he obviously still thinks I'm a sad git, but I digress).

And that something is Books.

This time of year makes me want to run off to the library, come home by way of the bookstore (easy when Chapters is just a click of the mouse away, and though I am an anti-fan of big box stores, I make an exception for online books which seduce me - I am weak, I admit it), and curl up in my big comfy armchair beside the fire, with the dog at my feet and the leaves falling in a golden shower outside the french doors, and read, read, read, read.

But being a bit indecisive at times, I never know quite what to read, so every year I make up a fall reading list, and here it is. Draft One. Bound to be amended. But it's a start.

Books I Own But Have Never Got Around to Reading
The Shock Doctrine by Naomi Klein
Books 2 & 3 of The Golden Compass series by Philip Pullman
Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen

Books I Will (Probably) Buy
An Echo In the Bone - Diana Gabaldon (this is more of a NEED to have)
The Lost Symbol - Dan Brown
Galore by Michael Crummey
The Children's Book by A.S. Byatt
The Golden Mean by Annabel Lyon
The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas by John Boyne
Devil's Brood by Sharon Kaye Penman

Books I Found In The Library Last Night
The Weekend Man - Richard B Wright (October, Clara Callan)
Candide  - Voltaire
The Scream - Rohinton Mistry
The God of Small Things - Arundhati Roy

Books Recommended By Friends
Katherine - Anya Seton
Sepulchre - Kate Mosse
Blink and The Outliers - both by Malcolm Gladwell

Books I Own And Am Going To Re-Read
Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Nieffenegger
Outlander books 2-6 by Diana Gabaldon
Possession by A.S. Byatt
Here Be Dragons by Sharon Kaye Penman
When Christ and his Saints Slept by Sharon Kaye Penman (need to buy)

Books I Will Order From the Library
Generation A - Douglas Coupland
The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood
Cleopatra's Daughter by Michelle Morran

Medieval Times

Anna is studying Medieval History in school.

Which was all the excuse we needed to practice a spot of swordfighting.

And have a medieval meal. And a joust in the back yard.

And wear flouncy dresses. Or armour.

Because, let's face it, it's not everyday you get to be called M'lady all day long by your kids, who insist you sit and watch the fighting from a seat of honour while they vanquish the imaginary enemy.

And because it's fun to eat without a fork - the messier the better, and it gave us a reason to bake bread.

And because wine does taste better from a goblet.

And because it was a beautiful day and I didn't want to spend it indoors editing on the computer anyway. We had far more fun, and I'm so impressed with the number of facts they all know about the Medieval Period. Most of them bloody and gory, of course.

The only note of inauthenticity came after dinner when I bade my serfs clear the tables and load up that most medieval (or not) of devices: the dishwasher.

Harvest Time

We all get to help out this time of year.

Potatoes, corn, tomatoes, chard, spinach, broccoli, carrots, garlic, onions.

It all has to be brought in and stored.

And then eaten. The best part.

Fleeting Summer

I'm not one of those moms who cries when the kids start school. Around here it's whoops of delight and joy that they're off and running and that another year has begun. In part it's because I know they like getting back into the routines and socializing that school and Cubs and Karate and Dance bring; in part it's because I remember loving this time of year, and even now the start of September for me is magical, as if the very air breathes promises for all of us.

If there is any sadness, it's because no matter how warm the weather, how nice the days, and regardless of what the calendar says, once school starts back up we are forced to acknowledge that summer, so fleeting at the best of times, is over.

Weekend

This weekend there is nothing on. No dinner party, no visitors, no hiking in the rain with the local Beaver troop. It's too late to have to do gardening, and too early to think about Christmas.

Sounds like a perfect weekend to do nothing at all.

More Haiku

I sat in the park yesterday and composed this.

Dry rustle on wind
seagull cries over water
mindful, peaceful day

I gazed beyond the park to see a church on the horizon.

Spire rises to sky
At a distance still it makes
Hearts soar heavenward

All of this from my sturdy stone bench, where so many people must have sat over the years.

Stone benches in park
Look out over still, calm lake
What truths they must know

And finally, I looked down, and was hit by a blinding truth of my own - on this beautiful afternoon, all the world was in harmony except my socks.

Nature's rich palette
Except one mis-taken pair
of jarring blue socks

Not all haiku's need to be serious!