Four Seasons in Rural Ontario

Perhaps, where you live, you are used to Fall, Winter, Spring and Summer.

Not here.

Here, it's a bit different.

We have Fall, Winter, Spring and...Festivals!

Starting last weekend - obviously the Medieval Festival.

Up next is Maxville Fair Days, and from then on there will be a festival pretty much every weekend until summer is over.

Canada Day, Strawberry Socials, community fairs, historic festivals, military re-enactments, musical festivals in small ruined churches, Book Fairs (a personal favourite!), and the two biggies of the summer: the Highland Games and the Williamstown Fair.

Who needs to go away in the summer? There is so much to do right on our doorstep!

Valiant and Victorious

Last year when we attended the Medieval Festival, the knight we liked best, Sir Timothy, won the day.

This year, the kids were thrilled that he was back and even more excited that he was "our" knight, and they cheered him on with enthusiasm.

Before the tournament, each knight picked a lady to fight for and gave her a flower. Sir Timothy picked Grace, and she was delighted.

The games before the joust were all in fun, but the jousting was real. There is no doubt about it: Knights were tough.

Sir Timothy (on Monty - mustn't forget the magnificent horses) narrowly beat this guy (Prince Killam) and won the field. Erik got a broken lance signed by Sir. Timothy. I have no idea what he is going to do with it!

Sir Timothy, along with the other knights and horses, is a member of the Knights of Valour, a full-contact jousting group that has won world championships. They put on a great event.

Great Day for a Joust!

We enjoyed a terrific day at the Medieval Festival on Sunday.

Jousting knights...

Sword Fights...

Archery...

Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine and her royal entourage...

A fun day for all...

What's In My Purse?

What do you have in there? asked Andrew the other day as I was rummaging through my purse looking for a pen.

A pen, I said.

And what else...?

I get defensive about things like this. Just stuff I need, I told him.

Stuff I need.

Like a pen (or five), my wallet, a paperback novel (mystery) in case I get stuck somewhere.

A hairbrush, some hair ties and kids hair clips for emergencies.

My Ipod, some tylenol I never use, a notebook.

Some scouting forms that need to be filled out. Some scouting badges that have not yet been sewn onto sashes.

My cell phone.

A list of books I want to read in case I find myself near a bookstore.

A Magic marker (aka Tide To Go, which I'm not convinced really works, but which I feel more responsible for carrying).

My Toastmaster's name tag. A small mirror. A lipstick and a chapstick.

Some gum. My two flash drives. Some old grocery receipts. Another hair tie.

A corkscrew. Never leave home without one.

And today, a DVD that needs returning.

Maybe Andrew is right. Maybe I could clean it out a bit.

There.

I tossed out the old grocery receipts and returned the DVD.

That's better!

The Hat

Everyone knows Andrew.

Or rather, they know his hat.

Every day, winter and summer, spring and fall, he wears the hat.

This is the third Tilley hat Andrew has bought. I keep buying him new ones for when we go out. Tilley hats may last forever on safari, or mountain climbing or trekking through the dessert. But they are no match for a farmer.

(This is not a paid plug for Tilley, honest. We're just really, really impressed with the quality of their hats, and Andrew is never without one. He even has a smart Winter one now.)

But more than practical, they identify Andrew.

I didn't recognize you without your hat, people will tell him on days when he does forget it.

Although we don't encourage people to wear their hats when public speaking, it wouldn't be you without the hat, is a comment a fellow toastmaster made once.

When driving in Toronto I got a call on my cell from my brother in law. You're two cars behind us he said. How do you know that, I replied? We're driving a different car.

I can see Andrew's hat, said Stephen.

But you truly know the hat is important when you go to move sheep from one pasture to the next.

All Andrew has to do is walk into the field with his hat on, and the animals start to run over. It's the man with the hat. the man with the hat.

And where the man in the hat is, the food is also.

Down on the Farm

When I was in the meadow yesterday I took some pictures of the animals.

These are the two newest calves.

This is Fiona. Let me eat, she's saying.
She's so cute and fuzzy I just want to hug her. Not that I can catch her. She's about the same size as a sheep.

This is Casey, one of the mothers. Don't ask me who her calf is. Could be Ella. Could be the holy terror (the one who chases sheep with a big grin). Andrew would know but he's not here to ask.

And here are some of the sheep.

Sheep are not smart. These sheep are in the field with all the short grass looking over at the meadow with all the long rich alfalfa and timothy. They're trying to figure out how to get over there.

Hint: Try the gate!

And here, having followed The Hat, and therefore enjoying the sweet grass in the meadow, are the rams.

Sir Poppy on the left is senior ram. That means he rules the barnyard. Or thinks he does. The bull thinks otherwise, but they've reached a truce.

Mike is 2 years old. Which makes him the equivalent of a 22 year old human. Which explains why he has a funny looking nose and limps slightly.

You would too if you thought it was a good idea to charge the bull. Daily. Hey, Hughie, you big dummy, I can take you. Biff.

Hughie the bull is very patient. He lets Mike headbutt him, ignoring him as one would a pesky mosquito. But ultimately, he gets fed up, and tosses Mike with an easy flick of his big head.

Doesn't bother Mike. He just tries again. And again. Hence the squished nose and the limp. Not that Mike notices. I sure showed that bull, he's thinking, smugly.

Testosterone. Amazing stuff.

Into the Meadow

I took a walk through the meadow last night.

Yes. The meadow.

This is the temporary gate where Andrew was fencing.

And this is Lady on the other side of the gate, cautiously eying the electric fence.

No Way I'm going near that, she's saying.

She's been there before, up against the electric fence, and now is very wary.

She won't go past, even if I know it's off and go over it.

She won't go past if the gate is open

She won't even go past the place where the fence used to be!!

I mean, honestly! It can't be that bad. Grace has touched it three times.

So this is the dog running down the lane and through the meadow on the other side of the electric fence.

I don't come into the meadow much. This is the view the sheep have all day long. Maple trees lining the driveway. Lucky sheep.

And in case they feel the need for spiritual salve, there is the spire of St. Margaret's across the river.