I'm in the garden - Archives

These photos of Crescent Beach were taken almost a year ago. It must have been a rare non rainy day. I do remember thinking that I had foolishly forgotten to take my gloves. Paid a dear price for that, cold, stiff fingers, that could barely work the buttons on the camera. And a wind that found its way up my back when I attempted shoot at different angles, no matter how I tucked my shirt in. Even the dog walkers on the path looked cold. The first shot, of the bench was at one time in the card line, titled "Missing you". I love the simplicity of the empty benches during the winter months. The quietness of the waves as they roll over the seaweed. If you look closely to the bottom right of the seashell, you will see a rock that to me resembles a white glossy pearl. Even on a cold, windy, damp day, there are treasures at the beach.

Enjoy your Sunday!

Next elbow please

You may have heard, Vancouver, Canada has invited the world to come and visit for the 2010 Olympics. To ready ourselves we are cleaning up the streets and brushing up on our manners. Particularly how we sneeze in both public and private. Right now with the H1N1 flu circulating like fruit flies over a apple we are being inundated with self help ideas to stop it in it's track. Besides the obligatory amounts of hand washing, and sanitizing we are all doing our limited best to change the way we sneeze. Not into our hands as we were taught for generations, but into our elbows. This involves some creative maneuverings, and generally leaves us looking like a pretzel covered in snot. The world is coming to visit, and we must be on our best behaviour, just as if Great Aunt Edna was coming for a surprise visit. Pity the poor unfortunate who standing in line, fails to properly contort himself into a yoga pose, and opts instead to spray all of those around him with his "highly contagious" vaporized phlegm. Besides immediately being forced to vacate his place in the line due to the sudden shuffling of bodies far and away from him, he is likely to be escorted out the door by security. If that isn't enough to change his habits, then the affronted looks, and clicking tongues, should persuade him to grab that elbow and stuff his face into it the next time he even feels the slightest urge to sneeze. The world is coming to visit, and we must be on our best behaviour, so pass the next elbow please.

Always on my mind

I have a vague memory of a delicious desert, one that is wiggling around in my head, coming up for air at the most inopportune times. It is always on my mind.

I suppose if I were to call it by it's real name, it should be described as a craving for something sweet. Something that could ward off the bleak and damp weather we are trudging through. This vague memory is from my childhood, when hoards of Alberta relatives swarmed into our house, filling the rooms with laughter, and creme de menth liqueur covered ice cream, a desert that we once found so exotic, and unusual, but now makes me cringe, and chuckle. We once thought that it was just the cat's meow. The Alberta relatives never went anywhere with out the obligatory mound of cookie tins filled to the brim with wonderful homemade goodies. My favorite desert from any prised open, recycled cookie tin involved puffed wheat cereal, and chocolate. I think that you boiled up a chocolate syrup, and mixed in the puff wheat, then pressed it all into a greased glass cake pan. Then you cut it into the most delicious, chewy, crunchy, sweet, salty, delightful squares that you have ever tasted. Do you get the picture? Do you have this recipe? I would give all of Bootsies cat food for the next month just to get my hands on it. Of course I would have to pry the cat food from his terribly sharp, claws deployed, paws, but you get my point. Bootsie needs to go on a diet, but I don't want to be the one to tell him that. So if by chance, you know what I am talking about in all my rambling memories of chocolate puffed wheat squares just like the one's my Alberta Aunties made, please, take pity on me, and let me know. There's a half full bag of Bootsies cat food in it for you. Not really, but you would have my full gratitude, and gratefulness. And hey, let me know what deserts you dream about when waiting in the checkout lineups. What do you crave right now? Is is cheesecake? Pecan peanut brittle, chocolate chip cookies? The list is never ending.....

His favorite places

So here I am perched on the edge of my computer chair trying to type this, because there is a rather plump cat sitting in what he now considers his spot. And that spot just happens to be my computer chair. I love this chair, and apparently now, so does he. Or at least he will claim this spot for a set amount of time, and then he will never return to it again. So far he has tried out, and claimed the back of the sofa, with my best and rather expensive throw. The kitchen chair with it's new corduroy pillow. Gar's favorite chair, and the foot of our bed.

He did briefly consider the floor of the clothes closet, and the bathtub, but they were not to his liking after all. He has claimed so many spots in this little home that we no longer know which blanket is his, and which spot he prefers. He changes his mind about which fleecy throw he prefers, having gone through a few, he no longer will sleep on them. It's a good thing that Bootsie is not a shedding cat, for there would be fur scattered all over here if he was.

This idiosyncrasy is just another part of his personality, and we love him dearly. It goes well with his penchant for having a different flavor of cat food, whenever the urge strikes him. He will happily settle in with one flavor, and suddenly never touch it again. Life with a cat that is not yours, but has adopted you, is always interesting. And if he gets too demanding he knows that he can always return to his "real" home.

Knowing that he is always welcome back at our door anytime.

Life is better, walking in the park

It is rare to have a sunny day here in November, it's mostly rain. So we made sure to utilize the extra light of a sunny day by visiting our favorite spot, Crescent Park.

Life is better, walking in the park. It seems like the rain has brought a few clouds into every one's life lately. We went to enjoy the feel of beautiful sunlight shining on our skin. There is a actual warmth from the sun, that contrasts against the crisp Autumn air. During the week day the park is secluded, silent except for ducks quietly bobbing for food, and squirrels darting through trees. There are few other walkers, and if you don't come across them you can almost imagine that it is your own beautiful acreage that you are traversing. We explored new trails, and discovered a few more bridges. Searched out fungi wrapped in winter shrouds of fallen leaves. Together we stood still for a moment and drank it all in. The leaves that stubbornly refused to let go of branches, the greenness of the moss. The reflection of branches on pond water. And came away happier. After all, life is better after walking in the park.

Natures choral music group

The weakened Autumn sun is coming through my window, along with a beautiful song. Winding it's way through the glass, I can clearly hear natures choral music group, tuning up, joining in, and singing it's little heart's out. There is a group of small birds, mostly chickadees that live in the giant rhododendron by our deck. They flock together and lift their beaks to the sky, flighty, and skittish, with the slightest breeze. But the chirping and tweets that come from them is magnificent. How they manage to dive, and dodge each other, jumping from branches to the bird feeder, is beautiful to watch. They so resemble a school of small minnows, flashing by. The damp autumn air is their water. With no provocation they lift off with split second timing, and disappear to the safety of the nearby bushes. And then when one decides it is safe, they descend upon the bird feeder again. Somewhere in the twittering, and song there are warning signals, and joyous exaltation. The sounds when they are eating from the illegal bird feeder we have hidden in the garden, are more reedy when there is a abundance of food. When the weather is about to change, the tempo speeds up. There is urgency in the singing. If it is a sunny day, they rival the most beautiful choral groups I have ever heard, there is harmony in every note. I might not love living in the city, and my heart might be longing to be transplanted to the country. But until then, I have one of the best examples of natures choral music living right outside my window. And if that is as close to the country as I can get right now, I will take it.

Symphoricarpos alba Common Snowberry

Wednesday Words

If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.

Orson Welles

I have decided to stop my Wednesday Words story here. It has been a lot of fun, and I would like to thank all of the Bloggers who have participated. Please feel free to continue if you would like. I am moving on to different things in the future, and while I might sometimes post photos with quotes on them, I will no longer be calling them Wednesday Words.

Who knows where this path might lead. Look how far it has brought us already. Jen

One degree of separation

He is always warm, and turning down the heat, and I am always cold, and turning it up. There are commercials running on television sponsored by our local electricity provider, that tell you "blankets, are a nice way to stay cosy, and warm." Trying to convince customers that you can turn the heat down slightly if you use a blanket, or a extra sweater to stay warm. Every time that commercial comes on, he has turned to me and said, " see they are telling you turn the heat down." "But darling" I reply, "you need to turn it on first." This has become a running joke in our poor little cold condo. A friend of ours has described his own sweetie as having one degree of separation from being cold. It makes sense to me. I have to do this in Celsius, but you will understand my meaning I am sure.

• If it is 19 degrees in the room, she is cold.
• If it is 20 degrees in the room she is perfect.
• If it is 21 degrees in the room, she is too hot.

I know how she feels.

Kind of makes you wish that guys had the same hormonal fluctuations that we do. Then they could be the ones turning up the heat, or the air conditioner that pivotal one degree.

Here today, fallen tomorrow

I have a Ginkgo Biloba tree, it's been growing in my garden since time began. Or at least it feels that way to me. According to Wilkipedia, it is the best representation of a living fossil around. To me, it is simply stunning. It first came to live with me when it was only 5 inches tall. Nothing more than a sprouted cutting. Now it towers, lurking under the ceiling of the balcony above it. Wanting to stretch itself upwards and grow. I have faithfully moved it into larger pots through the years, and as much as it begs to have the prime spot out in the open air, I am hesitant to move it out into the elements. I love to see the silhouette of the branches against my patio window. I look forward to seeing the first sprouts in the spring, and the golden changes of fall echoed in it's leaves. When they turn, they turn suddenly, there is no halfway point for this foliage, it is all or nothing. One day the leaves are here, and tomorrow they have fallen. Nothing left but bare branches scrapping against the wall in the wind, and piles of golden flakes littering the patio. I leave those leaves for last, their maidenhair like shapes are too beautiful to dispose of quickly. One day, I will be brave, and move this beautiful tree out of it's protective spot, and one day, maybe my heart will be broken, like it did when other special plants succumbed to winters wrath. Or maybe, it will respond to the added light, with a growth spurt that will put it far above the rest of the garden. After all, if this species has been able to survive since the Jurassic period, I think it could put up with some winter rain.

I'm in the garden - Archives

There is quite a disparity between the amount of summer/spring/fall photos and the number of winter shots in my archives.

You may have seen some of these before, especially the photo of the wind chime, and the spider web. But it was difficult to find some photos from this time last year. This year I am definitely trying to get out there between wind storms and shoot something interesting. Let's just say, it's is a challenge. But we all love challenges don't we? Have a great Sunday.

Tuck and Run

BTW, This isn't a new attempt at textures, it is the hydrangea outside of my window, during a hailstorm yesterday. November is well documented around here as one of the wettest months available to us Lower Mainlanders. Apparently all of our beautiful scenery must come at a price. If you live on the wet coast, you learn to to tuck your head down, and run for it. Run for cover, from the door of the building, to the car. Run, from the sidewalk up to the store, and run, run, and run, where ever you go. Most of us are in great shape, from all that running. Tucking your head in your waterproof, hooded jacket, because there is no way a umbrella is going to do you any good other than act as a launching missile for the wind. Some brave souls claim that the weather doesn't bother them. That they don't notice how wet they are. Hmmmmm. Soggy and wet, and you don't notice it? No comment. We love the rain, we have the dewiest skin of any country in the world. Look, no wrinkles, they are all washed out. Our streets are clean, washed and ready for visitors. Our bare branches of the trees sparkle with diamonds, glistening drops of pure rain. We probably have the highest contact lens sales here, because glasses are always wet, and steamy. As long as you wear the obligatory uniform of a waterproof jacket, and great big hood, you will fit right in here. We love the rain, come visit, you'll just need to learn to "tuck and run."

Each day brings us closer to spring

November is always a dismal month for us gardeners. Here, on the Lower Mainland it is wet, cold, damp, and dark. Evening encroaching like a thug, towards the dull windows, blocking the natural light earlier, and earlier. Even if there is a rare burst of sun during these November days, the clouds seem to press in, the darkness feels like a smudge on your glasses, that can't be wiped away. Don't glance in the corners, the darkness is hiding there. Certainly not a time to think of gardening, and Christmas not yet ready to take our mind off of the wickedness of winter. But each day brings us closer to spring. Each gloom encrusted, dripping with condensation day, means we are one day closer to spring. Spring, that burst of green, the scent of the living. A rebirth of joy and optimism in our hearts. Our reward for slogging through a winter's worth of snow, or rain. So hang on tight, soon the carousel of Christmas will begin, the whirlwind of partying and excess, followed by the slimming diet of denial, and then, just when you think that you can't take it any longer, it will be spring. I promise.

Wednesday Words - Remembrance

Lest we forget. Remembrance Day 2009

Better with age

My sister, Turf Toter, and Farmer Tim came down for a visit this weekend. And they mentioned that they would like to revisit the Museum of Anthropology. The University of British Columbia is rather famous for it's stunningly beautiful campus, and medical discoveries. But it is also home to the MOA, or the Museum of Anthropology. A massive building housing many valuable treasures from all over the world. This includes many artifacts from our First Nations heritage. Every school child in the Lower Mainland has partaken in a field trip that included the museum at some time in their schooling. Vague recollections of old stuffy rooms, with multiple drawers, giant totem poles, dugout canoes, and recorded rhythmic drumming live in my memory. Well, maybe it wasn't all that bad. But this time around when we went to visit it as adults, the visit was pleasant, informative, and actually fun. Notice that I say that with some surprise. And they had a amazing gift shop. Everything has gotten better with age, or maybe I have just learned to appreciate it a lot more, but what ever the reason, we had a wonderful time. And I am looking forward to seeing the new exhibits, when the multimillion dollar renovations are completed.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled post

We interrupt this regularly scheduled post to make a small announcement. Ahemmmm..... Muddy Boot Dreams would like to announce that this is it's official 500th post.

Now back to your regular scheduled post.

Thank you for your patience.

Bootsie of course, just wants more food. And Cash, well she is shocked to find out that it is already my 500th post.

A great big thank you to everyone who reads this blog, we have come a long way together, and I have enjoyed every post of it. There are so many of you wonderful bloggers and readers out there. Thank you for your support, your comments, and your inspiration. I would never have discovered how important photography is to my "bliss" without you. Having to find three photos to post nearly everyday has made me a much better photographer. And I heartily recommend it to anyone that wants to improve their skills.

A garden hint that you might not have heard before

This is a re post of another of my favorite posts, it was titled, "A garden hint that you might not have heard about before." It really does work, give it a try next summer.

Here's one garden hint that you might never have heard before. We live in a condo, and it's pretty much community living. Flush your toilet when your neighbor is having a shower, and hear them yell. "Oh well, maybe they shouldn't use so much hot water". Sound carries here. And loudly. So when our younger neighbor, and his twenty something, party hardy type, of friends decided to hang out on the deck right beside our bedroom window all summer, all night, every night. We decided that we had to take action. We took all the appropriate methods, speaking with them, begging them to stop, banging on the walls, and writing letters to council. All to no avail. Then late one evening I was fertilizing with fish fertilizer, and realized what a huge stink it was giving off. And how unpleasantly it lingered in the air for hours. So after that, every time the noise got too much for us, I would mix up a very strong batch of fish fertilizer, and water to my hearts content. With groans of disgust the party goer's would run for the indoors. And we could enjoy our quiet evenings again. So that's my tip for noisy neighbours, fish fertilizer makes a great Party Pooper!

Finding my bliss

I wanted to "reprint" more or less, some of my favorite posts from the last year and a half that I have been blogging. But somehow....things didn't work out like I wanted them to. So if you would be so kind as to scroll down to the post below this one, you will find Frost on the Jellyfish. I think over time I have found who I am as a blogger, and as a photographer, and as a writer. This post was a milestone for me. Another milestone is coming up, my 500th post. Hard to believe, and it only took 400+ posts to figure out who, and what I am. Maybe in the next 500 or so, I can figure out how to repost some of them. Jen

Frost on the Jellyfish

It's early, dark, and cold. The weather man has predicted clear skies, and this seasons first frost. Heading down a steep hill towards the ocean, your brakes screech. You hope that they are not loud enough to wake the sleeping houses that you pass.

Other than the occasional reflective striped jogger, and dog walker, there is no one else populating this eerie world. The sunrise colors the sky to the east, casting a dim glow that makes it hard to see the slippery frost covered wooden pier that you are walking on.

You give up on the pier, and head over the frosty sea washed stones of the beach. There you quietly crunch down towards the water, making your way across the low tide beach.

Walking slowly, due to the lack of light, you do not disturb the sea birds, and the the absolutely huge and magnificent blue heron, The warbling wonnnnnoook of the Canada Geese, makes your breath catch in awe. The light evens out, and it is time to take photos.

As you pick your way through the increasing light, you realize that leaving the rubber boots in the car trunk was not a good idea. Because the numb feeling in your hands may be from the frost, but the coldness in your feet, is from the incoming tide that has just washed over your shoes.

Avoiding the large translucent mounds of jelly fish marooned on the sand, you easily mistake a coating of sand for frost. And marvel at the utterly alien shape of them. They have not been picked clean like the unfortunate crab shells scattered around.

Suddenly there is a slight warmth in the air, and a very bright ball of light. You come to the conclusion that this is the reason they tell you not to shoot into the sun. Besides blowing out the expensive sensor in your camera, latent sun spots in your vision make it hard to see the sand. And harder to avoid the puddles of seawater that have now seeped into your last good pair of shoes.

All this doesn't matter as the heron takes flight, disturbed by your movements. You try to capture his flight on film, but he proves too powerful and fast. The sun rises so quickly over the trees, that you can actually see it moving. It makes you feel like you are on a camera expedition in some exotic location. The sea birds chirping, and the whirling of wings creates a lump in your throat.

You are grateful that your shoes seem salvageable, and your camera still works. You also know, that this may not be a exotic and unusual place, but it is a special place, and it is home.