Do you ever do this? Drive by a interesting looking place of business, because you have another destination in mind, and limited time. Thinking to yourself, I must remember to drop in there sometime. Well, last week we did finally drop by and visit Westham Island Herb Farm, and am I ever glad that my BIL turned down that road. And next to fall harvest time, I don't think that we could have picked a better time to make a first visit.
Sunflowers lining the long narrow country road, hulking antique vehicles, and farm equipment ghostlike in the far distance, and patchwork fields of brilliantly blooming flowers greeting you as you step out. Acres and acres of multi generational farm land, first farmed in 1916. Organic veggies, organic flowers, cats, bunnies, donkeys, cows, and flowers, flowers, flowers. Did I mention cats? Of course a farm must have cats.
Producing farm grown products from early spring to late fall, they host haunted houses, pumpkin patches, and school tours. In the summer they sell honey, fresh farm grown veggies, herbs, and a wide variety of fruit. I am looking forward to the squash harvest, and was told that they grow 7 different types of sweet potatoes, I am so in! Those are my favorites. A highlight of our tour was the working antique Orange Crush soda cooler, that I posted a photo of a few days ago. I have not seen one of those since our long ago family camping weekends, it brought back many good memories.
So if by chance you are out driving around Ladner, and just happen to be near Westham Island, drop by Westham Island Herb Farm, at 4690 Kirkland Road, in Delta. The farm owners are friendly, the cats love people, the produce is amazing, and the flowers are spectacular. A great day to go visit would be September 12th,"A Day At the Farm." Please google Westham Island Farms for more info, since my links still are not working.
I have this theory that karma gives you get the kind of cat that you can handle, I know silly me. New to cats, you get a cosy throw kitty… one that gracefully reclines on your lap all day. More experienced with cats, then maybe a few problems get thrown in, such as midnight upchucking of half digested flies… in the middle of your kitchen table.
Hey, if you are a cat person you are now probably nodding your head… if you aren’t a cat person… well lucky you… I think. If this theory holds, then I am a incredible cat whisperer, which I highly doubt, because as much as I love cats, I sometimes have no idea what motivates Bootsie.
We have a doggie door in the pantry, it came with the house… good thing they had small dogs. The first year Bootsie was determined that the doggie/now cat door would lead him straight into the gaping jaws of Daisy, dog next door. Might have been the fact that each time he peeked his furry head out the door she went nutsy. We’ve fixed that, and many kitty treats later, he will use the cat door. But only as a In door, and he refuses to go Out the In door.
At the other end of the house are some glass French doors opening up onto the back porch, which he apparently considers the Out door. Especially if we have just sat down in the kitchen to eat. Then he saunters over to the French doors with as much enthusiasm as a cats can muster and stares out the glass, looks back over his shoulder at us, and then through the glass outside.
If you’ve ever had a cat, you will recognize you are being told that you are a fool for not knowing exactly what they want, which in this case is “let me out, you can opener you.” “But Boo, I’ve just sat down, my feet are sore, my food is getting cold, and I don’t want to let you out the door, use your cat door.” Silent green eyed stare as only a cat can do. “Boots! Use your cat door… plllllleeeeasse.” “Oh alright… ” shuffle, dance, ouch, shuffle… make my way to the French doors, and return to my chair and my now cold dinner. Only to find that he has circled around the house, entered through the in door, and is now happily ensconced on my chair napping.
Fine… Sigh. That wasn’t a cat whisper, I think it was him snickering.
We have new neighbors, the nicest young couple, with two kitties, and a restraining order against Bootsie. Well, I am almost sure that they don’t have one against him…yet. But maybe they should, not that it would stop anything from happening. The problem is they let their cats out, and they are not supposed to do that. While neither are we, our Bootsie comes with a long past history of running free. And we can always claim that he is only visiting from across the street. Like he has been doing for the past four years. He is obsessed with their two cats, going so far as to wait in front of their gated patio all day. Like a military General, he is mustering forces, going undercover, stalking them. Back and forth from our deck to theirs, tracking. Eyes wide open, pupils dilated in the twilight, to catch any movement.
T he new cats cower in the corner of their patio, jostling for position closest to the door. Until one sacrifices itself and makes a desperate run for the garden. Bootsie follows, oblivious to our pleas. Crouching down outside walls, reconnoitering under shrubs, mission impossible, catch the kitties. Pounce, and yowl. Run, hide, scatter. Doors flying open, apologies all around, kitties being called home. We are all living on edge, waiting for the next howl. and the only really good thing happening is he is losing weight from all the running back and forth. Gar calls it his surveillance diet. He never sleeps, and forgets to eat. I am sure that will change soon. Agent Jane, signing off. Mission not accomplished.
I have to admit, I am not scared of the dark. Just the absence of light! Up in Armstrong it's dark, not ghostly, creepy, horror film kind of dark, but there is a total lack of light. No luminescence from the city, no glow of the streetlights. Without the moon, if you forget the flashlight walking to the camper means you have a very good chance of bumping into a tree. Nothing like heading out from a well lit house, on a dark night, with two dogs circling around your feet, and trees on a dirt path to the camper. Might even have one of the barn cats along for a walk. These definitely are the times I am glad that my GA is with me. I get spooked kind of easy, but nothing bothers him. OK laugh at me wanting to live in the country. But that's why they make flashlights! When the horses nicker, sensing that GA is nearby, and hoping against hope for a midnight snack, it makes me think that there might be a bear around. It's a good possibility. There is less likely hood of intruders, mostly other animals, coyotes, bears, farm dogs. So last night when we were safely tucked up in bed, at our ground floor condo, hashing out the days events, the last thing on my mind was that someone might be out on the deck. But there was this odd scratching noise of something rattling down the window screen. Burglars? Peeping Tom's? Someone wanting a early review of tomorrows blog post? My GA like usual, was unperturbed strange noises don't bother him. But I was a little leery to peer out the window. With all the lights on in the bedroom I can't see outside. But I tried. Nothing, just dark inky blackness."Shhhhhhh!! I can't see anything." So I ran to the patio door, and at first I could not see anything. Suddenly a small dark grey shadow started scratching at the glass. And meowing. It was the"Hussy". She had been hanging out on our deck earlier during the day. We offered her some food, but she was not hungry, just lonely. She has a cute collar and a bell. She looks well fed, and solid. Now she had decided that she would like to take us up on that earlier offer of food. And she was lonely, and needed a hug. Once my heart calmed down, we fed her, and sent her on her way. Hoping that she would return to her home. "What is it with this place, it's a haven for stray cats!" GA grumbled. After all the Hussy was our third cat of the day. I just think that all the cats let each other know, where it is safe to visit, and who is sympathetic to feeding them. I [we] would not have it any other way.
I must admit to being perplexed with people who don’t love cats. I mean, what’s there not to love… warm, sleek, furry, glossy, [scratching the furniture, knocking down the plants… ] Cosy on your feet, purring, [loves to head butt you in the early hours of the morning.] Waking up at 4 am, makes it so much more special when they let you sleep until 6:00 am.
Bird watching, chirping, doors in, out, in out, in… out? [Make up your mind, it’s freezing standing here in the doorway, and it’s too early in the morning to do this.] Brings you dead grey treaties with furless tails… [tries to teach you to hunt.] Cuddles in the evening, watches TV from your lap. Soft furry meows, raspy tongue. Underfoot… ouch well it’s your fault your tail was there. “I’m so sorry, it’s my big feet, here let me pick you up… ouch, don’t bite me, it was your fault, not mine.”
YOUR TAIL IS IN MY TEA! Get your tail out of my tea. Ugggghhh… Who said you could jump on the computer desk anyways? Right… me. And here I thought it was sooo cute. Was going to take a photo and put it on my blog.
Don’t whip your tail around like that, you will get the monitor all wet. Stop please stop, I will do anything if you will just jump down, go…lie down. NO! I will not feed you again, your tail marks are all over the monitor, now it’s got wet streaks all over it. Yes, I know that the curser is cute, and looks just like a bug on the screen… oh, don’t bat at it… Boootsiiiie. Get down, no that’s not the kind of mouse you can catch, that’s my mouse, for MY computer. When I said get down, I meant get off of the computer desk, I can’t see over you…
Oh… you want to lie down on the computer desk, in front of the monitor… you are such a cute baby… Sweetie, come look at the cat, how adorable he is… he wants to blog too.
It’s the new year, and it’s time to dream, to think, to wonder. Inspiration can be found in so many places, books, magazines, blogs. I dream of a gated garden, beautifully aged wood, white washed, and weathered. With soft pink rambling roses gracefully arching as they practice their yoga. The thorns are retracted so they do not scratch the cats as they parade on the top of the fence. The cats pacing makes them look like trapeze artists, as their well fed tummies wobble back and forth when they stop to playfully swat at a bee. The sun dapples the trees feet, the breeze is soft, and warm. The promise of a life lived, loved, and still to come.
There are hills and hollyhocks in my gated garden, the hollyhocks act as if they are the reason for the picket fence to be holding it’s self so upright. But we know it is the green grass, and the wildflowers outside of the garden that lovingly hold up the fence. The veggies may say that they are the reason the garden is so lovely, with it’s raised beds, and beautiful gravel paths.
But it is the gate that will draw your eye. Antique, solid, and with a history of being wired, and repaired, it’s original galvanized metal painted so many times it is still chipping, and textured. The creaking sound it makes as we push it open an integral part of the experience of the garden. A soft welcome to new friends. So far I have only seen them in shops, but one day I will find my gate. And then I will have the gated garden of my dreams.
It’s been a long, hot, hard, summer. And I can’t say with total conviction that I am glad it’s over, but I am pretty sure I am. Yes I will miss the warm days, and beautiful brightness. But I will not miss the 2 am wakeup calls from Bootsie and the constant keening, and screaming of the seagulls. For some reason, the Boo decided that we all needed to wake up at 2am. Every day of the spring and summer. If we needed more sleep that was too bad, he demanded to be let out, in order to roam the “whatever” and he was determined to have his way. Now I can see some of you shaking your heads, well you probably don’t have a determined black and white cat, or one at all. This is what a cat that has decided to adopt new people, and more or less just moved in does. He grooms the new people to his standard, and they, pleased as punch that the now grown up kitten that has visited them for 3 years has made them family, give in. We love him dearly. We also loved sleep, but that was another story.
Things changed after we went away for 4 days in September, his routine disrupted, we no longer reacted to his wakeup calls, and he now sleeps until 5 am. Of course the fact that the seagulls are sleeping in till 5 might have something to do with it. Boo had some difficulties when the new neighbors moved in, and let their two cats roam. Overnight he turned into the worst kind of stalker kitty. Pouncing on the unsuspecting younger female, howling and yowling at the slightly older male. Life was lived with even less sleep during this transition. They all seemed to collide when the sun went down. No relaxing for us. Howls, and hisses. Then one very fierce fight, and sudden silence. The next thing we knew, they became best friends forever. Go figure.
We expected tension, but they now get along, the two neighbor cats are exploring our deck, and even peeking in through our patio doors at us. The Boo shares the space with them, and they all play together, I am still kind of awed that they can go from stalkers, to best friends forever. But I guess I don’t know kitties as well as I thought I did. Seagulls, and their constant screeching? Well.
I am looking at the photos of the blueberries that I took, there are a lot of them.too many to just choose a few for this blog post. But it makes me think, you can never have too much of a good thing can you?
Love, sunny weather, warmth, cats, well maybe too many cats… Fresh fruit, green peas, green grass, summer rain… well maybe too much summer rain.
Hugs, homemade ice cream, lemonade, fresh from the garden veggies… Drives in the country, counting hay bales, watching the sunset into the dark blue mountains.
Birds in the garden, the quail bringing their babies to visit, Phil, and his hens bringing their chicks back… Cherries still warm from the sun… winter socks on a cool spring day…
Tissues for a sad movie, phone calls from good friends, bread fragrant from the oven, faith… The list just goes on. What good thing can’t you get enough of? I’m blogging with my summer schedule, so look for posts on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for the next little while. Jane
I am not a good sleeper at the best of times, and when Bootsie decides to escape outside and refuses to come back in like a errant teenager, I don’t really sleep at all. He loves to sleep all day, ignores our pleading and prodding, and only wakes up when it is fully dusk. I know that cats are nocturnal, but hope springs eternal. And those nights that he deigns to sleep on the foot of our bed, are my best sleep. No worrying about him being outside, no stress when I hear howling, and hissing noises outside of my window. Life with a teenage…cat. At least he doesn’t ask for the car keys. We don’t willing let him out, but he has a past history before coming to live with us, and that involves refusing to use a litter box, and coming and going as he pleases. We are all in counseling, and one day they say he might even come to love us again. Tough love isn’t easy.
Sometimes we are forced to lock down the patio door partially open so he can come back in when he feels like it, and I can actually get some sleep. A win-win for both sides. I thought, until the other night. As always, I lay awake until I hear him finish his carousing and decide to come home for the night. Then I usually get up, give him heck for ignoring my calls and shut the door. Hearing the sharp click of claws on the door frame, I got out of bed, and headed to the kitchen. Crunching noises ensued, he was finally in for the night. In the dark, with my trusty flashlight, so as not to wake up Gar, and here might I say.I am SO GLAD I PUT MY GLASSES ON! I went towards the kitchen and the cat food dish. But it wasn’t Bootsie eating there, it was a stinkin Raccoon. I screamed, it jumped, and started to come towards me, I shined the light right into it’s eyes, but it wouldn’t back off. Bare feet, middle of the night, weak flashlight, and a dark room. This is worse then a horror movie! Run Jane! Run Jane! But where? It’s going to get me no matter where I go. We only have 800 square feet, Gar save yourself! Bootsie you are on your own.
Finally my yelling scared it enough and it sauntered out the open patio door. Gar, by the way, slept through all of this, and Boots, well he turned up the next morning. The patio door? It’s now firmly locked all night, and if Bootsie doesn’t return at dark, he is out there all night. It’s every man, woman, and raccoon for themselves around here. Jane .
Cat’s are not like dogs, in fact they are so much like well… cats. At least you can stand there and call a dog back, and have some hope of it responding. It won’t be interested in returning but at least it will acknowledge that you called it before loping off into the neighbours yard. We should have known something was up in the Boo’s furry little brain when he started being intent on inspecting the front door every time it was open. We started small, allowing him to step into the patch of sunshine out front, carefully watching him sniff the foundation and calling him back if he ventured further then a few feet away from us.
He was toying with our minds like a cat plays with a mouse. Setting us up for his great escape. Making us think that he was perfectly happy just staying in the yard, and knowing his boundaries. Yesterday I let him outside the front door, like I do when I sweep the porch, and then I watched as he slunk around the corner towards the neighbours house. As I hurried over towards him, he merely stuck his tail up in the air, and darted across the adjoining lawn. Then he was gone.
“BOOT’S, BOO. BOOOOOTTTSSSIIEEE.” Dang, he was gone out of sight. That’s a $2000.00 kitty gone like a flash I thought to myself. And I love him dearly, but when I find him… agh. [His vet bills are always so high, so we always refer to him as our expensive cat, and yes it was over $2000.00.] Running back into the house to get the magic can of cat food, and spoon which always works as a dinner bell in the house, I searched for him in the neighbours front yard. Nothing… no black fur ball hiding out there, nothing under the vehicles. I would have to approach the neighbours houses and knock on their doors. I was reluctant to meet them this way but… I knocked, can of cat food held up high in one hand, empty spoon in the other, this wasn’t how I had planned on meeting them “Hi, um… I’m your neighbour, my cat is in your yard do you mind if I take a look?” The very large black dog that regularly poops in my yard tried to nose his way out the door towards me, and the neighbour looked friendly enough, but harried. “No problem, he said”
Feeling foolish I scouted through at least two back yards calling “Boooooottts come back.” I am dressed in hot pink garden clogs, black pants, and a dark brown down fill with a huge rip in the front from the last Boo escape. No sign of him anywhere, but then a small frightened flash of black out from near the fence that surrounded our yard. There he was, finally. Intelligent enough to try and get back to his own yard, just on the wrong side of the fence.
“Oh Boo, once again you know you are never getting out right?” He merely meows and head bumps me. Well at least meeting the neighbours is off of my list.
Spring hides in the curve of the crocus, it quivers in the branches of the pussy willows as they move in the cool breeze. It lurks in the dried parchment husks covering the daffodils before they bloom. Spring is released from the trumpets of the narcissi's as they open and immediately flits to the cherry blossoms to bestow a kiss. Spring wades through the blue grape muscari, drinking nectar from their rounded cups. Spring waits for the perfect moment, and when the lilac first blooms it alights and set off a galaxy of fragrance. Spring dances in the sunlight’s diamonds, water drops that coat the grass. Catches a ride on the furry paws of the cats as they go on their morning rambles. Spring dances in the flowers that bend towards the light. Spring celebrates life.
Dear FB, I think we need to break up, and while normally you might expect me to say it’s me, not you because that’s what people usually say when they want to break up a relationship… oh no it’s not you, it’s me. But you know what, this time it’s you, not me.
I’m growing apart, losing my focus, losing my patience with you. Because you know what FB, it is you. Yes this is your fault, not mine. I tried in the beginning, even when the smart part of my brain said, no don’t go there, it’s not for you. Don’t jump on that bandwagon, don’t fall for those alluring stats, the thought of being part of a community that “gets” you. I envisioned myself dropping witty comments, and sprinkling “likes” throughout my newsfeed. Thought that signing up was going to make my life better, widen my circles, give me more exposure for my blog. FB I fell for you, and hard. We spent time together, we laughed, we joked, we were serious together, we did some good stuff, I really thought we had a great thing going. I thought we had something special. But I found out that you were fickle, you wandered, you lost interest in my page when I was too busy to post more then once a day. If I missed a day, I felt left behind, forgotten. You only loved me when it suited you. When I read my stats I was disappointed with you FB… you used to show my posts to so many more people, now only 7 to 10 people see my post? Why should I bother? And you were not totally honest with me FB, I thought that you would only share my posts, and comments, but not my information. I feel betrayed, and annoyed, I put time into you FB, real time that I could have spent doing something more rewarding, like… well shaving my legs!
Then you had the nerve to sneak in other pages into my news feed, asking me to “like” them. Shame on you FB… you, you two timer! I thought we were exclusive. Some times there were so many “suggested likes” cluttering up my feed that I had to scroll down forever to find someone I recognized. It feels like all I ever see are cats, cartoons, and comments, where are all the rest of the pages that I like? What happened to all of the creative people? The small business, the interesting things that I “liked.” I knew it was all over when I kept seeing the same pages, over, and over. I would click on the button telling you that “Idon’twanttoseethis” numerous times, but you just didn’t learn. There they were, the same posts again the next day. How much should a girl take before she has to realize that it’s all over. How much did you understand about me? Did you ever listen when I filled out those endless surveys? Do you like this, do you like that? I’m into photography, enamoured with it. Passionate about it, and I work hard at getting a good photo. Did you know that, did you care? FB what you did to my images was just plain mean. You thwarted me at every turn, you squished, squashed, and blurred my images until they were barely recognizable compared to what I had originally uploaded. You obviously didn’t care about what I did, the time spent on improving them meant nothing to you. Just when I thought I knew exactly what size would look the best, you would change something, tweak it a bit, and they looked bad again. FB you're a full time, high maintenance relationship. It’s difficult keeping up with your mercurial changes, your security fixes, your super secret ways of deciding what is on my news feed. It seems that every few days I read someone's post telling me how you have gone and switched settings again, blasting my previously private information out there into the public domain. And if I didn’t make those changes immediately then every secret that I had whispered to you would be revealed. How nice is that FB? That’s just another reason I want to break up.
I think. I’m not completely sure if I want to leave, it’s nice to see my friends, and the pages I “like”, [when you feel like showing them to me], but it’s getting harder to find updates, what kind of relationship is that? This is starting to feel like a sinking ship. If I stay FB, we need to set some ground rules, you need to change, or I am out of here, off to the other ones, Google + Pinterest, Instagram. I know where I stand with them, they like my photos, they put everything I post into the news feed… no pleading, and I don’t have to buy my way in. Pinterest loves me, and Instagram is welcoming me with open arms… I’m tired of being ignored FB. I’m going to give you one more chance, but I want you to understand this, it’s you, not me. If you don’t start to make a effort, well, there are a lot of other fish in the sea, and plenty of room in their boats.
I’m all set for a few peaceful moments alone in the garden, got my gloves, trowel, kneeling pad, and plants. There are some weeds out there with my name on them, the garden needs to be tidied up. Just as I step off the back porch I hear…
Coohoo coohoo. It’s joined in by a loud trilling “keee keee kee kee” that means the red headed woodpecker is wanting to drop by for a fly through. Fine, if the doves, and the woodpecker have decided that this is the perfect time for a snack, I can move elsewhere. I round the corner with all my gear, garden clogs slogging through the grass, and as I turn the corner I startle the nesting quail that have foolishly left their eggs alone for date night at the bird seed dish. “Fine, I can regroup there are more then enough gardens to work in” I tell them. His bobbing dark feathered headgear bouncing with annoyed distress as he flitters along the top of the chain link fence. She stays on the ground, pecking away at the seed, ignoring me from a few feet away. They have gotten so used to us that unless we get too close, or startle them, they rarely leave when we are around. When they come in large groups there is always one acting as a sentinel pacing around to sound the alert. Because the young, and dumb, can get a little too into eating and forget to keep one eye out predators. Now don’t go telling anyone because I will never admit it, but I think I’ve got myself in too deep this year. There is too much to water, keep up, weed, and to keep organized. And it’s not even the hottest part of summer yet.
This gardeners eyes are bigger then her ability to do the work. It’s grown beyond just sprucing up the place, making it ours, it’s changed the landscape front and back. No longer the empty football field backyard of barren grass, with fir tree droppings, branches, dusty soil, and patchy lawn, it’s in the process of becoming beautiful, filling in more each year. My goal is a natural but tidy paradise. Butterflies, birds, pollinators, deer, cats, crows, pheasants, quail, eagles, hawks, all visit here and are welcome [maybe not the bear cub again]. The problem might be that only one of us is a garden lover, the other is the labourer as “he” loves to tell the neighbours, who then share a look of empathy and understanding with him over the fence. But I think he is coming around nicely, and he really enjoys the birds. It’s a lot to manage, and it’s growing all the time, there is the patio garden surrounding the corner of our back porch. It’s where my beloved Gingko tree, and Japanese Red Maple I’ve grown from teeny tiny babies now live. Along with a limelight hydrangea, clematis, and so many rambunctiously reseeding cleome, cosmos, and bachelors buttons. Because I can’t bear to pull them out they grow through the gravel between the cement pavers so there is only room to sit in there during the spring.
The “shade garden” off the edge of the patio contains most of the shade loving plants that once grew on my condo deck, now happily flourishing in partial shade and morning sun. The golden hops which is starting to strangle anything in it’s way seems to want to touch the sky, but settles for overcoming the chickadees bird house for now. The “bird garden” is where all of the birds love to hang out and peck at the bird seed. We used part of last year’s fallen maple tree to make a rail fence that the birds love to perch on. I’m hoping that the honeysuckle will fill in and wind around the railings as time goes by. This garden is filled with tough durable plants in it that serve as food, shelter, and a place to trash when they feel like chasing each other around in territorial disputes. Next to it is the “cat” garden, which has a wonderfully rusted cat silhouette standing on a good chunk of maple tree branch. The wrought iron gate that my Dad made for me years ago will be adorned by clematis this summer. I’m also hoping that my neighbours gift of giant orange daylilies will have huge flowers in our summer heat.
When you have gardened in a limited amount of square footage for so many years, it’s like being a gardener in a candy store of plants, you go a little bit wild. Building gardens right and left, there are many more gardens in my yard, but too many to write about in this post. To think that these gardens were nothing but bare patches lacking even grass when we moved in makes my heart sing now. They are the heart of the back yard, where the birds hang out, and the cat watches the sun go down in the evening. They are the place my eyes go to each time I look out the window. It’s been a lot of work, and they may not look as full as they will one day, but they are coming along nicely.
Ever wonder what goes through a bloggers mind, how they resolve the issues of coming up with new and interesting blog posts for their readers? What spurs them onward, what inspires them? Our journey starts here: 3:00 am — Wake up, start to visualize the next post for your blog. Fall asleep. 4:30 am — Wake up feeling a sense of dread, what will you write about? 5:00 am — Wake up again. Plan in your head the most interesting and visual blog post you have ever written. The eloquence of the phrases makes your heart soar, this is sheer poetry. The best post you have ever been inspired to write. Fall asleep again, dreaming of comments, and happy readers. 6:05 am — Wake up…again. Realize that you can't recall any of the subject matter of the imagined post. Nor can you recall any of the words, phrases, or photos that you had thought to use. 6:17 am — Pull yourself out of bed, because there is a scratching noise at the patio door. 6:18 am — Open the curtains to reveal a unhappy and impatient cat called Bootsie waiting outside. He looks so cute with his black fur, and snow flakes speckling him, that you tell him to"hold that pose" and run to get your camera. 6:19 am — Bootsie scratches at the glass door as you madly click away. Wondering if the neighbors think that you are just a crazy photographer, or a very cruel person who won't even let stray cats in during a snowstorm. 6:21 am — Wonder what you are going to write about today?
9:15 am — Mention blogging to a colleague, and see a blank look on their face. Wonder what you are going to write about today? 12:17 pm — During a conversation with a customer realize that you have discovered what you are going to write about. Mark it down on a piece of paper and shove it in your pocket. 5:48 pm — Come home, cook dinner, do laundry. Wonder what you should blog about for the next day? Oh right, there was something written on a piece of paper, you put it in your pocket… oh no. Fish pants out of washer, too late. Wonder what you are going to blog about tomorrow?
The first snowfalls in the land of the big skies are magical. Cloaking the world around us with softness, wiping clean the memories of last winter. Winter welcomed with open arms. The anticipation of Christmas, the joy of the season, it’s enough to keep us warm. We pause to take a breath and be fully immersed in the novelty of snow fluff.
The soft glow of the sun as it tries to climb out of the clouds infuses every inch of the outdoors with pearly tones. Come outside, it’s not as unforgiving as it looks, it lies to us, and we believe it. Anything to see beyond the four walls of stifling indoors. Fingers numb, toes cold, skin bracing, nose prickling, it’s well worth the effort to bend limbs stuffed with multiple layers into jacket sleeves in order to capture this frosty glow. We are pioneers, we are strong, we lie to ourselves, look at us dashing through the snow, camera in hand, how brave. Look no mittens. It’s a winter wonderland, fence posts laden with snow like candy canes, and sugar plums to our eyes. See that tree, the bare branches piled high with white, the road even looks like sugar dust. Click, and hold the camera to our warm bodies as it’s battery dies down… just one more shot, pleeeease.
The warning signs of frostbite, numbness in the button pushing bare finger ignored as worth the cost of agonizing tingles to come later. We are tasked with capturing brown branches sprinkled with white garland, a dusting so light it blows away with our breath. Click as the birds soar above our heads, everything looks magical in this light. We are in danger of shattering with the cold, clouding over brings a chill unwelcome, but we must capture the light… and then it’s gone. Hidden behind a cloud, it cries tears of snow as it goes.
Warm memories of heated rooms, and purring cats draw us home. Sleigh bells ring, are you listening…
Any gardener will tell you. With a downward side glance that betrays a lie. They love all of their plants equally. But despite the assurances that they love all the same, they do have favourites. Nature doesn’t have favourites, all are treated alike. Summer to grow, Autumn for responding to the cold, dropping leaves, preparing. Winter is survival, not sleep. Spring is the reward for making it through. It’s a harsh and unforgiving world outside during winter, Autumn is a stern warning, predicting what is to come.
Gardener’s hope, dream, love, and think of spring, while trying to keep warm inside. Plants grow deeper roots, animals seek food, birds leave. Another pile of leaves onto a favoured tree, hoping to protect it from winters greedy fingers, that it will it make it without damage. There is little to do to save them besides hope, and worry. Wishing that the winter will be easier then the last is futile, it won’t save the plants from the cold, but it’s still done. Each gardener has favourites, even if nature doesn’t.
Vines once clinging greenly to bird house topped poles, withered like a piece of paper dropped in a puddle, worry the gardener. Grasses bent with the first too early snow, corn colored, rasping dry seed pods rattled together, cold weather taking the flush of summer color sadden the gardener. Nature doesn’t notice. Delicate annuals left behind, tightened mounds, dark with frost damage, soon the compost their new home, nature has no favourites. Bright colors meant nothing, cheery hellos turned to sad goodbyes when the first frost hit.
Bobble headed quail stand together on rocks that line the garden, feathers fluffed as they rest for a moment, huddled together for warmth, heads drooping from quick naps. Night time is spent balancing up on the branches, trying not to fall asleep too deeply, plummeting to the earth before waking, tipping back and forth all night, on sturdy little claws, clutching rough branches, they know safety in numbers. Bald Eagles, perched in the dead trees, brazenly tracking neighbourhood cats, whom intent on delicately picking their way through the grass, are deep inside some imaginary hunting expedition, not knowing they might become the meal instead. Worried squirrels chattering away at the Doves who come at dusk, there is only so much food and sharing isn’t something that they do well. Caught stuffing seeds in the empty bird houses, entry holes chewed down now blocked, they stand frustrated at the treasures they know are inside.
Mice scurry towards a open door, hoping to get through the winter in a warmer place are not Natures favourite, they might be the Eagles dinner one day, after it eats the cat for lunch. They seek shelter where ever they can fit a whisker into, squeezing through the smallest holes. Dark eyes peek out at the cat who strolls by his tail in the air. The gardener seeks shelter inside, catalogues open for enticement, watching as Nature prepares to do battle with those that are left outdoors. Knowing that there is little to be done, favourites or not.
Life is full of surprises, a big one I suppose is that many of us can’t sing but think we can. Watch a couple of auditions on American Idol if you don’t believe me. You either can, or baby sorry but you can’t. I can’t, nope, but oh do I wish I could. Life however has a out for those of us who can’t sing. Can’t carry a tune?Drag it!Just turn up the music andsinglike you are the winner of a really badtalent show. It’s all in the way youpresent it baby.
It’s learning to make do with what you have, so what if you’re tone deaf, maybe a bad singer, turn up the music loud enough, and you sound great. Now, sing along to your hearts content.
If you have it loud enough it will drown out your harmonizing that sounds like a herd of cats yowling at the birds.
And that’s how you make lemonade out of a silk sow’s ear. La de da de daaauuuuuuugggg… This post is not brought to you by American Idol, or any other show that can carry a tune.
We are just over our 6th month living up here, and finding out that the weather is just as unpredictable as down on the coast. We were told that it rains, but it stops after April, and doesn’t come back until October, but lately it’s rained cats and dogs, downpours, and ditches overflowing, and this is June.
A real Okanagan rain is a light sprinkling, the ground won’t be saturated, the cars won’t be wet, and the wipers might be needed if you are speeding down the highway and then only on delay. A real Okanagan rain is one that you can walk through without a jacket, or umbrella, and never fear getting your hair or your glasses wet. We haven’t had too many of those lately. It’s been torrential downpours, and saturated soil.
When the sun comes out it’s hot, and the soil dries out so quick you forget that it ever rained for days. We’ve had some really beautiful warm days and now we are back to the real Okanagan rain around here for the next few days. And you know, I really don’t mind them.
What kind of rains do you get in summer? Torrential, or drought conditions? Drying out…
Spoiled, not him? Our Bootsie is a adored, and slightly spoiled cat and while I might kid my parents that it’s their Grand-kitty. I’m only half joking. They adore him also, fat little fur ball that he is.
He is also a expert at getting what he wants, demanding those 5 am feedings, multiple times a day. Life for the Boo goes from meal to meal. Dinner is the hardest one to deal with, and he knows instinctively that when our guards are down we will pretty much do anything to get him out from under our feet. The meowing reaches a crescendo right when our reserves are low, when the pot is bubbling over, or the pan is burning… his timing is impeccable. Don’t shake your head at him, it’s us, we spoilt him when he first decided to adopt us, because he would get so sick he nearly died a few times… life is short, feed them well, and love them deeply was our motto. Well, we might have fed him a bit too well in the beginning, and now we struggle to cut him back. He demands his food right at 5 pm, when I start to make dinner, leaves and comes back again when we eat. It was driving me batty, just as we sat down, he would return to beg, and he knows he doesn’t get fed again after his dinner. No scraps snuck under the table, not a tidbit went to him, until after dinner, and then maybe a touch of chicken. I know, bad kitty people.
The “cat” garden, and the “bird” garden border the corner back of our yard, named after the cat sculpture, and the wild quail that like to gather there every night and feast on the bird seed during the cooler days. Bootsie loves watching the birds, and usually is content quietly laying on the back porch,but when baby quail time hatches, it’s difficult to keep him away from the feathered frolickers. We chase him away from the bird garden until the babies have grown up, until summer when the birds visit rarely, then we let him have the run of the back yard. When I found him hanging out on the edge of the bird garden a few months ago, I was worried that the quail were quivering in the bushes, hiding from him fearing for their lives. Until one day when I was checking up on the Boo who hadn’t been seen for ages, something grey, small, sleek and furry ran past my feet. Eek mice! And judging by the scurrying noises, a lot of eeeekkk mice. Ugh. I’m not a fan of anything that scurries… and yes I know that mice need to live also… maybe they could go and set up house somewhere else. Like a few doors down where the chickens are. Or maybe at the neighbours under their shed, like they have done for years. There is a good side to all this, Bootsie is so fascinated by the skittering, scurrying, scuttling, noises that they make while scooting over the dried leaves under the bushes… it’s like MTV for kitties.
Mouse Television. And guess when the best programs are on? Yes, right during our dinner time. Life is great isn’t it? Bootsie’s perched in front of the Moob tube all evening… and we get to eat dinner in peace. In fact we have to practically drag him in at night… he is so interesting in watching them. I just hope that the summer programs last a bit longer, I’m really starting to enjoy our quiet dinners without all the meowing. Thank you to everyone who have left such wonderfully supportive comments, and emails, about the recent post on my Dad. Your words are enlightening, heartening, and sustaining my faith in better days to come. I’m still reading the comments slowly, taking my time — it’s heartbreaking to realize that this is happening to so many other people also, and to be honest it make me cry when I read them. But tears are good, trust me. It’s been 3 days now, and things are improving, he is settling in, and the cat that resides in the home has come and staked out her territory in his room. His chair, his bed, and the top of his dresser… we both love cats, and are absolutely charmed by her behaviour. This makes it so much easier for all of us, and I think I even saw a smile the other day. It was from him. Jane
I found out about Bootsie, and the simple law of physics last week. He’s a small cat in a big body, and the law of physics is all about how to bend over when you are tall. [At least that’s what my chiropractor says].
Apparently when you are tall, and you lean forward without bending your knees to pick up your too fat ahem… weight challenged cat, you will hurt your back. See, simple law of Physics. A body that bends and picks up a heavy weight at one end will tend to keep hurting until it sees a Chiropractor.
A lot of hurt that lasted all week, because that body is too stubborn to go to said Chiropractor, thinking instead the back pain will go away. It didn’t, and it only got worse.
If you can’t walk, or get out of a chair, because your back is sore, you are not happy. Feed the cat less, even though he continuously begs, and he will weigh less. Of course then you will have scratched ankles from a skinnier displeased and unhappy kitty, but he will weigh less.
You in turn will save money by not having to see the Chiropractor every week.
See, simple law of physics, and fat weight challenged cats. Oh my aching back…
