it's for the frogs

I know we're very lucky to have a pool at our place.  It's a 'country' pool, though, and plainer and humbler than its sparkling chlorine-redolent city cousins.  This is the time of year when we wage a losing battle against the leaves,  and it becomes time to close it up for the season.

For some reason, I was in charge of its upkeep this rainy summer, and I can't say I was particularly brilliant at it.  I don't think trying to wrestle it away from mysterious cloudy states with various strange chemicals and growing championship amounts of algae would qualify me as a decent pool caretaker.  I have, however, become an expert at rescuing frogs and toads, and the odd rodent (some were beyond rescue).  And hey, did you know that teeny baby field mice can swim?  well they can.

There have been summers where you would have been able to find us swimming and frolicking at all times of the day.  But in this summer of rain (and algae) it was mostly for the frogs.

the un-summer

Do you know the writer Alice Hoffman?  She writes in a very lyrical, poetic way and her books usually employ magical realism.  Flowers grow or shrivel at alarming rates, turn colours, etc..., people speak like birds,  sometimes pebbles or fish appear in their pockets-well, you get the idea.  It's quite entrancing.

The summer that wasn't (i.e. THIS summer), has made me feel a little bit like I'm living in an Alice Hoffman novel (or maybe a gentle version of one).  Endless rain and thunderous, dramatic clouds.  Wind storms tearing the roofs off houses in certain parts of the province.  Puny vegetables.  The grass growing so quickly we can almost hear it.  Swarms of insects.  Bats.

And other things too.

My husband was coming home late one evening and saw this unusual phenomenon over the bridge in the neighbouring town.  

There were clouds of insects around the streetlights, and the bridge was covered with piles of bug carcasses, enough to make the bridge slick and slippery, and looking for all the world like snow.  Creepy mysterious summer snow.

Closeup of bug carcasses.  Maybe someone knows what kind these are.

A shadow shot of my intrepid reporters (see how white the pavement appears?). 

Because sometimes we all need a break from flowers, cats and horses.

And now, back to regular programming.

P.S.  If you haven't read Alice Hoffman, give her a try.  You won't regret it.  Her books are not without humour-of the black variety, of course!

Daisy in the garden

This is my cat Daisy, enjoying the flowers in the garden.

She may look mild-mannered and sweet, but in actual fact, she is a fierce and single-minded hunter.  Daisy has no time for niceties such as cuddling and purring.  Eat. Sleep. Hunt.  Those are her main objectives, and anyone interfering with that should WATCH OUT.  

I have tried to keep a count of the rodents she has caught so far this season (or the pieces of them I find on the porch every morning).  So far?  Daisy's summer mouse count:  42.  Well done, my furry friend.   May you hunt for many more seasons.

around town

My little town, which has all of two traffic lights, celebrated its sesquicentennial this summer (150-year anniversary).  The celebrations (which included a beard-growing contest and a parade) were quite well-attended.  

This unassuming river-side town isn't grand by any stretch of the imagination, but if you make a little effort you can find some pretty spots.

This historic building adjoins the courthouse and was once used as the residence of the local jailer.  I think it is used for office space today.  The old stone jailyard was actually open today (a couple of police cruisers and a van were there).  I suppose the old jail is still used as a 'holding cell' for people having their criminal cases heard.  I'm guessing they're not appreciating the pretty landscaping and well-maintained building.

This is a detail of a building in town which used to house medical offices, a bank and a drugstore in the 1890's.  I love the shingle detail, and the little louvered window.

Here's a gazebo in the town square.    

This town is a modest, quiet place, and generally known for a speedway at its edge, and the fact that the residents tend to wear rubber boots (it is a farming comunity after all).   I prefer to think of it as a place with a strong sense of community and a comfortable, peaceful place to live.   (Sort of like that well-worn pair of leather shoes you've had for fifteen years, but just can't part with).   

seeing

Here's the problem with 'staycationing': you don't get to see your everyday surroundings with 'fresh eyes'.  The 'fresh eyes' phenomenon occurs when you have been away for a good while, traveling or vacationing.  Upon your return, you realize how lovely your surroundings truly are, how comfortable and homey your home is, how sweet your pets.

And so, lately, all I've been seeing is a lot of green (from all of the rain), and all of the chores that still need doing.  I'm just not appreciatin'.

However.  Sometimes you notice something new.  New is good.  These flowers are wild, and they look sort of like bee balm.  I'd never noticed them before....they gave me pause, and a moment of enjoyment.

I also hadn't noticed the lacy banks of Queen Anne's lace with a path to the next field cutting through them.  Pretty.

I enjoyed these too, until the mosquitoes picked me up and carried me away.

The skies this summer have been putting on  a spectacular show, with their moody swirls and patterns.  

They add to the variety of the landscape around here.  Ah well, if I'm staying put this summer, I could do a lot worse.  After all, it's not in the looking, but the seeing.  

lilies

Some lilies from my garden.  They seem to thrive under my regimen of average soil and benign neglect.  The bugs don't like them, and they spread.  What's not to love?

wine route

On Saturday, my husband and I went for a drive in Niagara wine country , which is only about a half-hour from where we live.   This area has really come into its own in recent years, and now produces award-winning wines, known around the world.

 

The day was a rather soggy one, with intermittent rain showers (as per the weather we have been having of late).  We still enjoyed driving through the vineyards with their waving, symmetrical rows of grapes, so beautifully tended.

There were so many wineries, we didn't know which one to pick for a tasting, but we happened upon this lovely barn, which turned out to be part of the Hidden Bench winery in Beamsville.  I would love a barn like this.  So would my horses.

The moment we stepped out of the car, the heavens smiled, the sun came out,  and we were able to enjoy the winery's vineyards, and product (of course).

I love the simple architecture of the wineries, many of which are based on barns, with natural rough-hewn timber, and stone.

It was absolutely quiet there.  I'm sure that makes for superior grapes.  I know I do a lot better in a quiet environment.  You could almost hear them growing.

We brought some of the wine home to enjoy, but while it tasted quite lovely (and miles above the usual plonk I serve), it wasn't quite the same as sampling it at the winery, steps away from its terroir.

There, on the hidden bench of the Niagara escarpment, it tasted grand.  

tagged

I've been tagged by pony girl: for this game of photo tag, find your sixth folder, and then the sixth photo in that folder and post it.

 

A 'heavenly blue' morning glory against a blue summer sky.  I won't officially tag anyone, but please feel free to join in!

on letting go

Here's another thing to add to the list of completely unnecessary yet wonderfully fanciful things to own :  an island.

For a brief couple of summers, we were the proud owners of an island on a lake in northern Ontario.   Before you think this was a posh place with all the mod cons, think again (well, it did have most of the mod cons, actually, but only because we put them in).  It was just a rustic little cabin, built in the 1930's , probably as a fishing camp, on a tiny island.  These boat-access properties are actually a lot more affordable than road-access cottages, which have recently gone up very steeply in price.  

This little getaway had been for sale for a long time, because it was in need of repairs, had only a hand pump in the kitchen as a source of water, and an outhouse.  The lady who had owned it for thirty or so years had died, and her family was selling it.

Being the impractical fools that we are, we bought it.  But only because the place had worked its charms on us from the moment we saw it.   We set about to refurbish the cabin using mostly elbow grease and endless cans of paint.  That was the summer of being very tired, but happy (although my kids did not enjoy the three-hour drive).

As with many things in life, though, we had to let the island go.  A change in my husband's career path led us to the conclusion that it wasn't practical to have this extra place anymore. And so, though we are not practical people a lot of the time in many ways, we decided to sell it.

With the cold weather and never-ending winter I have been thinking about it quite a bit lately, and thought I would blog about it.  So, if you'd like, please accompany me on this semi-sweet jaunt down memory lane (but I'm warning you, the post is rather long and picture-filled).  

First, you have to jump on this large old boat from the '70's.  It's noisy and makes a huge wake. Don't worry, the driver's very experienced.

Here we go.....and it's a beautiful summer day.

It takes about ten minutes from the marina....once I got lost on a dark night by myself, and had to spend the night at the neighbour's place....they were very nice and gave me tea and homemade cookies and let my smelly farm dog stay indoors....but that's another story for another time.

Here it is!   Told you it was small!

This photo is out of order, but it shows you our little morning sunshine deck (that's where you bring your coffee and toast and enjoy the morning sunshine and the quiet beauty.

Here's the little old gangplank that leads from the old dock.  The water levels fell quite a bit at the end of the summer.

Here's the main room.  All of the furnishings came with the place, because of the difficulty of removing them.  There was a lot of old smelly stuff (couches, mattresses,etc...) that we disposed of (we had to haul everything by boat).  But there were many vintage pieces that made my heart pitter patter when I saw them.  Did I mention we painted every inch of the place (including furniture)?

Look at these quirky little feet-face it, you would have bought the place too.

There was even a stuffed fish on the enclosed porch.  And horseshoes over every door-if that wasn't an omen that I was meant to own the place, I don't know what was....

Pretty hand-hewn beams on the ceiling of the porch- and a water view out of every window.

The ceiling in the main room.

Interior windows with old rippled glass, old maps of the lake, a little bookshelf and two thick vintage wicker rocking chairs with at least 4 coats of paint under the final fresh coat of white paint I applied.

The original ice-house with the old ice tongs hanging inside (and every imaginable piece of discarded junk as well as vintage tools).

This tree was basically horizontal, but very much alive.

Even a wee little beach, about ten feet wide, but it was enough to build sandcastles on.

A picnic table for al fresco meals.

The little sunset deck where you could sit and read, and ponder (with a rickety old ladder to the water).

No tv at the cottage, so the kids were forced to watch the greatest show on earth:

Yes, I'm a sunset picture-taking dork...

Despite its small size, the island has huge trees on it...this part was sort of park-like.

And water, water, everywhere you look...the quietest, most peaceful spot...made for dreaming and napping and swimming and reading.  You would have loved it.