Let's Face It!

Sometimes life is so full that one is almost constantly preoccupied with something when one moves on to the next task. This morning was no exception. We had our usual leisurely morning coffee in our back room overlooking the water. It was raining and there was a heavy fog obscuring the other shore. 

We’d slept in to 7:30; but then, it was that kind of day. After our breakfast usual, a bowl of cereal with a banana or mandarin orange, we went to our separate locations in the house to do our exercises. This is a morning ritual. As one ages, one has to limber up or a day can be very uncomfortable indeed.

Then it’s to the computer to check email, not much, the news on CBC and BBC scanned, and the weather ahead perused. It’s quite plain what the weather at the time is. Eventually it’s upstairs to bathe, dress and prepare for the day ahead. These days, for me at least, that’s writing, rehearsing a script, practicing the fiddle, cooking or going for a walk. In fact, each day usually has a combination of most of these.

This morning I decided it was time to trim my beard. This is not an everyday task. But I am scheduled for a haircut tomorrow. So, I got the electric shaver ready with the number one blade. I like to keep my beard short. Then, before I started, I figured it had not been oiled recently. I took the blade off and did the deed. I was now ready to proceed. When I glanced in the mirror, to my horror, I had shaved clean one side of my face! I had forgotten to put on that number one protective blade again.

When one is faced with a face, there is no option. I would have to go for the goatee look. I am by no means fond of that look; but what can you do. I've learned long ago that pride has to be put aside from time to time. That’s what my fiddle teacher tells me anyway. So, I took a deep breath and swallowed my pride. I took the shaver and applied it to the other side of my chin. Me with a goatee! Oh shit!

Tempestas Sine More Furit

In the past twelve months we’ve had a relatively mild winter, a very wet spring, a hot dry summer, a gorgeous autumn, despite a wild hurricane, and now a balmy, blustery November has greeted us.  Who knows what the weather has in store for us. But we are loving every diverse moment of it here in Nova Scotia - so far.

This morning we awoke to a mist over the river and town. It was not heavy enough to rate the “fog” label. Yesterday's heavy rain has abated. Today, however, we’ve felt the intensity of the wind.The waves lash the shore. There is a new moon and the tides are extreme right now. Many birds struggle in the wind, while others soar freely. We’ve enjoyed the unusual warmth in the air today. The smell of wet leaves on the ground, and the flicker of the few left on the tree branches invigorate the senses. And just now the sun has appeared and the blue sky is welcomed. Life is good. Very good.

Tempus fugit

When I retired and moved to Nova Scotia from rural Ontario, I worried just a bit. Now, I definitely looked forward to the change. Change, after all, is a good thing if one has the right attitude towards it. And Nova Scotia is a piece of paradise. However, leaving friends and an established and full life offered uncertainty.

Yet I find myself busy: busy with friends who visit us; busy with new discoveries; busy with new undertakings. Yes,I am retired. But that does not mean I am idle or stagnant.

I have, at the age of almost 70 years, taken up the fiddle. And I have just purchased a second, smaller fiddle. I am busy with a play I have written and will be performing this fall in three different communities and three very different venues. And I am busy with new friends. Busy exploring. Busy enjoying myself!

And retirement also means losing touch with days of the week and hours of the day. For example, on Tuesday of this week I emailed someone that I would see him at the Celtic jam "tomorrow", thinking tomorrow was Thursday. (It was only Wednesday.) Then I realized my mistake. So I emailed him that I had forgotten that it was "Monday". (It was already Tuesday.) So I am sure I confused the hell out of him!!!! - Not to mention myself!

Where do the days go? Does it matter? They are full and varied. They are vital and vibrant. They are simply a morsel of passing time. Something to be taken hold of and cherished. And something to let go. 

Aftermath

If what we went through in our part of Nova Scotia on September 7, 2019 was only a “tropical storm”, as some have claimed, then I would never want the misfortune of experiencing a hurricane of any category. But we were one of the lucky ones: no tree damage on our property, and no damage to our Captain’s House. The only harm, if it can be called that, was a bit of spoiled food that met the compost bin after 74 hours of power outage.

However, large limbs and massive trees have fallen all around our area. But only one home in our locality, that I have seen, was seriously damaged. No one was killed.

Watching the storm from the comfort of our living room was awe inspiring and, at times, terror inducing. The rain was steady from early morning awakening until mid-evening. The wind, however, was turned on and off as if on a whim: sometimes gusting, sometimes swirling, sometimes eerily silent and still. The water was likewise still at times; then, at times, rolling relentlessly in from the southeast. But at the worst of the wind, thankfully for us at least, the wind swept in forcefully from the north, taking the waves away from our fragile shoreline. Walls of water careened across the surface.

What is amazing to me is the relative speed with which power and tree clearing crews have been able to address the destruction. For us, having just returned from nine weeks at our off-grid summer cabin, three days without power was almost nothing. We had a woodstove, a barbeque, and candles. And, thanks to an energy efficiency programme that gave us wrapping for our water heater, we had water that stayed remarkably warm for three days.

What is also amazing, and at the same time gratifying, is the resilience of people. Neighbours have cared for and shared with neighbours with wonderful humour and goodwill. Friends from far and wide have made an effort to be in touch and show concern. 

Sometimes, crises can bring out the best in us human beings.

Weather 'Tis Nobler to Suffer the Slings and Arrows

When one lives outside a large urban centre, one is much more aware of the weather. This has been as true at our former rural home in the Northumberland Hills of Ontario, at our rustic summer cabin on a peaceful lake in the District of Parry Sound in Ontario and at our current home on the shore of the Annapolis Basin in Nova Scotia. In part, I suppose, that is because one is more able to watch the sky, the horizon and grand vistas.

Today, we are told to expect the remnants of a category five hurricane, which has devastated the Bahamas and parts of the United States, to hit us within 48 hours. It is anticipated to be a category one hurricane by then – still a fierce and dangerous prospect, especially if one lives in coastal areas as we do. And that fact that the usually cold waters off our province are unusually warm this year is only going to feed the storms hunger.

So it is all about preparation. Power outages are expected. High winds could cause significant property damage and certainly throw about loose items of outdoor furniture. The tides have been high recently, and a storm surge will almost certainly cause flooding and increased erosion. 

Those who neglect climate and its impact are unwise. And yet today the sun shines and it is a delightful 21 Celsius as we sit on our back deck and watch the tide coming in. How deceiving this can be. And I expect this is why people are often lulled into complacency despite alerts and warnings. 

We, hopefully, will be as ready as one can be in the face of an angry nature. And we can hope that the weather trackers are wrong. But it is always better to be safe than it is to be sorry.

Home Again

They say it is always wonderful to come home no matter how wonderful the time away has been. For us, this is always true. Indeed, we seem to take our sense of being home wherever we go.

Our nine summer weeks at our rustic off-grid cabin in Northern Ontario were a constant delight. Daily early morning swims, often in the thick mist, and often seemingly alone on the lake except for the loons, the turtles and assorted other beings of creation, were rejuvenating. Peaceful kayak trips each day along the varied shoreline were soul restoring. It was a summer of heat and drought. It was a summer of old friends and new experiences. It was a summer of haunting quiet and raucous laughter.

But to be home again on the shore of the Annapolis Basin in Nova Scotia is perfection. It is the brandy after a sumptuous meal. It is utter contentment.

Old Dogs and New Tricks

Nova Scotia is alive with music. This is not to say other places are not. But it is everywhere here and of every genre. What I love particularly, is the celtic music, often blended with country, folk, and even jazz. It is in the bars, the restaurants, the theatres and community halls and it is also on the streets.

Now, I can tap my feet, beat out a rhythm on my knees or a table top, and clap my hands. But I have never yet mastered a musical instrument. As a small child I took piano lessons. I got bored. In high school I tried my hand at learning guitar on my own. I had an old six-string and also a twelve-string instrument. I learned a few chords, but had trouble with the fingers. It hurt, especially on the metal strings of the twelve-string. I am not sure if I got bored with this too, but I had other curricular and extra-curricular interests that soon took precedence. Then, in grade thirteen, there was the recorder. I tried the soprano and alto instruments. I loved them but never got to the place where I was comfortable with the fingering, particularly with fast pieces. My hands are small. My fingers are short and stocky and so am I.

In public school, we had a school orchestra. I was lucky to have lived at a time when music was a part of the curriculum. I wanted to play the violin. In order to participate, one had to be a high achiever academically. I was. However, there were not enough of these instruments to go around. I lost out to one girl in our class because I was a boy. I never understood that logic. But this was the late 1950’s or early 60’s. I was very disappointed.

Years have passed. Indeed decades have passed. I am now in my seventieth year. I have trouble writing that fact and believing it. I have always loved music and have participated as audience on a regular basis. Recently, I have been a regular attendee at a local pub for weekly celtic music. And somehow, on a whim, I have found myself the owner of a new fiddle and am now attempting to learn how to play it. And it is not easy for me. My teacher is encouraging and patient. She needs to be. But, as difficult as it is to teach an old dog a new trick, I am determined to try. I am determined to persist. If I can only achieve the playing of the Skye Boat song, I shall be happy. So short, fat fingers be damned.

A Close Call

A terrifying fire destroyed a beautiful old home in our community. It is a great loss, not only for the owner, but for the entire community. The once grand house is no more. Yet, from my window’s vantage at least, one would not know it had ever been there. And that is amazing. Flames shot fiercely high into the sky as they progressed from the rear wing through the main house and up into the attic. Thankfully there was no wind, or certainly the result would have been catastrophic. Fire departments from six communities came to the site and worked tirelessly for hours on end until the fire was finally extinguished. And the co-ordination and co-operation of the crews was remarkable. Remarkable too that the neighbouring houses suffered little damage despite their extremely close proximity. This is solely thanks to the determined and persistent work of the firefighters, - people who volunteer their time with incredible dedication.

Sighting

Today is the first anniversary of the day we took legal possession of the Captain’s House. The tide was high this morning when we got up. As I was performing the daily ritual of morning stretches, I glanced out and saw a seal swimming lazily off our shore. But in the distance I noticed something else. It was a large creature cresting and diving repeatedly further out in the water. I watched transfixed. It had a fin. 

Back and forth it came for a very long time. I suspect it was our first sighting of a dolphin. We have heard they do appear from time to time. Of course, when I finally went to get my camera and had it at the ready, I stood on our deck for a very long time in the cool breeze. I hoped that I might catch it in the lens. Eventually I did. But it was not one of its more fulsome arches. And it appears but a speck in the resulting photo. I waited… and waited. An eagle flew by.

Awakening

When one returns home after a long absence, it is often with some apprehension. But to walk back into our home was to walk in as if we had just gone down the street to pick up our mail. Home is home after all. Of course, we had left things in the more than caring hands of a friend and neighbour.

However, we thought we might be coming home to an early spring. That was not to be. Temperatures were cooler than we had expected and the greening had not taken place. We even were the recipients of a last lingering snowfall. But despite cool temperatures, we were teased by the occasional warming rays of the sun. Then days of rain – relentless rain.

Eventually, however, the greening crept forth. The forsythia started to bloom in quick pursuit of the pussy willows and snowdrops. And now the daffodils, which had been reluctant at first, have shot up with buds at the ready. Even the shrubs I had planted last spring, and which appeared so forlorn, have started to send out new shoots and buds. Spring cannot be held back for long.

Meanwhile, we have watched the rising and falling of the tide from the comfort of the fireside. And we have seen the loons and ducks and geese – and the gulls of course. And the other day we watched two seals appear from their winter absence and lounge contentedly off our shore. The heron has been heard. We have even seen it fly in the distance but it has yet to make its daily strut across our beach: Our proud sentinel.

And our ever-changing view of the dapple coloured hills across the bay and the cluster of historic multi-coloured matchbox houses that sit brazenly on the opposite shore are always a source of meditation: the fog, the mist, the clouds, the sky, the sea air.

But best of all, the eagles have reappeared. One recent morning an eagle perched defiantly on a large rock at our shore. It stayed there for a very long time. As it looked slowly about, judging its surroundings, it peered up at the house. All the while several gulls shrieked and swooped irritably above its crown.

All seems well.