Winter Solstice

 

SOLSTICE 2022

The sun has set over cold Fundy Bay

No more southward from today

Now it settles still for three days

Then northward head its golden rays

Each year since creatures first arose

At night in darkness they took repose

But wondered at the sparkling stars

And planets like the moon and mars

With longer days the earth takes hold

Of rebirth from the dark and cold

Our joints too are eased from pain

And seeds wake up once again

It happens slowly but at a pace

That tells us speed wins not the race.

Let’s take a moment just like the sun

To gather strength, renewal has begun.

What's in a Sunset

Our former home in the Northumberland Hills of Ontario benefited from its perch on top of a knoll. From there we could watch the early morning sunrise with coffee from our front porch. And we had a stunning unobstructed view of the sunset while sitting with a glass of wine on our back deck. 

When we moved to Granville Ferry, Nova Scotia, and bought our home on the Annapolis River, we thought that we would miss seeing the sunset. Our home here in the Annapolis Valley is nestled in the shadow of what locals call the "North Mountain". This impressive escarpment deprives us of viewing the actual setting of the sun. It does however, shelter us from the strong winds of the Bay of Fundy.

We do however have a wonderful view of the morning sunrise from our bedroom, sitting room and back deck. 

It changes daily and even by the minute. It also changes with the seasons.

The canvas is dependent on the formation or existence of clouds, mist or even fog.

 

To our surprise however, we discovered that there are other ways to enjoy a sunset. Now, almost as much as seeing the sun itself disappear, we enjoy watching the effect of that sun setting on the historic Town of Annapois Royal, which lies across the river from us. 

The town's historic homes and buildings dance in the golden light. It is a true delight to see.

Fiona's Faint Brush with Granville Ferry

Storm readiness is always wise. The weather, although often predicted by the weather gurus, is in the end unpredictable. A master of it's own house.

We watched the predicted tracks of the storm. We prepared. We waited. At bedtime, barely a flutter of leaves, a bit of drizzle. At 2:00 a.m. only the ocassional gusts, short lived. A little rain. At 3:00, I raised my head and noticed that the lights of Annapolis Royal across the river were out. Ours had not even flickered.

We were indeed lucky. Barely a leaf down on the lawn. But the destruction and disruption elsewhere in our province and the other maritime provinces! How dreadful. How sad.

One can prepare. One can hope. But the climate is changing and we no longer have the luxury of regularity. We must all be resilient. I think we are.

Of Time and Tides

We’ve had an amazing summer off-grid at our rustic cabin in Ontario. But is it ever good to be back home in Nova Scotia as summer becomes drowsy and autumn begins to awaken. There were plenty of herons on our lake, but the herons are here too on our beach at low tide. 

The view of Annapolis Royal, across the river from us, is always changing and always a delight, whether there be fog, rain or a stunning sunset reflected off the historic buildings of Lower St. George Street. Boats come and go. Some are fishing boats, some sailboats or smaller craft. 

I haven’t seen a seal recently and the loons are not yet back for their winter stay, but I have watched with delight a cocky small bird pester a magnificent bald eagle, and listened to the loud harangue of the sea gulls gracefully circling overhead, bleached white and blue-grey. It’s good to be home.

 

A Short Long-Weekend in May

It’s been a short long-weekend. It is Victoria Day. They don’t seem to celebrate it here like they do in other provinces. I guess it’s not considered politically correct. But it has been a busy time nonetheless. Friday evening we attended a movie screening at the theatre in town, a movie that made my own films seem like comedies. But it was powerful, although depressing. Life can be like that at times.

The outdoor Farmer’s Market – a misnomer since it is mostly crafts and baking, at least at this time of year –  opened Saturday with a flourish for the fair weather season. A new Town Crier greeted the crowd. A fiddler entertained. People were happy to be out and about.

We’d already been to the garden store to pick up plants for our deck pots. Then, after planting them, we went for a walk in our village and later to the pub across the river to hear a kilted friend and neighbour play his wonderful mandolin. We chattered and laughed and sang with others. A pint or two of local beer filled out the occasion and my bladder.

Sunday was hot at 30 Celsius. Too hot for the end of May. I suppose I must be getting old. The mirror says “yes”, but my mind resists. Fortunately, on our side of the river there was a nice breeze from the water and a bit of tree shade. But I had already, early in the day, transplanted a small lilac, watered and fed some of our many still young perennial shrubs, and gone for a walk while I waited for John to return from his Sunday duties. Then, following lunch on our upper deck, we went to a rare plant sale, as observers rather than purchasers because our garden is full. This was followed by a lovely and leisurely stroll in the Historic Gardens alive with spring bloom. After dinner, not to let the moss grow under our feet, we attended a wonderful choral concert in town.

Today, Monday, we were, as is usual, up early. But by 9:30 a.m., after breakfast, and following our daily exercise routine, fiddle practice and time spent reviewing the script of my most recent play, I wondered what I would do for the rest of the day. Fortunately, it is a more seasonal temperature today. I do have a fiddle lesson after lunch. John is at his easel. And we are thankful we have the energy to be so active, and the sense to put our feet up from time to time so that we might sit back and watch the ebb and flow of the tide.

Springing into Action

It’s raining today. But the deck has now been set up for a warming spring and on through summer heat into autumn’s crisp warmth. We’ve even enjoyed several hours out there taking advantage of the sun, the fresh air and the view. It has been sufficient to buff up the tan that has been fading gradually since our return from Cuba three weeks ago.

It is always good to be home. To be in familiar space. To enjoy familiar comforts. And to be with good friends once again. However, little did we know that we were leaving three months in a safe country, virtually free of Covid concerns, to return to a village hit hard by Covid for the first time since the pandemic struck. It had been, when we left, a Covid-free paradise. An oasis. But one adjusts.

The loons are back. The seal has paid us a visit. An eagle was spotted overhead. A boat has been cradled at the boat works across the river. Mr. McGregor is in his garden pondering the plants, gathering seaweed, and looking out for Peter Rabbit. Congenial chatter is heard from the yards down the road.

We are very fortunate to be living here, and we do not take that for granted.