Whether to Fret the Weather

December has been a most irregular month. One never knows how much to believe the forecasts. The month began with almost daily snow falls. Not alot. But enough to shovel on a regular basis. It seemed the early forecast of a green Christmas here was surely mistaken. Then it warmed up. Oh nothing to warrant a return to summer clothes. But the snow melted and the lawns were green again. Ah, but the days were dreary for the most part. The wind was bone-chilling. There was even some rain, some ice pellets, enough to keep one inside. 

But looking out the window, bald eagles circled close to the house. A red-tailed hawk flew by our deck. Three loons swam close to our shore. A fluffy grey squirrel scampered across the deck railing.

And then Christmas Eve was here at last. Friends and family gathered around the table for tourtiere and other festive delights. And then, like magic, overnight the snow came. Yes. A Christmas snow that fell steadily, but gently all day and into the night. It was picture postcard perfect. The white blanketed the village. The streets were covered. The trees and shrubs laden. The sound was of silence. It was a delight. 

Although it is now warming moderately and briefly once again, there is still a pristine white covering the ground. And today there is blue sky and sunshine. Just a day. But enough to make one forget for the moment that winter is long, dark and oppressive.

Tomorrow they call for freezing rain, then rain. Messy. Treacherous. No doubt a day to stay inside by the fire. A day to look out the window and take in nature's
offering. 

It's All About Maintenance

A colleaugue once told me that after turning 50, it was all about maintenance. After 70, it seems to me, it is all about repairs. The same is true about homes.

We love our home. But it is an old one. Perhaps that’s all the more reason to love it. But it means, like ourselves, as we age there is always something that needs fixing. 

The original structure of c. 1844 was fairly simple. But in the late 1800s or very early 1900s, frills were added. These consisted of ornate trim, bay windows and a turret. When one adds onto an existing structure, it may enhance it visually, but it tends to compromise it structurally. So, the relatively simple repairs we had contemplated, have uncovered more complex issues. And the anticipated cost of the work has mounted. 

However, wherever we have lived, we have considered ourselves stewards of our properties. We are there not only to enjoy the place, but also as caretakers of it. The house has stood here for more than 180 years. We would like it to stand proudly here for many more years, and long after we have shuffled off our mortal coils. 

Thankfully, we have a very capable, responsible and engaged contractor to undertake the work. It may mean wieners and beans instead of steak for dinner, but we shall dine in the comfort of a lovely home!

Springing Into Action

The daffodils have been slow to bloom this year and so has our forsythia, but their vibrant yellows are now gracing our garden. But the real sign of spring for me has been sighting the first seal of the year off our shore. And that was yesterday. I love it when they breech, arching their shiny backs before disappearing.

Of course, we’ve had the loons, seven of them, now starting to show their summer coats, but they have already taken off to their summer nesting grounds. It leaves us with the ducks, and the cormorants as well as the ubiquitous and graceful gulls.

Another sign of spring is when the first boat arrives for repairs at the dry dock across the river. There have now been two boats come to settle in the cradle on land; one is still there. And yesterday we witnessed a lobster boat dropping numerus cages in the river in front of us. We had never seen this before. And oddly they were the old wooden cages, rather than the newer metal ones.

There are so many signs of spring, but I have yet to hear the peepers on North Street. And this seems very late to me. Perhaps one forgets from year to year. And then, of course, each year is slightly different. And as a sign at the Home Hardware states: “Welcome to Winter, Spring, Winter, Spring.” Indeed, it has been a very on again and off again season.

But spring is definitely in the air.

Autumn Leaves Must Fall

The tourists like the autumn leaves lingered but have now gone to wherever they were from. And now the fairweather residents have left us too. The hale and the hearty remain. The Farmers and Traders Market has moved indoors. The Market Square is empty. Some shops and restaurants have closed, others have reduced their hours. It is late November. The routine of daily walks is tempered by the rain , which, recently, seems endless. Yet there is a quiet beauty about it all. It is time for those of us who no longer have paid employment to put up our feet by the fire, to read, to write, to prepare meals for friends, and just maybe to have an afternoon nap.

Spring Awakening in a Small Town

Like many small towns in Nova Scotia, Annapolis Royal and Granville Ferry fall asleep in the winter. Perhaps not asleep. Perhaps one might better describe it as a comfortable drowsiness.

Many residents disappear to warmer climates for a few months. Many businesses close. 

But now, like the buds on the trees, the locality on both sides of the Annapolis River is literally springing to life. Shops are re-opening, restaurants too. People are out and about. Tourists are starting to arrive, with licence plates from other provinces of Canada and from several states of the USA being apparent. One can hear foreign accents too. 

Nevertheless, for those of us who have stayed during the long winter months, we still found a community and a vitality. It was just a different one, a quieter one; one might even say a gentler one. 

White Washed

 

This morning, from our vantage point in Granville Ferry, Annapolis Royal had been swallowed in a cloud of thick fog. But when I went across the river, the town was bathed in thick frost and glistening sunshine. 

The cool air was invigorating. A walk in the fort grounds was magical. It was early. 

But an hour later, when I had returned, the frost had disappeared, as had the fog. The fortress grounds danced in sunlight reflected off the wet trees, bushes and lawns.

There was a warmth and freshness in the air, even though it was still autumn crisp.

The Waves of Time

After ten wonderful weeks at our off-grid cabin in Ontario, we always look forward to being home again in Nova Scotia. And since we arrived back in late August, we have been delighted by the glorious autumn weather.

And we got home in time to pick the late blueberries and our first crop of apples from our own trees, planted just a year ago. Home in time to get the last of the pickling cucumbers for a batch of nine-day pickles. There has been less canning undertaken. The tomato crop has not been abundant due to a wet summer here.

We have had more time to sit on our lower deck and watch the activity on the water. And, more than ever before, the herons have entertained us. Indeed, we had the holy trinity of them on our beach recently.

Warm dry days have allowed us to leisurely put our garden to bed, with pruning, weeding, manuring and mulching now done. Next will be the leaves which are still clinging to the trees, battered by a recent hurricane and yet to come into colour, if indeed they will.

A week of heavy morning fog, has given way to bright clear mornings. The tides have been unusually high, causing problems for some low-lying neighbours, and also unusually low, causing problems for some boaters.

Today the sun glistens off the water with higher than normal waves from a south easterly breeze.

A Gullible Moment

We have had many spellbinding and some hilarious moments watching wild life, - seals, dolphin, eagles, hawks, and more from our home. But one moment will be sketched indelibly into my memory. 

It was sunny, but cool, yesterday, too cool to sit comfortably on the deck. We'd done our gardening and were sitting in our back room with friends for a late afternoon cocktail. 

In an instant, I noticed a seagull land cautiously on the railing outside our western window. This was a very rare occurrence, and never had I seen one in this location. 

It was a moment one wishes the camera had been ready. But it wasn't, so I have sketched it here.

We had made Coronation sandwiches for the celebrations this weekend: white sandwich loaf with the crusts carefully cut off before the delicious egg salad and salmon salad had been slathered onto the crustless bread slices. These crusts I had bagged, thinking perhaps the gulls would appreciate them. But for some reason, the gulls were scarce and those which did come by did not seem at all interested in these bland morcels. 

Nevertheless, I kept the bag on the ready in our back room, just in case. But I did not think it appropriate to leave them dangling from the back of the rocker by the door there when guests were coming. So, I placed the bag on a table outside on the deck by that railing to the west.

Shortly after the initial sighting of the gull out the west window, I gasped. The table had been obscured from my vision by the wall. I saw, out the southern window, the majestic but cheeky bird fly off gracefully with the bag carefully dangling from its handles in its beak. 

I am sure it winked at me.

 

Indirect Delight

The sun has now moved so far north that we no longer benefit from the magnificent sunrise skies of the winter months. At least, not directly. 

But we do see its rosy reflection painted into the chairs and railings on our deck, on the calm water, and in the trees behind. 

Beauty can be found in most things. One simply has to be open to seeing it.

Call the Docker

 A sure sign of spring, from the vantage point of our upper deck, is the arrival of the first fishing boat of the season. It has come for repair work at the boat works across the river from us. It is always a delight to our eyes to watch the vessel nestle up and into the cradle that will raise it slowly to its perch on land. Then, several days later, sometimes longer, it will be lowered, repaired and often repainted, into the water again. And we’ll watch it disappear slowly down the river and into the Annapolis Basin. Sometimes, this is as another boat is approaching the wharf, awaiting its turn at the "spa". We never tire of being a witness to this ritual.

Weather Go We

I remember in years gone by, long winters of deep white snow and blue skies. Our father created a skating rink in our back yard. We spent hours playing hockey there and honing our skills on skates. I never became a pro. I was on the Church’s B league team. But it was fun. Always it was followed by hot chocolate cradled in cold hands. In later years, it was hours spent on the pristine cross country ski trails. The silence of a snow covered woods and the cloud of breath as one took in the wonder of nature.

Today winter seems out of focus. One day it feels like spring with green grass and pleasant temperatures, the next, temperatures dip to ice-age depths. Then snow, a skiff or a blizzard. Then freezing rain. Then ice pellets followed by thawing. 

Often the weather folk get it wrong. Or we weren’t in their thoughts after all. The weather teases, then laughs at us. Fog, mist, rain, snow, a glimpse of the sun, stunning sunsets, magnificent sunrises all within a relatively short period of time. How does nature adapt? How do we? I guess we have to.

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.

November Winds

Five loons I saw, I am sure they were

Swimming today in this tidal stream

Back from the lakes of summer bliss

Or simply passing this late autumn scene

Now November winds are cold and strong

The leaves' stubborn hold has finally let go

We’ve had our first frost in recent days

And do I see a pellet or two of icy snow.

We’ve been teased and spoiled this year

By lingering warmth and bright sun

Late blooms have given us extended joy

But warm days are now on the run.

Our stockinged feet are on the coffee table

The fire before us blazes warm and bright

A glass of peaty whisky cradled in our hand

Makes us realize that all is right.

Of Granville Fairies and Raindrops

We have lived in Nova Scotia for only three and a half years. Our village of Granville Ferry has a population of 110 according to the last census. Several houses on our road, the oldest settler route in Canada, are currently unoccupied as permanent residences. So one would think that our locale would not be one to attract trick-or-treaters.

Our first Hallowe’en here saw a timid three children appear at our door. This left us with a pleasant quantity of chocolate that we may not have otherwise purchased. 

For our second Hallowe’en, we were more prudent and purchased less candy. Between six and seven more energetic children appeared at our door that year. We thought this to be quite amazing given that we were living in the early days of the Covid era. 

Covid has seen an influx of young families moving to our general area. We thought that for our third Hallowe’en, perhaps there would be a slight increase in costumed visitors; so we purchased enough to feed a small army, realizing full well that we might remain the beneficiaries, as well as the benefactors, of a sizeable quantity of chocolate.

And they came. And they came from far and wide: From our village of course, from Granville Centre, from Granville Beach, from Port Royal and from Victoria Beach, from Annapolis Royal and Clementsvale, from Long Island (Nova Scotia) and even from far away Dartmouth. 

And they came early. We were sitting on our back deck enjoying the last rays of sunshine at 4:30 p.m. when the first knock came at our front door. And they kept coming. Until well after eight o'clock they came when it was finally dark and our carved pumpkin was, at last, able to display its glowing toothless smile.

There were Rabbits, and Ninjas, and Zombies, and Butterflies, several Witches of course, and Princesses, Angels, a beaming Soccer Player, and Astronauts, two Spidermen, and a giant Mushroom. All were truly delightful. 

Some were timid. Some bold. But perhaps the most interesting of all was a young girl who came as a shimmering Raindrop. And, as her proud father pointed out, it had all been her idea. Dressed entirely in white, she carried a large white umbrella bedecked with solar twinkling lights, and dangling ribbons of white cloth hanging around its perimeter.

In all, we counted forty-one costumed visions who went away with chocolate delights, leaving us enthralled, and almost entirely lacking in sweets.

Jack Frost is Sleeping

Today there is a heavy fog hanging over the river. The air feels fresh, moist and clean. And the sun is bright and strong.  I have been sitting on our deck basking in it.

I know that the days when I can do such a thing are numbered for this year. But I will relish in such days or hours as much as I am able and the weather permits.

The azalea by the water is in bloom. A lupin is in flower. The butterfly bush still has abundant blossoms and the rose has buds that are ready to burst.  Yet it is October 6. Although the nights a cool now, we have still had no frost.

Ah, Nova Scotia!