I Came, I Saw, I Conquered

Veni, Vidi, Vici. Julius knew what he was talking about. This will not be the first time I have recounted the tale of a ladder, a tree and a chainsaw. However, it is the first time I have done so in a very long time. And it is the first time I have done so with regard to our home in Nova Scotia.

Once upon a time, I was a little younger and a lot more agile. Now I am older and supposed to be wiser. However, it seems I am not any less foolish. Perhaps, if truth be told, I should say, “we” are not any less foolish, because John plays a role here, just as I do.

Our rear deck sits high off the ground as the land slopes away steeply under our home. The view is magical. But there is a certain maple tree that has caused us concern. It is old and in perilous shape. And it rises just to the side of our deck. It sits on the property line.

Indeed, it is really two large trees intertwined. One has long since rotted and been taken down at about ten feet – or rather more likely, it has fallen at some point in the past. The other has been topped at about the same height. Where a mighty trunk once towered, a mighty limb has grown and looped its way to the side and up into a new double tower.

There are several other lesser limbs – branches one might better say – that are only several inches in diameter. These too are intertwined. One is dead. The others, very much alive and awkwardly placed.

The concern has been that these branches would weigh a toppling tree in our direction and cause insurmountable damage to a magnificently curved deck masterfully constructed by craftsmen to look like the prow of a sailing vessel. These craftsmen no longer exist, or, if they do, are no longer affordable.

One option was to take out these ballasts and hope that, when the rot increases as it no doubt will, the remnants of this once great tree will topple more or less harmlessly in the opposite direction.

To make a long story a little less long, I went to rent an extension pole chainsaw. The thought was that by leaning over the railing of our deck, I could easily slice through most of these branches.

Sometimes the eye does not accurately gauge distance. Yes, I was able to barely reach the first of these branches. Quickly and with ease the branch crashed to the ground below. But the next two branches were out of reach. So, John, who is taller, took the pole saw from me and leaned over the railing; but alas, even his graceful reach was not enough.

I had only rented the saw for four hours; so we had to think swiftly. This is not always the best idea!

We descended from the deck to the ground under it and stood by the  base of the tree looking upward. With the pole saw, I made a cut upward from the underside of the large limb. The wood was hard – hard like a stone. Then I took the saw, reaching as high as I could, and started to cut down from the top of the limb. This was tiring. John took over and the blade cut to within a few inches of the lower incision. Then the limb cracked. The saw jammed. It would not be freed.

Panic raced through my body. So as not to damage the trapped saw blade by letting go of the pole, John bravely held the motor above his head, while I fretted about what to do next. And he held the saw ably well!

Then I took over while John ran to get a pole of some sort so that we might try to heave the limb upward. It would not budge. Then I returned the mantle to John whilst I rushed to get an extension ladder. I propped it up against the tree. The ground was uneven. The ladder wobbled, but I secured it between the remnants of a branch that poked out from the trunk near the foundation of the problem limb. It continued to wobble; but it would not fall.

I returned to our basement to get our other handy chainsaw, the one that has featured in other lumbering tales from our past. John is still holding the pole saw above his head. I start the other chainsaw and proceed to climb the ladder. The saw stalls. I descend. I restart the saw and mount the ladder again cautiously. The saw stalled once again just before I reached the top. This scenario was repeated about five times.  I finally managed to carry the weighty beast successfully to the top, secure my positions as best I could and reach through a timber “V” to take out another branch.

I could tell the saw blade needed to be sharpened. From smoke that appeared I thought it likely needed some oil too. John faithfully stood with the pole saw now perched on top of his head to permit his arms to rest a little. I went back to the basement to sharpen the blade and to top up the oil.

The idea of taking off these other branches was to reduce the weight on the antagonistic limb; so that we might lift it enough to free the imprisoned blade of the rented pole saw. Another branch was cut off but it got caught in the tangle of branches. Lifting was not to be. Try as we might, taking turns, lift we could not. Then a rope was tossed over the limb to see if pulling it might prove beneficial. It would not budge.

I mounted the ladder again with the other now-sharpened chainsaw. I was almost becoming adept at the climb. I manipulated the saw through that awkward “V” once again. I had cut through five or six inches of another branch when I sensed this saw too might soon become trapped. I pulled it out just in time. But there was still several inches to go. I descended and retrieved a hand saw – a dull rusty one that had served us well for over thirty years of pruning at our former home.

John is still holding up the saw above his head, saying little. He was wise. I climbed the ladder once again with the handsaw. Reaching through the annoying “V”, I cut from the bottom up, from the side in and from the top down taking rests every few swipes as my arm ached and wearied. I finally got that branch free. But the limb would still not budge.

Then, I took the handsaw to the massive limb that was the source of our tribulation. Sweating, aching, grunting was I, but finally John uttered incredulously: “It’s coming free!” The pole saw was liberated.

The limb, however, was still in place. A little bit of a rest was had, a lot of relief. Then I went at it again with the handsaw, and after several minutes at what seemed futile, a great cracking sound was heard and the massive limb fell to the ground far below with a loud thud … far below because the land dropped off rapidly into the neighbour’s yard.

I think we wanted to cry. But lumberjacks don’t do such an unmanly thing. We took a short break and then dragged these weighty limbs, branches and debris onto our property; where, at the time of writing they remain.

It will be another day when these get cut up for firewood and the brush for a bonfire. The rented saw was returned in good condition and not a word of this traumatic tale passed my lips.

Will these two 70-something old men learn. Hmm. Maybe. One can always hope.

Birds of a Feather

 As we are normally away for most of the winter season, our bird feeder is not central to our view or our mind. Indeed, it remains empty of seeds much of the winter. But this year is different. We are not going to be travelling to our usual winter retreat in Cuba.

Therefore, the bird feeder has been resurrected. And it has been placed in a more prominent position. We can now view it as we sit in the comfort of our back room by the fire.

We enjoy particularly the Chickadees and the smaller birds. But as is custom, the Blue Jays invade and terrorize the smaller birds. But the tiny ones are patient and simply wait their time. 

The feeder has only been out and filled for less than twenty-four hours. It is already just about half empty. 

We have already seen a stunning male Cardinal, a Woodpecker, and a Grackle as well as the other more common visitors. The poor Grackle, although about the size of the Jays, is less adept at managing the small pegs that are the landing spots. It flutters and sputters and, try as it may, it flies away empty.

There is no decorum, even among the Jays. No graciously waiting one's turn. This is all about the bully winning. But the little Chickadees, simply wait for an opening. And they are much more capable of dining at leisure once they find their time. 

I suspect we shall have much amusement, and perhaps a little frustration too, out of this scene over the next few months.

A First Snow Fall

 A first snowfall of the season always comes as a bit of a shock, at least for me. It is even more so when it arrives on November 3. 

To waken early with a rooftop outside one's bedroom window shining bright white in the moonlight is a sight to behold nonetheless. 

A drive up the south mountain outside of Annapolis Royal to an admonishing fiddle teacher's home was more than a little unsettling. I do not relish the thought of my poor Mini, which has the unnerving gall to ring a warning bell about the possibility of black ice, travelling on a winding slushy road. 

However, when I had contemplated cancelling the session, my teacher, a tough farmer of the female variety, had replied "Suck it up buttercup!" No self-respecting 70-year old male takes that lying down! 

And I do have to admit that the snow on the trees in the sunshine more than made up for my anxiety. The fiddle session went very well.

Ready for Teddy

When we moved to Nova Scotia two and one half years ago, we were aware that there were some intense weather occurrences in this part of the world. But never before had we to so carefully ready ourselves for the potential of fierce tropical storms or hurricanes.

At our former home in rural Ontario, potentially damaging weather tended to be a surprise, - the odd tornado in the vicinity or a wind wall approaching with the frightening noise of a rapid freight train. But we have now been following the trail of this storm online for days.

Our planned trip to Cape Breton this week has been postponed because of the approach of a storm called by the ridiculous name "Teddy". Until now Teddy has been the stuffed bear I was given at my Christening seven decades ago. 

Cape Breton, and almost the entire Atlantic coast of our province, seems destined to get the full force of this storm. The expectation of lovely cliff-side walks by the sea and delicious meals prepared by our hosts was overshadowed by the likelihood of heavy persistent rain and terrifying wind, not forgetting to mention the significant possibility that with power outages, meals might be sparse. Oh dear.

Although we have been following the weather alerts for our region and learned that we are in a low risk area, we have battened down the hatches as best we can, just in case.

A dear cousin once informed us that meteorologists are about the only professionals who are paid to get it wrong most of the time. In Cuba they are known as “mentirologists”, with the verb “mentir” meaning “to lie”.

I am not saying these fine people intentionally mislead us. No, it is just that Mother Nature has a mind of her own. One can only hope that people will be safe, that damage will be minimized, or better still, that the storm will stay out at sea. But what will be will be.

Hereafter the Heron

It has been two years since we have spotted a heron on our shore here at our home in Nova Scotia. We have seen them fly by; but we have not recently seen one strut across the beach or in the shallows as we had during our first few months here. 

Since being home we have been able to enjoy many creatures of the air and water. Two days ago, an eagle flew by close to our lower deck. In a rare occurrence, it was not being chased or hounded by a multitude of smaller birds. And it flew steadfastly with a purpose in mind.

Now that the tidal power damn has been shut down for some time, we are seeing less of the seals, but more large fish. And these have been leaping  out of the water from time to time with a loud splash. I have read that these are sturgeons. And they appear to be considerable in size.

But lets get back to the heron. There were three. That in itself is most unusual for our sightings. Indeed, it is a unique experience. 

Each of these birds varied in size. There appeared to be a female and a young one. At least, that is my presumption, albeit based on stereotypes rather than knowledge. Further down the beach was a much larger bird, presumably the male. Eventually, it became air-bound and flew towards the other two. The smallest one scurried some distance away.

Now, I must tell you that there is a debate in our household as to whether these were herons at all. John says they were egrets. Egrets are in the heron family, but they are smaller birds. Their colour is white. The herons that frequent this place are bluish grey. 

Although egrets have been seen in Nova Scotia, I have read that they are extremely rare here. In any event, my eyes tell me that none of these birds were white in colour. The two smaller ones were, I would agree, a very light grey, perhaps, if I were to be most generous, even with a dash of white. The larger one was, however, much darker, especially when it flew; its wings massive.

Sometimes it is wise not to make an issue of such petty disagreements. After all, what does it matter in the grand scheme of things, other than that one of us could claim victory in a useless dispute. What prize is that if discord were to result.

Anyway, as our anniversary is looming, one should not dampen such a celebration. 

Nonetheless,I have prepared a card for the day saying:

"Heron lies a tail of love with no egrets”.

Perhaps I am walking, like the heron, in shallow ground.

A Welcome Home

We are indeed fortunate to be able to travel from one piece of paradise to another. After two months at our rustic off-grid cabin on a quiet lake in northern Ontario, we have returned home to the beautiful Annapolis Valley and Bay of Fundy three days ago. That three days of glorious sunshine greeted us was indeed well received. And we have been enjoying our morning coffee in the early sun at our highboy table on the deck and an afternoon drink down by the water. From either vantage point we overlook the town of Annapolis Royal and the Annapolis River.

                                                  

The tide was coming in this morning. A small boat was out in the water with two fishermen. A scallop boat sat at the wharf. A heron flew gracefully close across my view and a large fish jumped out of the water for an instant display of might. Yesterday the waves rolled in and the wind blew strong, but this morning it is calm and relatively still for life by the sea.

We have come home to yet another bout of covid-isolation. And we are happy. It gives us time to settle in and catch up on forgotten chores. But the house has been well cared for in our absence and was as we had left it. Time flies. Did we walk out yesterday?

As we knew we would be confined to our property for two weeks, we arrived with an abundance of food. But we also discovered our larder full from the kindness of family, friends and neighbours: a large bag of potatoes, garlic, tomato sauce, beets, carrots and a variety of tomatoes from my brother’s and sister-in-law’s garden; a bag of French pastries and a bouquet of flowers from my niece; eggs, and jersey cow milk in our fridge and two 3-pound chickens in our freezer from a friend; blueberries freshly picked by two neighbour children; tomatoes from another neighbour; and goat milk and cheese from yet another kind friend. We have had calls and emails offering to shop for us from a half dozen other neighbours. 

We are well cared for. But that seems to be the Nova Scotia way.

Here's a Line

Cottage life on our small lake been for us a place to peacefully isolate and enjoy nature. We arrived here four days ago after our 2,056 kilometre trek across four provinces. Misty mornings, nighttime loon calls, hot sunny days, lake breezes, brilliant sunsets and clear fresh water to swim in or kayak on are reason enough for coming here.

And there has already been an abundance of wildlife to enjoy and amuse us, as indeed there also is at home in Nova Scotia. Two inquisitive and playful otters  visited us off our dock soon after we arrived. A beaver was sighted swimming at a distance. Several deer sightings delighted us as we drifted close in our kayaks in the early morning. Fuzzy tiny ducklings huddled together in their own family bubble on a cedar log floating by shore. They appeared to us to have been abandoned until a terrified mother came flying out of the bush. She mimicked injury and attempted to lure us away as she paddled and flapped across the water in the direction we were anyway heading. At least she will feel like she had done her motherly duty after her neglect.

Nine painted turtles of various sizes sunned on a fallen tree that had lodged itself off shore. Then there was the graceful heron that glides in the air close to the surface of the still lake, reflected therein so that it appears to be a multi-winged monster. And of course there are the large snappers that swim in the deep and sometimes are discovered lounging on our diving rock. Creatures large and small amaze us. The dragon flies, the humming birds and the wonderful song birds all delight. Even the mischievous and sometimes annoying red squirrel is our daily entertainment.

Now we have witnessed many wonderful land, lake and air creatures over the thirty-four years we have been coming here; but perhaps the strangest of all occurred just a day ago. We were sitting on our upper deck looking out at the lake and the forest beyond. The sun was hot and we were appreciating the dappled shade on the oak which sits beside the majestic giant white pine. Suddenly some object appeared to drop from the tree overhead and into the water below. It surfaced with a leap and quickly swam away cresting the water’s surface as it made a variable slashing sound.

I was sure it must have been a young bird fallen from its nest that was trying its best with its tiny wings to stay afloat. John thought otherwise. But then he had not witnessed the decent from above. He had merely heard the splash and seen the resurfacing. He was sure it had been a fish of some description that had jumped and strangely not dived again to the depths but had kept instead to the surface. We sat pondering the possibilities.

Moments later we both saw and heard the effects of another splash. Surely not another bird. Even I was skeptical. The fish, which I came to accept that it must be, had surfaced, and like the first, scurried away in the same manner as the first across the water’s surface. It made the same odd flapping sound and disappeared in the same general direction as the previous one.

We continued to sit and watch the view as we discussed this bizarre set of events. Then there was another splash as a similar creature emerged from the depths of the water and quickly disappeared from our sight in the same direction. Was this some sort of aquatic birthing ritual that we had, strangely, never before been witness to. We were befuddled. And there were several more of these creatures that emerged and fled in the same manner.

John became curious as to why they were all heading off in the same direction. Was there some current, some lunar force, some source of nutrition that attracted these newly born creatures. He went to peer over into the bay that lay behind us and hidden by the trees. There, quietly standing on two separate docks were two keen fishermen repeatedly casting their lours into the water in front of us.

My disappointment was great as I had already fashioned a story of alien creatures arising from the depths of our lake as a result of this pandemic virus that now imprisons our society. But we merely discovered that the mystery was only something ordinary that two people who do not fish would not contemplate.