30 Days - Day 5

Some days I feel like a kid. An excited little kid. I started a town library. Yes, I did!

And today we were shelving books and chatting and laughing and expanding on ideas - let's have a children's section - we have many children shipping in for the summer. And we have a formidable movie section now. And along with that we are putting the town on line and digitizing the records. And we plan some readings by authors, and oh lord! maybe a book-club, too.

So I want to clap my hands and jump gleefully around and repeat "And next...?"

And a friend dropped off some moose for me. A nice roast. I so love moose.

And I socialized myself tonight and went and played community cards and we all talked gardening and how lovely April is, the light is extraordinary on the bay, and we all wanted to kick winter far out and down the road and some of us bragged we ran around - for five minutes like - in a tee shirt on the beach this afternoon. We didn't compare goose-bumps. But oh, this honeyed air pouring into the old lungs. A right tonic so it is.

Tonight it rains and that's wonderful and freshening. And not white and freezing.

And the calendar is getting really full with workshops and revitalization of theatre projects and the odd few tax returns I prepare, mainly pro-bono.

I'm really truly finally crawling out from under the bus.

Charging Off

I was stunned when I got here today and realized I hadn't posted one single word in over a week. Most unlike me. Which means I haven't read any other blogs either.

I hasten to amend the situation.

Yes, I have been charging off in a different direction. More on that later. I took a huge chance. I won't throw a lot of bad cess on it by talking about it. Nothing may come of it and I won't look foolish in front of the lot of you. You know how that can be. No? It must be just me then.

Other than that, family stuff, interesting other projects on the go, weather is balmy, over 20C today so everyone is charging off and getting caught up with friends, etc., like there's no tomorrow. Moods have lightened. Jackets have been peeled off and boots thrown in the corner.

And the birds, oh the birds. Chirping, cooing, flying and floating. They're everywhere.

And the bay? Just look at it!

A Reminder that Spring is on its Way?

The latest in the series of Newfoundland & Labrador tourism ads. And yes, it is a magical place.

After all I chose it.

Or did it choose me?

Gratitude

I'm at the age, like many of us, when I never take another spring for granted. I mean no matter what the age, we never should. But at my age, well, when I see Spring nudging her way over the horizon and down the bay and up my driveway, well, Ansa and I greet her with whoops and, yes, a wee bit of tears on my part. For Ansa just lives in the moment, as I try to do most of the time. My dog is one of my best teachers.

But now and again, like this glorious morning, I look off at the boats in the distance getting ready for the crab season, and out at the bay which is like a mirror, with the sun bathing every living thing in the spirit of renewal and rebirth and think: there's another summer in this old girl yet.

My Summer's Still With Me

It is extraordinary to me that I can plant all these pots of flowers in spring of each year and NEVER have to water them. The weather takes care of that. Rarely too hot and enough rain to keep these babies happy. Still in bloom today. We expect our first snow, usually, in February, which always startles people who view Newfoundland as a land still in the Ice Age. Well, no.

We have a micro-climate where I live and since I've been living here, we always have a green Christmas. Our trees are still more green than russet or rust as our spring is always later than others (May-June). Late June is when my lilac blooms for instance. So our fall is later too.

My driveway which is long and winding, was ploughed 4 times last winter. Yeah, 4 times. Not much of a winter and it was always worse in Ontario. It can get biting cold when the Nor'easter blows and being An Outport Woman I can be caught huddled around my woodstove when that happens, reading a good book and tossing bon-bons while my woodstove soup simmers away.

Ah poor me - life lived in the rough by the Outport Woman.

June Month

My meadow, today.

June month. It is. So it is. June month.

I lit the fire last night when I got in. I was that cold. Today? Started out with a belt of sun but she changed her mind now that all the clothes are flapping nicely in the sea breeze. The front loading washer just about dries them anyway which is a bonus, both to the environment, the water and detergent use.

We had lots of jokes at cards about getting out the skis and everyone enjoying the winter. Still.

How can it be this cold? My mint didn't come up this year, first year in four. The strawberries sorta did. Too soon to tell. We put in the potatoes. I bought some basil which I daren't shove outdoors yet.

Frost still to come, they tell me. And they always know.

Three shrimp boats coming in today so the plant will be busy, but try and buy shrimp here and you'll see the packs marked 'Product of Thailand'. Figure that one out.

The capelin stock has diminished to crisis levels. About 5% of last year so I wonder about the whales as capelin are whale food. Will the whales be here this year? No one has the answers.

I'm thinking of some fruit trees and bushes. The meadow is a carpet of dandelions and forget-me-nots, something about the blue and the yellow does not make me crave a green perfect carpet of Kentucky bluegrass which is what they like to plant here in big rolls once they become citified or suburbanized, take your pick. And then spray it with unmentionables to keep it that way.

A bit of extra money does awful things to the environment, doesn't it?

My February Friend

Every year, at this time, she shows up. Right on schedule. Just the one annual appearance. She explores all the wires and connections in my office and then marches all over the keyboard and screen of my computer. And leaves for another year.

She has no passport, no ID to show me her age.

Research discloses this:

Ladybird Life Cycle
Most Ladybirds mate in the spring or summer and the female lays a cluster of eggs (numbering from a few to a few hundred, depending on species) as near as possible to an aphid colony. In most species of ladybird these eggs hatch into a larval state within a week. This state lasts 10 - 15 days, and they then go into a pupal stage before becoming an adult ladybird. The entire life cycle of the ladybird is only 4 - 7 weeks.

Ladybirds lay extra infertile eggs with the fertile eggs. These appear to provide a backup food source for the larvae when they hatch. The ratio of infertile to fertile eggs increases with scarcity of food at the time of egg laying.

Like all insects, the ladybird is no different in that it undergoes complete metamorphosis through its life cycle.

It's weird - this single annual visitation. Perhaps it is cellular memory for my little tourist. Considering her life cycle is supposedly 7 weeks max, she must be the descendant of the original visitor many life cycles ago.

But I choose to think she is this anomaly. She lives eternally in her secret space and emerges, just to check up on me, when her calendar clicks over to February.

I think of her as my good luck charm. My harbinger of good fortune. My personal guarantee that Mistress Spring and I will connect. One more time.

A Second Helping, Please.

That Blue Pie b’y, cut her up with a knife
And serve her on them white plates
With yer white napkins on the side of her.
Then slurp her down yer gullet hard and fast
And she’ll fix whatever ails ya.

Today, as the sun stays with us until nearly 8.00p.m., I take this picture from my porch and humbly write in praise of blue.

Spring, she has sprung.

Brought to you by Spring, Serving Canadians for Thousands of Years.

I remember last year.
How startled, no, delighted,
No, ecstatic, yes
I was.

To see you dancing,
No, laughing, no, giggling,
No, exuberant, yes
There.

Beneath the tree,
Amongst last year’s
Exhausted leaves.
Proud.