flotsam and jetsam...

A few random bits and pieces here and there...

>>> Above are some shots from our low tide wander last Saturday. Lots of eagles, lots of sand, lots of sunshine. And beach exploring with my two boys; what could be better? (Including when AK entertains Ty so I can stalk some wildlife - bless him.)

>>> With AK away all this week, stitching happened not at all. Hmmm. Perhaps it's because every time I sit on the couch (which is where I generally work) I end up in this position. There are a lot of things taking shape in my mind - does that count?

>>> It's a grey, threatening-rain kind of day, chilly for June 1. Seems a good night to try out this one pot pasta recipe.

>>> I'm eagerly awaiting the arrival of my new running tights Yeah, I hate running. Except apparently the natural follow of all this dog walking is dog running (okay, we're mostly walk/runners right now). I'm not setting any expectations yet, just seeing how it goes. But cute new running pants are always helpful for encouragement.

>>> I love sewing projects using selvage. This pillow is a prime example of the cool things that can be made with what are in theory "scraps."

>>> I love how Stasia of the Stray Arrow combines poetry and beautiful metalwork.

>>> If the sun comes back, this banana & peanut butter 'ice cream' might be the perfect treat to make at home.

Hope you're having a great weekend!

canoe dog...

This morning dawned full of sunshine, and it seemed the perfect time to get Ty out for his first canoe experience. We'd like to take a weekend canoe trip soon, camp along a lake chain near here. And maybe someday he'll even stand politely on a standup paddleboard with us. But first, a short little excursion to test the waters, quite literally.

We don't own a canoe (someday), but thankfully are easily able to borrow one from the canoe/kayak shop from where AK sometimes guides. Despite a persistent northwest breeze at home, the waters of the river and estuary were calm, the current also tempered by an incoming tide. Ty sat in the canoe on the grass, but once it was in the water he needed an encouraging lift to get in. He stood, but stayed, and we were off. Wooden paddles dipped quietly into the clear water, the river bottom not far below us. I felt the boat shift, and shift again, as our boy struggled to find a spot he felt comfortable with. He touched his nose to the water repeatedly, trying for a drink despite the surely brackish taste, and the bowl of clean water beside him. But he kept calm, and we paddled on.

We followed the river's flow, out into the estuary where eagles watched us from old posts and a pair of geese preened themselves in the shallows along a small island. It was a beautiful day in the valley, there was no denying that. The mountain peaks still have patches of snow, but down here at sea level it feels like summer. Out, out we went, finally turning back as we neared one of the last navigation markers that guide boaters through the river's entrance. The river's current slowed us a bit on the return journey, made us work our paddles just a little harder, but soon enough we were crossing the gentle eddy line back into the marina and to the boat ramp. I clambered out first, and Ty waited until called before jumping out. All in all, a successful first excursion since none of us ended up swimming. :)

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It is a long weekend here in Canada, and so I have one more day to putter about the house. AK headed off this evening to spend a week kayak guiding on the west coast, so Ty and I will be spending some quality time. Too bad I have to work the rest of the week, but he'll be well taken care of all the same.

There are two salmon sharks in progress, but I'm not sure when they'll be ready for the shop. I have also recently acquired some gorgeous brown leather and lush wool, which makes me think a sea lion is next on the docket. My hands are slow, but things come along.

Hope you have had a wonderful weekend - what did you get up to?

feels like summer...

I keep rechecking the calendar date. Surely it can't be only the beginning of May. For days now the temps have been reaching into the high 20s (C), and the blue sky stretches unbroken to the mountains on either side. It feels like summer, well and truly, and there's little choice to make but to enjoy it fully, as one never knows when it will change again.

Last night, in the twilight, Ty and I slipped out the door for a walk. The streets were mostly quiet - a few folks digging in their gardens here and there, sprinklers watering lawns as we passed. We followed the path off the pavement and onto dirt under a fresh unfurled canopy of leaves. The songbirds were sounding their sunset chorus, with the occasional alarm noting our passage. The creek trickled quietly underneath us as we ambled over the bridge. Down at the beach, lilting voices carried across the water from a pair of kayakers gliding serenely in the bay. We paused for a breath, a quiet contemplation, and to enjoy the view.

Then we were back amongst the trees, following the winding path as the light continued to fade. I noted again the birds, those trumpeting out an alarm about this woman and her dog, and those singing in the night. But I was only half listening. And then I realized I should be listening fully, and embracing what the robins know and can share with me. I turned my comments and commands to Ty down to a whisper, and quieted my footfalls on the trail. We descended back to the creek, and stopped so he could have a drink of water beside the bridge. I thought for a moment I heard something splash out of the water as we approached, but then I doubted myself as I watched the tiniest waterfall gurgle repeatedly with the same sound.

Up ahead, the songbirds were alarming in a group, too far off to be a comment about us yet. I was pretty sure what that ruckus was for. As we got closer I started scanning amongst all the branches, trying to isolate the centre in growing darkness. There! A larger bird, adjusting its feathers high on a Douglas fir branch, just barely silhouetted against the forest background. Unmistakably an owl. I looked down for a moment and it was gone, but then found again on a tree on the other side of the creek. I smiled, and Ty stood there, oblivious to the action above his head. I had already been planning to return to the woods near our old house in the next few weeks, in hopes of re-acquainting myself with the barred owl pair from last year. But to know there is at least one owl in the wooded area near our new place makes me excited to do a bit more exploring here as well, perhaps earlier in the evening with big camera in hand. I'll keep you posted.

We climbed the stairs back out of the woods, pausing to note a deer crunching through the dead leaves on the other side of the creek. The heat was more noticeable back out on the street, free from the cooling effect of the forest canopy. We were both thinking about a drink and I kept the rest of the loop short. In the open park past the tennis courts two does watched us and Ty created a bit of a fuss in his apparent growing fascination for deer, much to my dismay. But soon enough we were back in our own driveway, and then he was fast asleep on the couch as we settled in for the night.

to the beach!

My camera is feeling a bit neglected these days. When I picked it up to take these photos, I realized it had been 12 days since I'd last clicked its shutter. That's depressing. But I guess that's what happens when a four-legged companion now trots along beside on all my walks. A smart-but-still-learning pup who needs a bit of leash attention, especially as he's bit anxious in the presence of other dogs (understandable given his history). You can pretty much guarantee that if I stop to take a photo an off-leash dog will come racing up out of nowhere, often with an inattentive owner far behind. Quick shots with my phone have been all I can muster lately.

So it was nice to get out with both my boys the other evening, an opportunity for me to tag along with camera in hand while they explored the shore. Ty's first real trip to the beach with us, in fact, and he loved it. There were a few stretches of sand where he could race back and forth, and eagerly eye the hundreds of seagulls still feasting on herring eggs out in the strait. The weather has been beautiful for the most part this past week, and the coming long weekend looks promising indeed. Here's wishing you a fantastic weekend, and here's hoping I get out with my camera a little.

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With flowers blooming all over town and temperatures creeping up, there's no denying it any longer - welcome spring! I'm doing a little clearout over in the shop - pop over for 25% off with the code SPRINGCLEAN.

between the downpours...

Each time I passed the the kitchen window in my wanders through the house, what I already knew was confirmed by a quick glance at the puddle where the driveway meets the street: it was raining. Not just a few drops here and there, but a steady drumbeat keeping the muddy pool topped up. From the couch I can see it coming down like a sheet. Argh.

And then suddenly, after the rain seems at its heaviest, there is a lull. I go to the window to make sure, and the driveway puddle is curiously still. I wait, poking my head out the door and pacing back and forth. It seems to be holding, at least for the next few minutes, and I decide to take my chances. Layered up with a gore-tex topper and my trusty bean boots, I grab my camera bag and head straight for the beach. This pause in the rain has coincided nicely with the low tide, and the shore stretches out before me under a grey sky. The driftwood over small rocks at the high tide line moves into larger boulders covered in barnacles and slime, and finally sand spreads out just at the waterline. I amble between the rocky pools and sand, looking for critters and things left behind. Every once in awhile I pause to scan the horizon and the hillside, noting a few eagles perched high in the trees and the sheets of rain still moving out across the water. A sprinkling of drops finds me every now and again, but a real downpour holds off, for the moment.

I have spotted a starfish or two clutching a rock, waiting for the water to return, but then suddenly I'm out on a larger expanse of sand and they're everywhere. Piled together in large clumps, the ochre stars have decided space is overrated and are waiting out the low tide with a crowd of friends. The whelks are everywhere too, and seem to be embracing spring already, having laid little eggs that now cling to rocks and abandoned clam shells. Occasionally there is a bright orange whelk, a sunspot shining bright in this grey day, grey landscape. I look but so far there are no signs of herring eggs washing ashore, clinging to every bit of seaweed. No signs of sea lions feasting on the eggs and herring off shore either. Soon, perhaps within a few a days. The fishing great blue heron will have none of me today, flying off when I am still far away.

When I can deny the call of 'real life' no longer, I amble back to the truck along the high tide line. On my way home I stop to pick the first batch of stinging nettles for the season. As I make my way down the dirt path I wryly watch a young couple, the woman's belly swelling, head out to the beach with a photographer for a maternity shoot, just a little needles of hail start coming down. I tuck my head down and pick a dinner's worth of the tender but prickly shoots, then get back to the truck before I'm fully soaked. The grey days are still here, but if you look closely around the edges, in the tiny greens that are poking up through the muddy earth, spring is on its way. But it takes a lot of rain to get there.

sunset...

The days are creeping, the light taking just a little longer to fade from the sky.  A walk after work, in the daylight, is becoming a bit more common, a chance for an exhalation at the end of the day. I walked the quiet streets down to the marina to catch the glowing sky over the mountains. The quiet descent into evening on calm seas is interrupted only by the jingle of a cat bell, a fluffy boating feline who lets me give it a quick pet before continuing its twilight rounds. I head out onto the pier to see the orange sunset streaks reflected in the bay. I'm busy shooting, and don't turn at the sound of feet on the wood planks behind me, assuming just another evening walker. But a soft voice lets me know AK has wandered down to join me, and we talk quietly as we navigate the length of the pier. A peaceful moment just the two of us, watching the flush over the snowy island peaks. Flocks of gulls fly overhead, heading to their night roosts. An exhale of breath alerts us to a seal popping up, maybe enjoying the view too. We turn and head home. Another winter's day settles in to night, just a smidge longer than the one before.

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No walks this evening; we're heading out on an overnight flight to the tropics. One of those spots where the sun sets faithfully each night at the same time, with little seasonal shift. I always find that so weird, being in a summery environment and yet the sun dips below the horizon quite early, not like long summer nights up here. Wishing you all a great week and we'll catch up sometime in the next one, okay?

alpine morning...

The Subaru shifts low, working to climb the steepening hill and out of the fog in the valley bottom. I peer through the passenger window at...not much at all, glad I'm not driving as the winding route disappears into the mists. Gradually, slowly, there is a lightening ahead. The fog develops pale blue patches, hints of a clearing to come. The nose of the wagon points forever up, and then we emerge above the clouds into a sparkling winterland.

There hasn't been much snowfall in recent days; December's five metres condensed and settled to a respectable three. The trees cling to a few threatening snow mushrooms that shake off without warning, but mostly the firs and pines thrust skyward in their evergreen hue. Out of the car we remark on the mild temperature, and plans for thick layers get left on the back seat. The air is clear and clean, but not crisp; it feels like April, not the last day of January. The quiet of Thursday on the mountain means everyone is relaxed, not caught up in the bustle of weekend crowds. Under a saturated blue sky we head out from the lodge, crusty snow crunching under our snowshoes as we follow the well-worn path.   The sound overrides the peace of an alpine walk, but it's still a pleasant sound of purpose as we wind our way through the alpine meadows and between stands of shaggy trees. The wide flats mark lakes covered in a sturdy layer of ice and snow. I notice spots that I recognize, where the winter trail rides directly on top of summer's boardwalk, and I contemplate how much snow separates the two. Nordic skiers whizz past on the set trails under a blinding sun, and I think "I should do that more often." But not today.

Before long we are climbing back up the gentle slope to the lodge, exchanging our snowshoes for a casual seat and a hearty lunch. There is more to do this afternoon, but for now a belly full and a mountain view feels pretty good.

gold morning...

These are the grey days, the gloomy days. November is just that way around here, mostly. So when a weekend morning dawns crisp and clear, it's worth it to crawl from under the cozy covers in the early light and step out into the frosty air. Layers of wool as usual guard me from the chill, but fingers and nose turn rosy. In the twilight of the park deer graze, and a doe stamps her feet at me, but my eyes are drawn to the hot glow through the bare trees. I could have been a few minutes earlier, to get the full effect, but the red ball rising from the horizon blows me away all the same. A fiery orb coming out above the low cloud bank, lighting up the eastern sky with a warm light that defies the frosty nipping my cheeks. Gorgeous.

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I wanted to make this post a little longer, but a mystery recurring allergic reaction that today has flared into a full itchy face rash is keeping me a little distracted. Argh. How does a robust, allergy-free (albeit accident-prone) child who became an adult that avoids harsh chemicals and processed foods, also become someone with a growing list of obscure allergies and sensitivities? My body seems to always be betraying me in one way or another these days. Instead, let me attempt to entertain you with others' loveliness:

>> Have you seen these fantastic ornaments from otchipotchi? The little package I ordered arrived today and they are even prettier in person. Almost puts a girl in the holiday mood...
>> There is a food truck in Tofino that makes amazing chocolate diablo cookies - spiced up with cayenne and ginger. I just discovered the recipe online so now I can make them at home!
>> This embroidered denim jumper makes me want to decorate all of my clothes.

storm...

Last week I was exhausted, having worked much of the previous weekend too. A cold was tickling at the edges and then overtook me, and I couldn't wait for Friday to roll around. I made great claims on social media that the stormy forecast meant I would be happily curled up on the couch for the duration, guilt free. But I guess when it comes down to it, I'm not that kind of girl.

Turns out I'm the kind of girl to head out into the wild just before the storm reaches its full strength. The kind of girl to go stalking tree to tree to sneak up on the deer laying out in the open field, where they bed down on windy days when the trees swoosh and shudder and muffle all other noise, so that no one can sneak up on them, in fact. Out in the open, the newest big buck on the block watched me steadily but still let me creep in close as he tucked his hooves underneath him but stayed bedded down. His second in command lay nearby, and a scattering of does and fawns dotted the grass, while a few more only revealed themselves as my eyes adjusted to the shadows under the nearby bushes. A flick of movement and a large pileated woodpecker works its way up one of the trees edging the field. The wind was a howl around us, fading leaves rattling as with their last gasp they clung to the weather-beaten trees.

Turns out I'm the kind of girl to walk into the gusts of the southeaster along the shore of the bay. Watch the clouds race across the sky and block out the mountain peaks for yet another day. Purposeful waves wash in to the beach even on this 'protected' stretch, and I know there is a snarl of water waiting on the other side of the spit. My spirit races from the energy of it all, even as my head tucks low from the cold wind that find my ears through my thick wool toque. I turned back into the woods, boots crunching through swirling leaves on the path as thick trunks creaked overhead.

Turns out I'm the kind of girl to linger, even has the sky turns abruptly black at two in the afternoon, as the squall becomes a bit more determined and the raindrops a bit closer together. Okay, a lot closer together.  A last detour to spend a few fleeting moments with the hooved dancers again, maybe catch a glimpse of that eight-point buck spotted the day before. But even the deer have moved under cover in this weather, and I stand with a few stragglers nuzzling for acorns under the carpet of leaves. With a last big inhale of the wild air I head home in the rain, finding the couch finally.

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So, it's November then, and the clocks have changed. This morning was greeted with bright sunshine, but I know the workday will end in darkness. Weekday after work walks are suddenly a dying breed around here. While I look toward the next weekend, maybe the increase in inside time will be good on the crafting front. This year feels like a big wash on that front (actually on a lot of fronts...). Since the forced hiatus following my injury at the very start of the year, despite fits and starts I feel like I've never really found my stride again. My inspiration has fled into other activities. How do you find your crafting inspiration? And for that matter, how do you get your fresh air quota when balancing life and work in the dark days of winter?

wordless wednesday...

through the woods, to the beach...

Out of the car and up the stairs. Like a kid out of school and eager to go play, I'm inside just long enough to don my boots and some woolen layers. With camera and gathering bag slung over my shoulder, I grab a handful of chocolate chips and I'm out the door again. The air is crisp with a mostly blue sky overhead, and the smell of wood smoke is in the air. A few blocks through quiet streets and then I'm tucked under the canopy of the trees, heading downhill on dirt into the woods. The last rays of sun light up the fallen leaves like bits of stained glass on the dark path underfoot. The creek gurgles, renewed with all the recent rain. Down across the bridge and I see the huge maple, a canopy of yellow leaves just a few days ago, nearly bare now as a storm or two has come through. A bit farther along and I am out of the woods again, out in the grasses above the bay. The light is warm, golden as it comes across the blades, reflects off the turning leaves of the trees that border this open space. The sky itself is full of drama, grey-blue clouds with a blaze of sun, a hint of rain over closer to town.

I am caught up, entranced. Clambering over old driftwood I shoot photo after photo, trying to capture that light before it slips away. The high pitched whistle of eagles come lilting through the air, and I spot a small crew in the tops of the trees. Out in the bay a paddling of ducks sets off in squawking half-flight, upset by some unseen disturbance, only to settle into their float again a few moments later just a little farther off.

I am busy behind the camera, but all too soon the sun is fading, slipping behind the hills. I know if I wait much longer I will be walking back through the woods in the dark. A few more snaps and I reluctantly pull away, slipping back beneath the trees. I make a quick stop at the deer skeleton, checking the decaying process beneath the leaves, assured that no one else has found it. Then it's back along the winding pathways through the tall firs, eyes and ears alert as always. Over another bridge and steady back up the hill to the street. In minutes I'm climbing up the front stairs again, cheeks red and nose cold, but heart full. Time to make up a big pot of chili, to warm the bones on this cold autumn night.

autumn in the alpine...

Popping in for another relatively quick hello. Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow Canadians! We had a nice dinner here last night with some friends; a mountain of delicious food was devoured. Today is quieter, in certain ways but not in others. I sat on the couch for a bit this morning as the sun filtered in behind me, shadows and flurries of activity catching the corner of my eye. I soon realized that all sorts of birds were flitting about outside, between the bushes and the roof's edge, including at least one Northern flicker who kept perching on the wall of the house just outside the window to tap-tap-tap away. There were other species I didn't recognize, but I look forward to getting to know more new neighbours.

The shots above were taken on Saturday at the local ski hill, where not a flurry was spotted just yet. That's okay - the weather was beautiful, autumn alpine colours under a swathe of rich blue sky. A bit of fall crispness seemed in order, but the sun shone down with surprising heat and the mountain breeze had no bite. I'm looking forward to snow up there, but what a sweet afternoon in that fleeting environment.

Today definitely calls for a bit of outdoor exploring: to walk off last night's dinner, to pick some more blackberries, to enjoy the sunshine. Our months of extended blue skies look they just might be reaching their end later this week. Now if I could just find my battery charger that has been hiding since the move - my camera is basically dead and as I'm sure you could guess that just isn't going to fly for me.

Hope you have a great day whether it's a holiday or just plain old Monday!

the new neighbours...

Yesterday, as the warm sun began to slip below the trees and the air regained its crispness, I ventured out to a park near my new home. Not my usual sort of walk, no winding trails through tall evergreens or an open expanse of shore. This park is home to several old heritage buildings, wide lawns dotted with rare trees and manicured flower beds. It's a beautiful spot right on the water, and I wanted to go hunting for acorns like the ones i had gathered there last year. Stepping through the gate, I was immediately drawn to the last rays of light hitting the newly fallen leaves, brought down in the gusting northwesterly making its way through. Happily snapping away, a bit of movement caught my eye and a little fawn stood up from the grass, less than 50 feet away. Way to be observant, K.

The small deer and its mom, just a little farther off, eyed me for a minute, but then continued with their grazing. I moved in a little closer and they seemed unconcerned, so I sat down on the grass. Mama nibbled at the green blades, but then stood alert, looking past me. I heard no sounds, but suddenly another doe and an even smaller fawn trotted past on either side of me. The little group seemed to exchange a greeting of sorts. I was getting the impression this was a popular spot for the little black tailed deer; they know they are safe in this little swathe of trees.

As I wandered a wide circle through the different levels of grass, I came upon several other mamas and their little ones. I'll need to go back a bit earlier in the day when there is brighter light. But in the meantime, I also made note of the different trees; on top of the Garry oaks, there are black walnuts, horse chestnuts, apples and pears. I might need to gather some walnuts when they start coming down more, breaking out of their green pods - try a little dyeing with them.

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I forgot how much moving disrupts your life. I've been unpacking every evening after work, but I'm still surrounded by boxes. It took me four days to find the library book that was overdue. I'm especially looking forward to setting up our bedroom, but the ceiling needs to be painted first, so we're sleeping in the spare bedroom, with more boxes and piles of clothing. Not exactly relaxing. And yes, I suppose I could get started on that painting, but...well, I don't have any really good reason, other than AK left me with all these boxes to unpack, so he can do the painting when he gets back in a couple days. Nothing like a little passive-aggressiveness in a healthy relationship. :)

And I'm staring at a little wolf, or what will eventually be a wolf. Right now he's just the body, with no features or embellishments. I think I know where my basic tools are, so perhaps I should just stop browsing the web and get started on it!

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>> I'm also very much enjoying this A.A. Bondy song.