Lumberjack 26 October 2016

Today I climbed a ladder

Which I leaned into a tree.

It was somewhat precarious

And more than a bit rickety.

I climbed it more than once

For it wasn’t one but three.

And they are big old cedars

That block our view you see.

So they needed much the pruning

Their tops that I sawed free.

And as I clung to branches

And grasped them steadily.

I sawed by arm and hand

I sawed quite heartily.

I sawed until my shoulder ached

And felt it tenderly.

I sawed from every angle.

I sawed so busily.

And then I cleared the brush away

And cleared it hastily.

For my partner does not like it

When I work when absent he

But now I see the distant hills

And view the wild turkey.

And I watch the deer and foxes run

As they dash so speedily.

So I am pleased by the finished task

And grin now mischievously.

When will he notice what is done

When will it dawn on he

That the vista has now improved

And grown formidably.

Magellan

While the world is in turmoil, we seem to be continually struck by the wonder of nature on our hilltop in Northumberland County. Earlier this past summer I was working in the garden when a passing glance saved me from stepping on a small painted turtle. It was huddled in its palm-sized shell, trying to hide on a piece of limestone that edges one of our gardens. 
Although the occasional frog makes its way up our hill from distant marshland across fields of hay and a gravel road, this visitor was a first for us. Perhaps these creatures smell water, however tiny the source. For we have a bathtub-sized pond in our garden. But why trade a large marsh for such a venue. 
I picked up the magnificent creature in my hand. I carefully carried it to this small pond and set it on one of the large waterlily pads. It seemed very happy; but after several days it disappeared. Perhaps wanderlust took it further. I had named it Magellan after another adventurer.

Cracked and Baffled

We love our old house. We love the creaks and the groans, the imperfect floors, the drafts and those cobwebs that keep reappearing. We love it’s history, its eyes and ears, its secrets. But an old house, is like an old person. It needs constant care and attention. You get a hip replaced and the knee goes out. You sneeze and all hell breaks loose.

But we love the wood panelled walls in the “summer kitchen” and its beamed ceiling. We love the fireplaces that burn bright and comforting in the fall, winter and early spring. We cherish the abundant screen doors that give out to the gardens and fresh air, to the decks and the patio in the late spring, summer and early fall. We love the uncurtained windows facing the stunning vistas to the north and south and east and west and, of course, the front porch facing to the sun rise.

However, there is the old faithful dug well with its magnificent stone walls and abundant water source that just gave out after a parching summer of drought. Fortunately, we have our trusty cistern recently refurbished and our many rain barrels. So we have survived these past two weeks quite well while waiting for the plumber to arrive: a wonderful lesson in water conservation. The well needs to be cleaned out and the intake freed of the silt that is now blocking it.

Then there is the lovely soap stone fireplace in our summer kitchen, now converted to one of our living rooms. The chimney sweep has reported after his recent annual visit that the baffle is bust. Yes, and we must not use it until it is repaired, for it is cracked and potentially a fire hazard. So we wait for our cracked baffle to be repaired. Cracked and baffled ourselves. Fortunately we have had a very warm and extended autumn.

While cutting up some firewood the other day, the chainsaw gave out just as we were finishing the task, and in the last trimming of fence rows the lawn mower sputtered to a stop. It was not merely out of gas. I have made that mistake embarrassingly once before. And when we hooked up the trailer to take these machines in for repair, the trailer’s signal lights did not work. So now we must wait for the repair of the trailer’s electrical system before ferrying our gadgets to the distant mechanic.

Yes, we love our home and the knoll upon which it sits. We love that we know these service people by name and where they live, and that they are all close neighbours. We love that we feel part of the wonderful countryside around us with its challenges and its blessings.

I Saw a Snake Today

I saw a snake on the patio wall

It too saw me standing by

I was filling the cistern with a pale

Because our well’s gone dry.

It feared my presence and turned to flee

Not merely slinking as snakes will do

But leaping airborne to a hidden place

Where only snakes pass through.

Then crossing the courtyard to the barn

Another snake was at the door

It saw me coming to enter in

And scurried beneath the floor.

What creatures lurk beneath my feet

And me above their place

I cannot doubt their right to be

We must all share this wondrous space.

I’ll leave the rocks and soil for them

Disturbing the least I can

To safeguard well their earthen homes

From the carelessness of Man.

But let them stay well hidden there

For though I want them on this earth

It excludes settling my dwelling’s walls

Or resting upon my hearth.

Autumn Ride

Resting

The Sun so warm upon my face

Fills my spirit with passion’s zest

As I glide with steady pace

The breeze upon my heaving chest.

The air clean and fresh in autumn light

My nostrils wide with harvest scent

My eyes are filled with such delight

As my thighs churn with torso bent.

The colours of the woods surrounding

Vibrant red and orange and purple yet

The call of nature deep resounding

With resonance I shan’t forget.

I cycle through the field and down the lane

To gravel road and more descent

My legs revolve beyond their pain

And sweating still I am content.

Then up and up and up again I strive

With pulsing veins as muscles pound

Telling me I am quite alive

With circling wheels homeward bound.

How Dry I Am

This has been a summer of intense persistent heat and parching drought. This is not news to anyone who lives in the Ontario countryside. Withered cornfields, dry stream beds and wells, grass like straw doormats, dead shrubs and trees all attest to it. Some herds are being culled with the cost of hay soaring.

And yet, this autumn has been so late in arriving, with no frost still at Thanksgiving, the wild flowers along the road sides and field edges flamboyant. The woods in our horizon are glowing with vibrant colour like in no other year that I have witnessed since moving here almost 23 years ago.

These October days are warm with glistening sunshine. The mornings are cool with fog rising from the valleys and obscuring the usual vistas from our hilltop home. It seems as if we are on an island out in the middle of an ancient sea.

This visual beauty no doubt hides the practical hardship that so many are experiencing. We need rain so desperately here, even as I am hearing news of a hurricane now ravaging many parts of the world to the south of us with heavy rains and ferocious winds. One wonders if these extremes are the new reality. One hopes not.

Flirting Turtle

An earlier posting this summer was a tale of a painted turtle that appeared in our garden at home. Turtles, of course, come in many sizes and varieties. Our summer cottage lake is home to two kinds that we know of. These are the painted turtle and the snapper.

The painted is seen on logs by the water’s edge as we canoe by . They can vary in length from a few inches to about one foot if one takes the neck, shell and tail into consideration. We seem to have three generations of snapping turtles that appear under the surface of the water or peaking above it near our docks. One is a little more than one foot in length, another almost two feet, and the elder is a good three feet or more from head to tail.

Whereas, as the name suggests, the painted turtle is pretty to look at, the snappers, on the other hand are gnarled and worn and ominous. They have large feet and claws and, when outstretched, very long necks. The shell of the largest itself is at least two feet from tip to toe.

Guests are always intrigued by the size of the snapper, and somewhat intimidated. We always assure them that these remnants of an antediluvian epoch are more afraid of us than we should be of them. But do not corner them or you are sure to lose a finger or toe or even a hand or foot. Regardless, the lake is big enough for all to survive happily together. Indeed, my partner is wont to talk sweetly to these creatures as they surface near the dock from time to time.

That was our story for the past thirty summers until recently when we were putting our dock to bed for the approaching winter season. We do this annual ritual by disconnecting our dock from its attachment to the shore and then floating it into a quiet and sheltered bay. My partner and I must stand up to our waists on either side of the short bridge that holds the dock in place. We next remove the lynch pins and piping that secure the dock and flip the bridge back onto the land.

We were just beginning this exercise when a base shriek came from my partner’s side of the dock. I watched in amazement as he jumped clear out of the water and onto the rocks - a considerable feat for a man in his 70s. The large snapper had nudged his leg with the butt of his head! But upon witnessing the ensuing commotion, it had departed abruptly into the deep – or so we thought.

Back into the water we went when I felt a distinct pressure on my right foot. Looking down, I saw this large clawed foot resting on top of mine and the adjacent face of the turtle. A shriek of a similar nature was emitted from my side of the dock and I was quickly elevated to dry land. But the creature did not flee. It stayed there grinning up at me from the deep for a while, before slipping into the darkness of the deep.

Now were these possibly merely pats of friendship from one alien creature to another, or was it perhaps testing the possibility of digestion? I might hope to never find out.