Goodbye Personal Servant

Personal servant? That may be a bit much, though truly that little machine, our faithful GPS served in so many ways -- not only keeping us on track to many destinations, but keeping us out of trouble.

He (yes, I have no hesitation in calling him a 'he' -- after all, his name was Simon, and he had a lovely English accent) came into our lives in 2011, part of the acquisitions we made when we set out on our cross-continent tour in 2011. Wending our way through the complicated cloverleaf highways in the US would have been nearly impossible without him. At the very least, the relationship between the Dear Man and me might not have survived my map-reading skills. Call him a subtle peacemaker. Which way do we go? No arguments; just ask Simon.

Sure, there were a few times his satellite connections fed him information that was less than accurate, but generally these errors led us into strange and wonderfully off-the-beaten track surprises. Once we found ourselves not at the campsite we'd been seeking, but instead in the midst of horse-and-buggy 'traffic' in Amish territory.

Keeping us out of trouble came with his speed limit alert feature. So many little towns seem to rely on income from speeding tickets issued to tourists who might happen to miss the suddenly-low speed limit at the town boundaries. The warning sound Simon emitted was, fortunately, enough to get us to slow down from highway speed to the safely low numbers they expected. Whew! He more than paid for himself in fines saved.

This seems like the right day to bid him farewell, as it's the anniversary of when we got home from the big tour, eight years ago.

Despite poking around for better photos of Simon than the 'farewell' shot of him (out of focus, no less), I've failed. Best I could come up with was a link to this shot taken during the big road trip, where it appears we've gone off-road on some parallel trail. I'm pretty sure it was just a construction-induced detour.

It isn't that I took lots of pictures of him, but now and then, it just seemed too fun not to. Best were when we were heading across some body of water in a ferry. The little blue Volkswagen Beetle (his avatar) looked as though it was magically gliding atop the water. Silly, I suppose, but then silly generally is my middle name.

He's gone -- to wherever the electronics recycling items go, hopefully not back to the Philippines where so much unwanted Canadian garbage turned up. I like to think he's gone to where someone or thing gets to guide him for a change -- a bit of payback for all the gentle guidance he gave to us.

Pull of the tides

For years I've had a tradition of trying to see the magical light cast on our front door by the Solstice dawn shining through a little stained glass window. This year, both mornings I tried (even the morning that wasn't officially Solstice), I missed it -- or it was too cloudy for the bright light to do its trick.

Even though I don't quite understand how the 'bulging ocean' phenomenon works, I am a longtime observer of the tides, especially the big ones that we see in summertime (or are those simply because we go down to the beach more when the weather's nice?).

The image above, a bit crooked though it is (apologies, I never make adjustments to the photos I post) gives you an idea of just how far out the tide goes when summer begins. It looks as though you might walk halfway to Vancouver Island. All of this is complicated by the pull of the moon, even though the last full moon was June 17th, days before Solstice.

I'm not the only one who likes knowing when the moon is full. This week I read that Neil Young, one of my favourite songwriter/musicians only makes recordings three days before the full moon. Apparently, he believes that's when his creativity is at its peak. Something more to watch for before the next time it's full.

Like I said, I don't really understand it all, but enjoy paying attention to the interaction between sea and sky. Always something to see, always something to wonder at.

Picky picky

Even though summer won't officially arrive until Friday morning's Solstice, today's ritual -- the annual picking of the strawberries -- made me feel like it was already here.

Because they grow so close to the ground, strawberries are the hardest berries to pick. Good thing they're the earliest berry. The picking only gets easier as the season progresses. All that bending or squatting (or, when desperate, kneeling) gets tiresome pretty quickly.

Still, this year's crop might have been the best (and easiest to pick) in years. Big, ripe, and juicy (I'll admit, I tested), they were so plentiful I was able to be quite selective, choosing only the nicest ones, and able to do so quickly.

So, what's next? Plenty of slicing and freezing and making jars of jam -- and of course, eating!

Becoming a birdwatcher?

While I wouldn't consider myself a birdwatcher, especially not one with any knowledge of species identification, lately I've been seeing a lot of birds.

The baby robin perched in the photo above must have peeped or I'm not sure I would have seen him, as I was lying outside reading a book when he caught my eye. It didn't take long for one of his parents to show up, bearing a mouthful of wriggly-looking worms. Yum.

But there've been other birds catching my eye of late -- some of them barging right up the front walk, looking as though they were sizing up the place, set to move in. In fact, yesterday's pair of visitors may well have been birds I could have said yum to, though I didn't. It would have been rude to treat 'company' so badly, I am sure.

These two ducks came wandering onto our deck, I suspect looking for a place to nest (probably in the very spot where we'll soon be pitching our tent for summer sleeps).

They poked around, looking here and there, pretty much giving us the up-and-down before they seemed to decide our house didn't fit their needs.

And now, barely an hour ago, looking out the back door I spied another bird, this little visitor a 'regular' making her daily path to her 'secret nest' hidden in the periwinkle. She (I have my reasons...) stops, perching on one of the hanging baskets of lettuce, then hops down to a lower one (maybe testing the basil?) and then sneaks down to the ground, where she dives into the thick greenery. The egg I found earlier this spring was probably from this little bird.

Not a pastime I'd ever claimed before, but maybe one of my new hats will have to be birdwatcher, even if I don't always know their names.

History matters

As we've been reminded by all forms of the press, today is the 75th anniversary of D-Day. So, what's a photo of a foggy day in Nova Scotia got to do with it.

For one thing, the photo is from one of the Maritimes' most iconic seaside spots, the famous Peggy's Cove. The morning I took this was foggy and peaceful, something those beaches at Normandy were not -- especially the peaceful part. 

As we travelled around Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, it was hard not to be impressed by the respect the townsfolk show for their history. 

Not only are old buildings preserved, they're still used, not demolished -- the way buildings less than fifty years old are routinely torn down here. A family we met live in a house that's over 200 years old. Sure, they've had to do plenty of updates, but it's standing and they're living their lives in it. 

I know we can't go back in time, but I certainly believe that it's important we remember -- and honour -- the past. How else can we know how to best go forward?