What timing!

Must admit, I was thrilled to discover, just yesterday, that my little batch of autumn crocuses came up again. For a while, the patch of ground they usually inhabit looked sadly vacant. I was ready to blame the squirrels who've been known to dig up many of the bulbs I keep pushing into the soil every autumn. 

I'll admit, these little flowers were 'stolen'--or perhaps, more correctly 'rescued' from the yard of a house that was about to be torn down (and don't get me going on that, way too many perfectly good houses around here keep getting taken down).

This morning saw autumn become official, earlier than when I got up, to be sure, out here in the Pacific Time Zone. 

One thing I didn't get around to doing (but maybe there's still time) was change the filter on our Brita dispenser, something I usually do every equinox or solstice. I rely on the sun to give me these occasional reminders, and generally keep to the schedule. 

I'm looking forward to having those delicate little pink flowers open up, yet another marker of the season. 

A natural bouquet

I guess I'm just a sucker for nature. Sometimes its beauty seems almost too perfect to be real. That's the case with this stand of natural grasses that grow in the shade of our back yard. 

If ever there were a natural bouquet that says 'autumn' in my mind, it would be this batch of grass. 

And I think, even though we haven't yet experienced the equinox (but coming soon, it will arrive here on the west coast on September 22nd at 5:43 a.m.) that autumn is upon us. The batch of mushrooms that I picked the other day serve as one more sign convincing me. 

To all things, yes, there is a season. And in every season there is its own special beauty. 

A harbinger of things to come

Coming out of my local library this afternoon, the world sounded different. There was a kind of rustling, along with a hint of even a different scent. For once, the scent wasn't smoke from a fire up country, it was, I decided, the scent of autumn.

Where it's not even mid-August, it seems early for this, but maybe I'm some kind of optimist who still doesn't expect any such change until closer to September. Nonetheless, early autumn certainly seemed to be in the air. 

Then, walking to my car, I stopped to chat with a woman who felt the same change I did. So at least it was comforting in a way to know I wasn't alone in my feelings. 

And sure enough, leaves beneath the trees only confirmed these early autumn thoughts. 

I'm counting on more summer ahead, but can't pretend I'm not mindful that the season has already begun its steady shift. 

By the way, I couldn't help but wonder about the word that came to mind earlier: harbinger. As with so many of the words in our language, it's an oldie and has some interesting history. 

A new experience

One of my favourite film characters, the Countess Mathilde Chardin (better known as Maude from Harold and Maude) places a high value on the 'new experience' and its importance in enjoying life. So today's post is about a small but definitely (for me at least) new experience. 

It started about a week ago when I was at a friend's house where I noticed a beautiful tree, laden with golden fruits. Although they were about the size of a mandarin orange I knew that's not what they were. For one thing, oranges don't grow (yet) here in B.C. 

I wasn't sure but thought they might be persimmons, and sure enough, that's exactly what they were.

Turns out the ones on this tree were the Fuyu variety, which are kinder in terms of their readiness to eat. The other kind, Hachiya, has to be fully ripe before they're any good to eat, as they're far too astringent.  

So last night, we sliced one up for our dessert, and bingo, the new experience proved to be a good one.

I'm just sorry I didn't pick more than I did. 

Nearing the speed of light

All right. I admit to an exaggeration, but...I can't believe how this month has flown past. 

Sure, there's been plenty going on to keep me busy--from Word Vancouver to last weekend's BC and Yukon Book Awards Ceremony. 

Quite a few of the Word events are still available online, and many are worth tracking down. 

As for the book awards, the ceremony isn't online, but at least the results are posted. 

And yes, quite a bit of the month was spent looking after that kitty I wrote about last time. 

Technically, the season changed officially last weekend. And technically, this morning was the official time of the full moon. Still, I'm sure it will be just as big and beautiful tonight as it was yesterday evening. 

Today was another of the cleaning-up-the-yard-for-autumn days, with a substantial amount of debris from the blackberry hedge making it into the green bin for next week's collection. Both hibiscus trees are now indoors, and the outdoor cushions have been stored away, but there's plenty more to do to get things set for the winter. Still, it'll happen. It always does. All in good time, and definitely slower than the speed of light. 

Leafy

 

Today's date November 18th, but back in 2008, marks the day that my sisters and I said goodbye to our mother. Like today, the weather was a beautiful sporting all the best of autumn's colours, and even its scents. 

Walking through leaves seems like a good way to remember -- not only with the act of putting one foot in front of the other, but also admiring the many different leaves and tints as they stir the variety of experiences over a life. 

I think our mother would be glad that we remember her, even if in somewhat odd ways. All any of us can hope, I suppose, is that we will leave our own leafy (or other kind) imprints behind. 

A new angle of the sun

The changing of the seasons always has a number of chores -- this season, it's primarily food-based ones. 

There's been plenty of clean-up of blackberry vines and spent veggie beds. Even the travelling rose had a number of its trailing stems clipped, oddly without a single rose hip this year (a first). The usual load of plums -- twelve bags for sharing with neighbours and friends -- was greatly diminished this year, with only a measly twelve plums. Not a single bag full, only a small bowl. Nonetheless, they were delicious as ever, maybe more so where there were so few. 

Not long ago I gathered a big bag full of windfall apples. This is a luxury I may no longer be able to indulge in, as it looks as though my friend's property will be 'developed' -- an ironic term, as the land will certainly be far less productive once it's paved. 

So far I've managed to freeze enough apples to make a couple of pies during winter. I've also made a few of what I call 'hand pies' (individual 'pies' made with store-bought puff pastry), several containers of applesauce and I've even managed to dry a few, thanks to our little fireplace units where all I have to do is slice the apples and let them rest on top of the pilot-only heat source. 

The equinox is also when I clean and change the filters in the Brita unit -- an easy way to keep track of when I do some of these maintenance chores. 

Technically autumn arrives at 6:03 Pacific Time, so suddenly I'm finding myself in a brand-new season. At least I reckon I'm pretty much ready. 

Labour and the fruits thereof...

This has been the week for trying to finish up the autumn chores before the rainy season starts in earnest. That's meant clearing leaves and bits of cedar clicks off the deck (clicks? I don't know what else to call them, the cedar equivalent of fallen leaves). It's a task that needs to be completed before the nighttime bursts of wet, or the deck turns into a mass of gooey orange bits. Seasonal decorations, I suppose, but not particularly desirable. 

Other jobs that need doing? Slicing and drying more fruit -- all of it free. This time, it's apples from the overly bountiful tree at a friend's place. Before those, it was quince from the copious amount of fruits from the tree in our front yard. Little bags of each will probably find their way into Christmas baskets. 

Maybe the least pleasant (though one of the most necessary) is pruning the English ivy that drapes itself along the fence between us and the neighbour. It's thick enough that it helps provide a wall of privacy, but because it's an invasive species, it has to be discouraged -- and definitely kept off of the trees along that same border. Its pollen is horrific (even as I type this, my nose has started itching). A few years ago I did a post where I was dressed in basically a homemade Hazmat suit -- all so I could do a pre-autumn chop. 

This time, as I filled another bucket with debris, I couldn't help but think that the ivy's flowers look an awful lot like images of the virus that's been keeping us masked up and in relative isolation. Maybe all along, the all-too-stalwart ivy was trying to warn us what might lie ahead.

But in amongst all of these tasks, the best remains the tending of the berries -- this time even offering their own small reward -- a tiny bowl of perfectly red, sun-sweetened raspberries. 

Mmmm.

Almost there...

Walking through a pile of crispy brown leaves mostly takes me back in time -- to days when my sister and I would build 'rockets' or 'cars' with piled up fallen leaves, always rounding out two 'cockpits' for each of us to sit in. But even riding around in our wildly imaginative vehicles, there's no way we could have envisioned the world of now. 

A global pandemic, showing not enough signs of being controlled. A society where it seems almost unimaginable to be able to buy a home. And, most threatening of all, a world in the midst of the climate emergency. 

I suppose, barely over a week from now, we'll have a new federal government. All I can do is brace for whatever that outcome might be. Yes, I will still vote, though we're one of those ridings where it's mostly pointless to cast a ballot, as a single party has held a tight grip (except for once) for more decades than I care to recall. I can't even vote by conscience this time, as we don't have a Green in the running here. 

But rather than thinking doom and gloom, I am reminding myself that we'll soon be rounding another seasonal corner, this time observing the autumn equinox a time when day and night are equal, a time of balance, at least of the light. That's also the first day we'll be under the sign of Libra, the ruler of balance. 

Looking forward to getting there. 

Foraged

Autumn can be one of the most enjoyable seasons -- not too hot, not too cold, and sometimes not even too wet (an important consideration in this part of the world). 

We spent a day wandering through forests, mainly on the lookout for edible mushrooms. As always, most of the ones we spotted were either not safe to eat, 'pre-chewed' by slugs or other forest residents, or sometimes just gone at the stem to some other mushroom-seeker who beat us to a particular patch. 

Because luck was with us, we found enough for a big panful fried up (with butter, olive oil, garlic and chives) that made their way to the top of a pile of fresh linguini. 

Yum!

The rest have been drying and are almost ready to go into jars where
they'll wait for special occasions when I'll cook with them (and put them into our Christmas stuffing for sure). 

Yet, it isn't just mushrooms that get found in the forest. Walking almost silently (except of course for the intermittent tinkle of the bear bell I wear) over the deep carpet of moss makes me think I'm in the land of The Lord of the Rings or maybe on another planet, like in Avatar. 

One of the most important 'foraged' items I bring home with me is an awareness of that quiet place within, maybe the spirit, that takes such comfort and solace there. 

Just about a perfect day

After last week's heavy rains, which seem to have cleared the smoke from our skies, today feels just about perfect. 

Temps are warm enough to not need a jacket or sweater, and the sky couldn't be bluer. 

The quince are now getting ripe. In fact, I can smell the scent of them wafting through the house as the Dear Man is making a big pot of quince-ade, a delicious and refreshing drink that I associate with this time of year. 

Yesterday was World Rivers Day this year dedicated to the salmon, our wonderfully important (and delicious) fish whose stocks have become so sadly depleted. 

But today I am happily celebrating World Rivers Day again, albeit a bit belatedly, as it seems I'm no longer so alone-feeling when it comes to questioning the sense of going ahead with the Site C project. A letter from people who matter cites many of the reasons it's time for this project to stop. It seems that our beloved Peace may indeed soon get the respect (and the reprieve) it deserves. This is a cause I've been concerned about for quite a few years. 

As part of my wanting to celebrate and to belatedly pay tribute to World Rivers Day, here's a short video with yes, the sound of a river, always such a comfort to me -- something to enjoy, a little piece of memorabilia from our recent camping trip, this time the sounds of the Similkameen.  

Change-o-rama

Just back from a week away -- off-grid and offline -- what a pleasurable way to spend time! Out in the forest, with ravens and plenty of ground squirrels in evidence (not sure what's in the image above -- kitty? big squirrel?) and fortunately, despite cautions, no bears. 

Most of the time we were camping in Manning Park, a great place for hiking easy trails and just plain

relaxxxing. 

Nearly everywhere, I kept finding interesting rock art. As I so often do, I took waaaay too many photos of these, but it was hard not to, as every time I saw one, it just seemed too fun to ignore. 

One of my favourites was this 'abstract' one which may well have been an 
accident, or might have even served as someone's painter's palette or drip-catcher. I'll never know. 

Coming home serves as a change -- back to the nice, big queen-size bed and of course, electricity and water on demand (hot even!). 

Tomorrow marks another change: the autumn equinox occurs early in the morning when I trust I'll still be sleeping. I doubt that the day will look much different, as leaves have been turning and temps have been cooling down for a while, but the new season will be official. 

But oh -- an even bigger change is coming here in BC. We're having an election. And I think quite a few of us aren't sure it's a great idea. 

One constant that we've been told will endure, even if our government is changing, will be the steadfast reporting of updates from our provincial health officer, Dr Bonnie Henry. One point of continuity will be her regular updates when she always includes her oh-so-quotable mantra, which even showed up on yet another example of rock art in the woods. 

A-scrunching we will go...

What a day for a walk through a beautiful forest preserve -- an amazing site dedicated to students and outdoor ed.

And all the while I was scrunching through leaves here, Greta Thunberg was leading a march in Vancouver, one that followed on the heels of the announcement that a group of students from across the country have sued the federal government for their lack of action on the climate emergency.

Good days for the Earth, our home sweet home.

Finding beauty

I'll admit to often finding beauty in odd places, spots where many people might just walk past. That was the case with this colourful assortment of autumny leaves, strewn across the stairwell outside my local library. I'd left my camera in the car, and decided I had to go back for it, as I knew the colours would fade or someone would come along and sweep them away. And yes, I realize they're placed sideways, but there's something I like about the unbalanced balance of the image that way.

Yesterday, with no camera in hand (I was driving, so not allowed, a good thing) I was struck by the sight of a straggly 'v' of geese flying across the afternoon's blue sky.

And then, beside me was a field of pumpkins, looking smallish but bright orange, all aglow with the promise of Thanksgiving and Halloween.

Strange, perhaps, but I love finding beauty in the world, especially when so many aspects of contemporary life seem to insist on being ugly. Better, I find, to look for the bright spots which mostly turn out be elements of nature. Yet another aspect of beauty to consider and maybe meditate on.

A forager's delight

This month has been a great one for foraging. And yes, those giant puffballs we found when we were visiting in Ontario were mighty tasty. Sliced into strips and pan fried, they were actually meaty -- like I might imagine the vegetarian version of a steak.

Today was another perfect day for tromping around in the bush, poking about for edible treats here in BC. The recent rains had encouraged all sorts of mycelia to sprout their fruiting bodies (what we think of as mushrooms). Even though most of them aren't safe to eat, that doesn't mean they aren't pretty enough to want to take photos of them -- like these, some kind of variation related to a chanterelle, but not one that I would want to sample.

Besides finding some lovely, fresh parasol mushrooms which will definitely feature in tonight's supper, there were also some chestnuts which might have been fun as a woodland appetizer if it weren't for the fact that they're horse chestnuts -- not fit for human consumption. Still, the patterns on their shells are as beautiful as any finely burnished wood.

But the best find of all was a pocketful of windfall apples. With some careful paring (sure, there were little bruises and flaws), they're now in the oven, baking their way into a pie for dessert.

PS Please be sure, if you're picking in the wild, to follow the rules. Use a guidebook -- or better yet, go with someone who knows what's edible and what's not. As the adage goes: There are some things you only eat once (because once you eat them, you're dead).

Shifting gears

Yesterday was one of the most beautiful days ever. The sky was blue, the temp was warm enough for shorts and T-shirts, the breeze was gentle and sweet. Only the long shadows served to remind that the days are getting shorter.

Good thing I got out and into it, as today's skies have taken on a change.

Cloudy and grey, with occasional gusts of wind, it seems as if the weather is telling us it's time for a new month, one that's well and truly autumn.

The dry bits of keys from the cedar trees have even started to fall, the equivalent here, I suppose, of leaves to be raked. For now, they can stay a while, golden in the yard.

Gorgeous "grassitude"

As the weather starts to change, the winds announce themselves, reminding us that colder temps will soon be here.

But that chill also serves to bring us together, to bask in the warmth of friends and family in this time for giving thanks. One of the things to be grateful for is the fact that our holiday has shifted from the narrow definition its origins bore.

A big meal with plenty of leftovers, along with a walk through the now-changing colours -- when it comes to celebrating, that's plenty for me.

Nonetheless, I'm still left wondering, Who paints these gorgeous leaves when I'm not looking?

from Oh to Why

It's a job that's taken longer than I'd hoped or dreamed it might, but the old four-drawer file cabinet is finally cleared out.

Part of the reason it took so long is that I seemed compelled to look at too many papers. It was as if I simply had to read what had once seemed so important.

As it turns out, some of those papers turned out to be keepers, including this little set from what once filled the bottom drawer. As you might guess, one of the strangest set of clippings captured all the wariness that accompanied Y2K. Lucky us, the world didn't end, didn't even seem to feel a bump in the road.

Even though the actual point of equinox doesn't happen until tomorrow, having that cabinet cleared out feels like a good way to begin the new season, the stepping-off point to who knows where.

Springtime in November

I know. I should know better than to make any such cheery proclamations. It’s just that when the weather is perfect (perfect enough to spend the morning in my deck chair, reading and sipping at coffee), it’s something to celebrate.

I’m also celebrating my annual writing retreat. It’s a time I anticipate with pleasure, not only for the uninterrupted writing time, but for the evenings of camaraderie among close friends.

This year’s setting is new to us, in a pastoral setting on North Pender Island. The sheep are far enough away that I don’t ever hear them. As for the chickens (and crows), they’re another matter. But being natural sounds, they’re never a disturbance.

There are several indicators that despite the sunny hours, it isn’t really spring, just some lucky autumn breaks before colder weather arrives. One of those indicators is this year’s bounteous supply of apples. We’ve been invited to help ourselves to them, so the forager in me has taken advantage of that. I’ve harvested two different varieties – and they’re waiting in bags for when I depart.

When I leave here I know that I’ll be leaving with more than apples. As I always do at the end of a retreat, I’ll come away refreshed and renewed – and I hope ready to face the many changes we are all bound to experience over the coming months.

I plan to do my best to keep some of these sunny images in mind, trusting that they will carry me through whatever dark times may be ahead.

As for now, I’m glad that I’ve come back indoors, as I can hear the start of yet another round of the inevitable November rains. 

Golden

Wednesday was the golden day, and I'm just glad we were smart enough to get out into it while it was there, as Thursday turned rainy and blustery, with over 30,000 customers losing power last night.

We headed out into the valley and tromped around some of our favourite hiking spots, all the while keeping our eyes open for the ever-elusive wild mushrooms, and of course, paying attention for wildlife that might be around. Our whistles were put to good use, as I'd left the bell I usually wear at home. Although I've been teased and told that bears think a bell means 'dinner', I'll admit I feel more secure if I jingle when I'm hiking in the bush.

Plenty of fungi were apparent, so conditions were good, though there weren't a lot of the edible varieties. And yes, there was some evidence that others had had the same idea before we did, as we spotted the occasional stems where specimens had been cut. Unfortunately, there were also (too many) places where mushrooms appeared to have been uprooted. Sadly, they probably won't come up in those spots again.

Oddly, whenever we came across streams, the water looked vibrant and fresh, but there was no evidence of fish -- a concern to me, as this is the season when the salmon are generally spawning. They're usually in obvious abundance when we do our foraging hikes, clambering their way upstream to where they were born.

Still, the fresh air was nurturing enough to make the day feel like a success. And really, I'm sure we got enough mushrooms (three varieties) to play a role in our upcoming Thanksgiving feast.

When the days are as perfect as our 'golden' Wednesday was, it's important -- especially this time of year -- to grab it and do something outside.