Tiny but mighty

Berries are one of the treats I love most about summer. Yes, the blackberries are the ones I pick every year. I'm also a slave to pruning them, where they grow along the fence out back of our house. During summer, I trim them every week to keep them happy. 

Those little raspberries though are a new discovery. 

There's a vacant lot (for sale, of course) across the street and along with the free bouquets I've been picking there since spring, I recently discovered a wild raspberry bush. 

The fruits are small, and there aren't ever very many, but WOW are they ever sweet and delicious. 

You can bet I'm hoping that next summer the lot will remain vacant, and will again serve as my go-to flower shop as well as the spot for picking tiny red berries. Yum. 

Fruits of the Earth

Although I guess, to be more accurate, I'd have to call them vegetables. Still, Vegetables of the Earth just doesn't have the same ring as a title. 

Home-grown potatoes always seem like such a miracle to me. After all, they started as small chunks of potatoes that had started growing 'eyes' and all we had to do was bury them in some good dirt. Then, it seems like not all that much time later, here they were: tiny potatoes, ready for becoming part of a summertime meal. 

Maybe my affinity for good potatoes goes back to my own Irish roots, even though my people there somehow managed to make it through the Great Potato Famine. My grampa didn't come to North American until the early 1900s, and I'm still hoping to see where he lived one of these days, as Ireland is included on the travel bucket list. 

In the meantime, fresh potatoes are definitely on the menu!

Enduring

If she were alive, she'd be turning 128. A birthday no one (at least not yet) seems interested in observing. And yes, once again, I'm thinking of Amelia Earhart, born on this date in 1897. 

Despite so much time passing since her disappearance (back in 1937 when she would have been turning 40), her persona and the mysteries surrounding her life endure. 

Earlier this summer, The New Yorker (June 9, 2025 issue) published an article called "Turbulence". It's full of some fairly damning thoughts about Earhart's husband, George Putnam. It suggests that he pushed to do things she shouldn't have tried, specifically the ill-fated flight around the world. 

Earhart is still enduring in my own thoughts, partly because the mysterious theft of her statue still has no resolution (though it's assumed that it was stolen by metal thieves who found an unscrupulous dealer who melted it down), and partly because I always think of her on this, her birthday. 

The plane above is the 'twin' to the one she flew nearly all the way around the world. Called 'Muriel' (named after Amelia's sister) is now ensconced in the museum at the town's airfield. It's the only original 1935 Lockheed Electra still in existence. A special aircraft, to be sure. 

The Amelia Earhart Festival in Atchison, Kansas, has always been a memorable weekend of celebrations. My favourite part (besides meeting up with friends) has been the amazing fireworks. 

Celebrate! 

Minipause

A friend who knows that I love puzzles gave me this little take-a-break present. Consisting of a mere 100 pieces (easy peasy!), it took only about 20 minutes to assemble it, but still, it demanded enough focus that it took my mind off other matters. 

There's something about doing a jigsaw that takes me to some other shore, a place where other concerns disappear. Even so, there's usually some kind of system involved in putting one together. 

Border pieces or 'edge' pieces are often an easy place to start. Their straight cut along one side makes them easy to find. 

Truly, the easiest part for me with this puzzle was the lovely little underwater fish. 

A lazy day, but still, a treat to have such a fun kind of distraction. 

This is a tool

...not a weapon. 

Yet, on July 4th Bailey McCourt, 32, was beaten to death with one by her estranged husband. Even though he'd been convicted of making threats to kill her, he was out on bail when he murdered her. What I'd like to know is why is this still happening?

There's a terrible irony in that today is a remembrance of Vancouver poet Patricia Lowther who was murdered (same choice of weapon) 50 years ago this September. Had she lived, later this month (the 29th) would have been Pat's 90th birthday. 

Another irony is the fact that today is the launch of a new book, Creating in Dangerous Times. I guess indeed we are still living in dangerous times. 

"To raisin or not to raisin"

On Saturday, for some strange reason, I decided to make butter tarts--a treat I generally only make at Christmas time. Not really sure why, though it might have had something to do with the fact that I defrosted the freezer and found some pre-made tart shells (lazy, I know). 

But when I went to make the filling, I realized I only had one egg in the fridge, and the recipe was going to need two. So, back to the drawing (dreaming?) board. 

Luckily, Sunday morning was another 'delivery day' from the 'egg lady' who delivers fresh dozens from her farm out in the Fraser Valley. So, as soon as I got home, I made sure the butter was softened and got to work. 

The strangest part, I am sure, is the fact that on Sunday, while I was cleaning up the kitchen, I turned on the radio and heard a feature on--you guessed it--butter tarts!

For years I've told people in my family that, if they wanted the recipe, they'd have to wait as "it's in the will." It's a recipe I was given by Betty, my once-upon-a-time mother-in-law, and she made it clear that it was special and to be kept private. So, imagine my dismay when I found pretty much the exact recipe in an old Canadian cookbook. Still, to be kind to the memory of Betty, I'm not saying which cookbook.  

My only question now is: why don't I make these more often?

This little flag has been hanging on our front door for a few months now. It was made by a longtime friend who happens to be an amazing quilter. 

If you want to see just how intricate her work is, you might want to click on the photo to look closely at the patterned stitching inherent in the design. 

The whorls and complex stitching aren't produced by AI or any program on her sewing machine--they're all her devising. 

Looking at these complex patterns, I think they serve as a good metaphor for the fabric of our country--a mix of so many cultures and people. 

This year, with the multitude of threats coming from the south of us, it seems all the more important to take this day to think about not only who we are, but who we want to be. 

O Canada, our home on native land...