I wasn't going to write a Blog today because I'm still very busy constructing a barn and also have a terribly messy kitchen to clean up if I want to open the coffee shop tomorrow morning - I swear I don't know how Sarah gets her baking done in such a clutter - the kitchen table must be somewhere in the house because I can remember having supper there about 2 weeks ago, or was it longer? Although a lot of work is waiting for me while I sit here sipping a hot mug of goldenrod tea and typing at the computer, my mind is elsewhere; actually I'm feeling quite sad. Last night, after just having a very hot bath to soothe my aching muscles and joints and had barely crawled into bed, I received a phone call from my sister Fern. I knew our sister Connie hadn't been feeling that well since her husband died a little over 2 months ago and she had been fighting cancer for quite some time. However, being a somewhat quiet woman of few words and most likely not wanting anyone to be overly concerned about her poor health and my seldom being in touch except by the occasional email, Fern told me Connie had passed away. Even before she uttered the words, since she and Connie have always been very close, closer than icing on a cake, I sensed the hesitation and sadness in the tone of her voice and that the news I was about to hear was going to be terrible.
When I was just a boy about to start my first year of school, I moved in with my dad and my new step mother who had two little girls so I basically grew up with them even though I had another mother, half sister and half brother living in a different city. Forgetting the complications of everyone having different last names, I can still remember playing with my two new sisters, hop-scotch, skipping, colouring and all manner of other things. One of the traits I've always admired about Connie as the years went by, since she was a "lefty"and had problems writing with a straight pen and ink in the early grades and had started school about six months too soon, her birthday being January 6th, was that she tried very hard to learn and make a success out of her life. Unlike me, who's passing grades were easyily attained at the beginning and I failed Grade 12 at the end; she graduated.
I'd like to share my sister Connie's last email with anyone and especiall family who is reading this Blog. Although she herself was dying, she doesn't mention anything like that to me. I knew that she had been fighting cancer for sometime and the last time I talked to her, she sounded very nonchalant about it, as if it was just a little bump in the road, so I didn't think too much about it. However, that being said, not that long ago, Fern told me she had aged a great deal and that I probably wouldn't recognize her if I saw her.
Len & Sarah:
Just a quick note to let you know that Erwin (husband) passed away this morning at 4:00 am.April10th. He was sick for quite awhile so it was sort of expected. But when it happens it is still a big shock. Michelle (daughter) and I spent the night in his room so we were with him when he passed. He went very peacefully. I got up to go to the washroom at 3:45 am checked him and he was breathing very shallow but okay and then at 4:00 the nurse checked him and he was gone. He had a 2year 4 month struggle. He is in a better place now. My family has been great I have had a lot of support. I will talk to you soon.
Love Connie
At this age, with age 70 about to hit me square in the face like a custard pie within a few months, realizing my siblings and I are at that age where our lives could end at any time, it was "still a big shock" to learn of Connie's passing. Although Fern and I talked on the phone for quite some time, instead of the word "he" she said the identical same words as Connie, "She is in a better place now." And I know like Erwin, her "family has been great" and she has "had a lot of support." I guess the line that haunts and hurts me the most is the last one, "I will talk to you soon." because we never did talk to one another and now we never will. It's not like we would have said a last good-bye or there was anything very important that would have been said, it's just that I will never hear her voice, see her smile or hear her laughter again. In the sense that I will never see her again is most likely best because I will always remember her as she was, not when she was ravaged by some cruel disease that just ate away at her until her last bit of strength was gone.
Fern also told me, which really threw this old man a loop, was that she and Connie had been making me something special as a gift for my 70th birthday. It was supposed to be a surprise but because Connie wasn't able to finish her part, she will be sending it very soon. Like I told my sister, it will be a "bitter/sweet" present. I have no idea what they are giving me but whatever it is, will be deeply cherished. It's odd, but all of my earlier younger life growing up with my mom, dad, Fern and Connie seems to have vanished in a sense because I don't have one photo of that time period; it seems that all the pictures that I glued in an old photograph album over the years must have disappeared during one of my many moves or break-ups. However, thankfully, perhaps it's the artist within me, I have taken many photos in my mind's eye and am able to transport myself back to a past moment, so all is not lost. And that is where I am at this moment, I'm at 743 Belair Drive in Richmond, BC and Connie is smiling and laying on a blanket in the back yard wearing a pair of shorts and blouse, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight. She didn't want me to take a photo of her but I did! I miss and love you Connie and who knows, perhaps one day soon, we will talk.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Sunday, June 26, 2011
MY MAGNIFICENT SEVEN
Life at Golden Unicorn Farm became a crowded ordeal yesterday - not too many customers arrived at Sarah's little coffee shop to take advantage of her hot brewed coffee or tasty wares, most likely figured the wee shop was filled to the brim due to the amount of vehicles parked in the yard and along the street near the mail box. The assortment of cars, vans and trucks belonged to our newly made friends who had arrived to help with the barn-raising. I can't believe how fortunate we are to have such neighbourly folk living nearby - the men literally worked their behinds off measuring, re-measuring, nailing and sawing boards; much of the time in the pouring rain, while some women folk baked and cooked us a hearty hot meal, washed down with mugs of steaming hot coffee, hot chocolate mocha and ice cold beers and cokes.
A good part of the day had an onslaught of moisture from the heavens, which included two thunder storms that roared across the farm and lit up the sky occasionally with bolts of lightning. And the rain - my gosh did it pour - while trying to divert the rain into the 45' long drainage ditch I had painfully dug by hand - it was so heavy, not only did my back get soaked while I was bent over chipping at the pavement with a small pick axe and shovel, the force of the rain drops bounced so high, I had to constantly keep wiping my glasses off. Yeah, wouldn't you know it, the rain streaming along the edge of the road decided to bypass the drainage ditch and flow into the yard and directly under the barn.
The day before, Brendan Leeman helped me place the concrete footings at key points of the proposed barn, which because of the unevenness and slope of the land was quite the engineering feat for a couple of amateurs like ourselves. However, with a little good advice from Clayton Clark, we managed to get the job done just before Brendan's dad, Bill arrived. Bill had already put in a day's work at his full time job but like he said, "It's still daylight. Let's get as much done as we can before it's dark." And by gum by golly, before Bill and Brendan headed home, the dark cloudy sky soon turning to blackness, we had the whole barn floor framed in.
I'm not much of a leader but I have to say, my band of men made up one hell of a good hard-working crew Without them, especially Bill, who pounded nails faster than a Gatling gun, the framing of the barn wouldn't have near been 3/4 complete. I was amazed he stayed as long as he did, changing our wet clothes at least 3 times - the rain never really stopping - it was either drizzling or just pounding out of the heavens. And of course, come lunch and supper time, Bill's wife Anita and Sarah had fixed us some great rib-sticking grub - I'm talking home made beans stewed in thick molasses, hot spicy chili, fried chicken, crunchy cold slaw, finger-licking chicken, sweet and sour blueberry/rhubarb muffins and pie straight out of the oven.
After supper, although there was still a little day light remaining we decided to call it quits - Bill went home to a warm fire and rest his sore back on the couch, not sure about Brendan, at age 14, he was still most likely raring to go on, and me, I can honestly say as I kicked back in a tub full of water, hot enough to cook 27 large lobsters, my aching back was in heaven.
This morning, when I strolled across the barn's floor with a hot mug of Goldenrod tea in my hand, surveying the previous days work, I can still see the ghosts of My Magnificent Seven as they sweated and toiled in the pouring rain - the little barn soon to be a monument to their endeavours - their friendly camaraderie much appreciated.
A good part of the day had an onslaught of moisture from the heavens, which included two thunder storms that roared across the farm and lit up the sky occasionally with bolts of lightning. And the rain - my gosh did it pour - while trying to divert the rain into the 45' long drainage ditch I had painfully dug by hand - it was so heavy, not only did my back get soaked while I was bent over chipping at the pavement with a small pick axe and shovel, the force of the rain drops bounced so high, I had to constantly keep wiping my glasses off. Yeah, wouldn't you know it, the rain streaming along the edge of the road decided to bypass the drainage ditch and flow into the yard and directly under the barn.
The day before, Brendan Leeman helped me place the concrete footings at key points of the proposed barn, which because of the unevenness and slope of the land was quite the engineering feat for a couple of amateurs like ourselves. However, with a little good advice from Clayton Clark, we managed to get the job done just before Brendan's dad, Bill arrived. Bill had already put in a day's work at his full time job but like he said, "It's still daylight. Let's get as much done as we can before it's dark." And by gum by golly, before Bill and Brendan headed home, the dark cloudy sky soon turning to blackness, we had the whole barn floor framed in.
Bill Leeman and son Brendan Leeman
Yesterday, at 7:30am when I woke up and looked out towards the partially erected barn, there stood Bill surveying the beginning of the barn's floor. As I limped across the yard (takes me a little walking time before my aches, pains and stiffness subsides) he said he was ready for a good shot of hot coffee and itching to get started on the barn. It wasn't long before Brendan showed up and the three of us started working on the barn floor. We hadn't been working too long before Clayton showed up, then Gary Stairs, George Probst and Dougie Clarke, plus Glenn McLean who motored all the way from Canterbury - so there they stood in the pouring rain - My Magnificent Seven - instead of being armed with six-shooters, shotguns, knives and such, they were armed with hammers, levels, saws and nails. And of course, like any other shoot-out or barn-raising, the weather and old injuries took their tolls and like any other battle, if it continues long enough, the ammunition runs out and in our case, we ran out of rafters and studs.
Yesterday, at 7:30am when I woke up and looked out towards the partially erected barn, there stood Bill surveying the beginning of the barn's floor. As I limped across the yard (takes me a little walking time before my aches, pains and stiffness subsides) he said he was ready for a good shot of hot coffee and itching to get started on the barn. It wasn't long before Brendan showed up and the three of us started working on the barn floor. We hadn't been working too long before Clayton showed up, then Gary Stairs, George Probst and Dougie Clarke, plus Glenn McLean who motored all the way from Canterbury - so there they stood in the pouring rain - My Magnificent Seven - instead of being armed with six-shooters, shotguns, knives and such, they were armed with hammers, levels, saws and nails. And of course, like any other shoot-out or barn-raising, the weather and old injuries took their tolls and like any other battle, if it continues long enough, the ammunition runs out and in our case, we ran out of rafters and studs.
Several of My Magnificent Seven:
Dougie Clark, Gary Stairs, Brendan Leeman & George Probst
I'm not much of a leader but I have to say, my band of men made up one hell of a good hard-working crew Without them, especially Bill, who pounded nails faster than a Gatling gun, the framing of the barn wouldn't have near been 3/4 complete. I was amazed he stayed as long as he did, changing our wet clothes at least 3 times - the rain never really stopping - it was either drizzling or just pounding out of the heavens. And of course, come lunch and supper time, Bill's wife Anita and Sarah had fixed us some great rib-sticking grub - I'm talking home made beans stewed in thick molasses, hot spicy chili, fried chicken, crunchy cold slaw, finger-licking chicken, sweet and sour blueberry/rhubarb muffins and pie straight out of the oven.
After supper, although there was still a little day light remaining we decided to call it quits - Bill went home to a warm fire and rest his sore back on the couch, not sure about Brendan, at age 14, he was still most likely raring to go on, and me, I can honestly say as I kicked back in a tub full of water, hot enough to cook 27 large lobsters, my aching back was in heaven.
The Barn Beginning to Take Shape
Friday, June 24, 2011
DRAINAGE DITCHES TO DIAPERS
The Drainage Ditch is Completed
The drainage ditch is finally completed - all 45' of back-breaking picking and shoveling. Before placing the PVC and Big O pipe inside the deep groove, I covered the bottom with crushed rock, which I salvaged from down the road with a wheelbarrow. Did I mention fending off mosquitoes and black flies right up till the last shovel full of dirt covered the drainage pipe from one end to the other - well it was a constant battle. During the whole ordeal, the sweat was continually pouring off me and of course to replenish the moisture leaving my body at a steady rate, I was forced to knock back quite a few cold beers - at the rate I had been going, if there had been a great deal more shoveling and busting earth with a pick, nothing would have been left of me except my ears and my arsehole. Don't get me wrong, I'm not against hard work but at my age, wishing I was 30 again or at least 50, some of this intensive hard labour can be a bit much. And now that the job is completed, I'm waiting for a heavy rainfall to see if the drainage ditch does its job - I sure hope so - I'd hate to have to tear it up and start all over again.
I started working on the new barn, leveling out the cement footings for the floor until the black flies became so intense, I was forced to postpone it. I'm hoping to get a good start on the floor before the actual barn raising occurs this Saturday morning. I'm expecting about 6 or 7 fellow neighbours to arrive and give me a hand, which will be most appreciated, especially since I'm not a very good carpenter - a real ameteur. My friend Clayton Clark will be in charge - no use me giving orders, telling people what to do when I don't know how to properly do it myself. Some of their wives will be attending the barn raising as well and I hear some of them are even bringing some more food, which is a good thing because we'll probaly work up a good appetite. I'm not too concerned if the barn is completely finished by the end of the day, as long as the floor is completed and the sides, windows, doors and the metal roof is in place.
In the old days and from what I've heard about the Amish that live not that far away, barn-raising is still happening today. Mind you, the barns they built and are still building are huge in comparison to the one we'll be erecting. However, the idea is still the same as the days of yore; the bringing together of neighbours to give a hand with the hard work should still be somewhat festive - a time for good food, beer and laughter. The weather man is calling for light rain during Saturday. Hopefully this won't discourage any of the people who've said they will be here - if nothing else the rain should encourage us to get the roof up quickly and then we should be able to stay relatively dry. And, one good thing about a little rain - means the mosquitoes and the black flies won't be out in force and I for one am liking that.
As soon as the barn is completed and the remainder of the fencing is finished, we are going to buy a couple of nubian goats from a nearby neighbour and pick up our Great Pyrennes dog Luki from the Jolly Farmer. The chickens will be arriving shortly after as well, which means Golden Unicorn Farm will begin looking more like a real farm. Sarah was finally able to plant her garden the other day and I hated to go in the house this morning and tell her that some little varmint has already been feasting on it. That's the trouble with living out in the boonies; there's all sorts of critters that take advantage of our hard work.
I just heard on the news that the people living at Nackawik, which is just a short distance from here, the home of the world's largest axe is located, are planning to literally give the axe to the Canadian geese that are leaving an abundance of their droppings on the surrounding lawns - seems the tourists are complaining. I liked what the Nackawik mayor had to say, even though the government has sanctioned slaughtering the geese in different areas, "We won't be killing the geese." It's true, the geese can be somewhat annoying but what the hey, it's not like they're the same as a herd of cows - now that would definitely be a bit difficult to walk through or spread a blanket out on the lawn to have a picnic. Hmm, I wonder if there's a company that manufactures little diapers that would fit a Canada Goose - cheers - eh!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
MOVING BOULDERS AND DIGGING DRAINAGE DITCHES
Summer solstice has arrived - after the long winter that continually just went on and on - spring seemingly to have lasted about three days - the smiling summer sun is finally shining down on Golden Unicorn Farm . The grass in the pasture is almost up to my chest due to the heavy rain fall and the black fly droppings - makes great fertilizer. My friend Clayton Clark who lives smack dab on the top of Green Mountain, is going to bush-hog the back pasture one day this week - waiting for the tall grass to dry. Since that portion, about a fifth of the 50 acres is already tamed so to speak, I might as well keep it that way or the squaw-bushes will soon take over. Hopefully, the weather, if it's anything like last summer, we should have a good crop of golden rod - plan on making a sack full of golden rod herbal tea - mmm good!
Clayton Clark and His Skidster
Clayton dropped by yesterday evening with his skidster and rolled some huge boulders away from where the new barn is going to be built this coming Saturday - the little orange machine certainly had its work cut out. I was hoping to have the ditch finished being dug, the crushed rock in place and the drainage pipe laid so he could push the earth back over the drainage ditch but no such luck - Lenny will just have to depend on his shovel and fill it in by hand. My back from the tip of my neck to the last tail bone is one achy part of my body, not to mention my legs, arms, hands - come to think about it - the only part of my body that doesn't ache is my head - don't even get hangovers.
Last night, I crawled into the tub, the water was so hot, almost the ideal temperature for cooking a lobster; it felt delightfully, yet somewhat painful and soothing at the same time. I feel relatively good this morning, a bit stiff for wear and will hopefully finish getting the drainage pipe in place and then filling in the remainder of the ditch sometime today. I sure hope, after all the effort it took to dig the ditch that it does the job it was intended to do, which is to divert the rain water from streaming off the road going by the property and into the garage and under my studio.
Last night, I crawled into the tub, the water was so hot, almost the ideal temperature for cooking a lobster; it felt delightfully, yet somewhat painful and soothing at the same time. I feel relatively good this morning, a bit stiff for wear and will hopefully finish getting the drainage pipe in place and then filling in the remainder of the ditch sometime today. I sure hope, after all the effort it took to dig the ditch that it does the job it was intended to do, which is to divert the rain water from streaming off the road going by the property and into the garage and under my studio.
50' Drainage Ditch
I should be working on the ditch right now rather than writing this blog but I have to go into Woodstock this morning to pick up some building materials for the barn and get a big load of manure from a friend of ours, Glenn McLean. No use starting a hard chore, building up a massive sweat for just a short time and then not complete what I have to get done, so I'm taking a wee break, just letting my fingers do a little tap dance on the keyboard for a short while.. Seems the barn I tore down had all sorts of good re-usable lumber but nary a 2"x6" could be found, which could be used for the new barn's rafters. Clayton said he would drop by this evening to give me a hand in leveling and begin building the floor of the new barn. He also agreed to oversee this project because what I know about building a barn wouldn't even fill a wee thimble. Hard to believe that come this weekend, there will be a structure in place that will be suitable for the dog, goats and chickens, which will soon be arriving. It will be great to have some animals here at Golden Unicorn Farm besides the occasional deer that traipses across the pasture or a bear visiting the apple trees.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
BIRDS - OUR FINE-FEATHERED-FRIENDS
Packing Their Bags - Last Day at Home
Located just outside my studio window inside the woodshed is a nest. I don't know the type of birds that nested here and raised their young but I've certainly appreciated their company and watching their chicks maturing; finally leaving the nest yesterday. I had no idea the little birds could fly yet as I only saw their big open mouths above the edge of the nest; waiting no doubt for mom and pop to come and feed them. Not much light is available under the woodshed roof but the sun finally showed its happy face this afternoon, which allowed me to snap off a few photos without using the flash. I'll miss the birds' company but am hoping they will return to nest and raise some more chicks again next year.
The bats have arrived and the other evening after counting 100 of them as they squeezed out from between the duroid roof and metal roof on the house, I had to retreat inside - the black flies seemed to have departed but the mosquitoes have taken their place and were attacking me with a vengeance. The trouble with swatting them and killing a few, it seems hundreds, if not thousands come to their funerals. When we first arrived here last summer, I was dismayed by the amount of bats and was thinking of ways to flush them out and send them on their way permanently. However, upon discovering they weren't actually residing in the attic or just above the ceiling in the garage, I welcomed their return, especially since they feed on flying insects - get those pesky mosquitoes is what I say.
When I stepped out of the house yesterday afternoon, a small woodpecker landed directly at my feet. It seemed to be as startled as I was and quickly flew off up into a big tree, which is growing at the edge of the front yard. I'm amazed by the variety of birds, which I see flitting about the yard and through the forest. Their cheery vocals are uplifting and some of the birds are really beautiful - flashes of bright reds, blues and yellows often catch my eye as they fly from branch to branch and soar over the pasture.
Years ago, I rode my motorcycle and took a ferry to Haida Guaii (Queen Charlotte Islands). While there, I camped at the base of Tow Hill and hiked through the loose, deep sand, a distance of about ten miles to Rose Spit, which is an ecological reserve. Nursing my badly blistered feet, I took off my boots and socks and laid down in the tall grass, which because of a continual sea breeze, looked as if I was surrounded by green curtains. Directly above me against the blue sky, was a host of swallows, some swooping so close to me snatching flies out of the air, I could have almost grabbed them with my hands. Not being anxious to return to my camp because of my seriously sore feet, I laid in the grass for a long time listening to the North Pacific waves crash against the shore and watching the swallows of Rose Spit flying overhead. I always meant to return to Rose Spit and Tow Hill but the closest I came was when I sailed across the North Pacific with a couple of friends on a small sailboat heading to Dutch Harbor in the Aleutian Islands.
I've always enjoyed birds - even tame ones - like the budgies my father used to raise in the basement of our house when I was a boy. He had hundreds of them - a rainbow of delight as they flitted about the aviary and chatted noisily. One particular bright blue budgie by the name of Billy, which lived upstairs with the family, was a real talker - he had about a 25 word vocabulary and took great delight in landing on my shoulder, giving me a kiss or playfully destroying the houses I used to erect with a deck of playing cards. I also had pigeons when I was a teenager; a few homers, but mostly rollers and tumblers. I used to really enjoy watching them fly in circles above the house when I let them out. Luckily, one day while I was watching them flying around I saw one crash land on top of a chimney and disappear inside. The neighbour was very obliging. He let me climb up on his roof and I was able to pry the pigeon out with a very long stick. I sometimes think about getting a budgie or some pigeons again but whenI look out the window or go walking in the forests, I'm content to hear the music of the wild birds and see their bright plumage as they flit about.
It saddens me that many spieces of birds are now extinct and many more are on the endangered list. Mankind, our demand to have more and more for our existence, most of which we don't need, the sportmanship of blasting them out of the skies, our vehicles of transportation and garden pesticides has certainly taken its toll on the birds. It's not like I haven't done my share of killing them, many falling victim to my BB gun and .22 rifle. However, saying that, there came a time in my life when I regretted my senseless slaying of birds and other timid creatures and ceased to harm them any longer. Now, when I shoot them, I use my camera and it's great to enlarge the photos and see them real close up - they are definitely unique and like us, deserve to live without us doing them any more injury - let their numbers flourish once again.
Monday, June 13, 2011
HARD WORKING BRENDAN, GOOD FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS
I awoke briefly last night during a rain storm; the thunder was reverberating off the ridge just beyond the house. Before I fell back to sleep, I couldn't help wondering about the weather because for me it would seem to be the norm, having never lived in NB before. However, since we've arrived near the base of Green Mountain almost a year ago, many of the locals have told me the snow fall has been the worst that they had experienced and the rains are the heaviest yet My understanding from the TV and radio news, the widespread natural calamities that are occurring all over the world, what is happening here is the same for everyone - welcome to climate change!
Brendan Leeman has been mowing and tilling our new garden area off and on now for about a week in exchange for some signage I did for him in return. He is a good natured, likable, soft spoken 14 year old kid, a young lad of few words, the size of a small barn and the strength of a horse. He has been working very hard since the snow has gone and life has once again sprung forth from the earth - a young entrepreneur who doesn't complain, helps out a lot at home too, isn't a chronic complainer like some kids are; I expect he will go far in life. He may not make gobs of money or become some big shot when he grows older but Brendan is the sort who will be a survivor; a person that his parents and siblings will be proud of and never have to ask for a helping hand - he just will. - many of today, if not the majority of kids, could take lessons from Brendan.
When I think about it, the friends I've made since moving to NB are all pretty much hard working people who have been very helpful to this old city guy whenever I've become stumped on one of my projects, many of them not taking so much as one thin dime for their services. I've tried to be helpful to them in exchange because I'm a firm believer in what goes round comes round. One of my very best friends, Winston Bushnell, who I sailed with through the Northwest Passage 16 years ago, is also a firm believer in this adage. Being a greenhorn when it came to sailing, he helped me out a lot and also when I had to repair my 42' sailboat. I remember once, when I was in need of a brass through-hull valve for Dreamer II, without even asking, he brought me two he had stored in his workshop. When I told him I only needed the one and how much money he wanted for it he said, "They were a gift from someone; I don't want any money and the extra one, just pass it on when you hear that someone else is in need of one." He said, "I've always lived my life like this; I'm a firm believer that if I help someone out when they are in need, the same will happen for me and you know, that's the way things have always worked out for me all my life."
I miss my good friends, Winston Bushnell, Wayne Evenson and Ubo Gronier back in Nanaimo and it hurts quite a lot, because of my age and finances, realizing I most likely will never see them again. However, on the other hand, Clayton and Garry Clark, Bill Leeman, Bobby Farrell and George and Margaret Probst to mention a few, are fast becoming like my friends in Nanaimo. I feel extremely fortunate in moving a great distance across Canada to a place out in the country where I didn't know a soul, to have found the helpfulness and camaraderie of such good neighbours. I'm looking forward to the barn raising on June 25th (weather permitting) because it will be taking me back to a time when people did such things and it should be one hell of a lot of fun; buns, bread and beer with great new found friends. And the way I'm looking at it, since I don't know squat about building a barn and if I can't find someone to supervise the job properly, if it doesn't really get completely built; it matters not. At least there will be a good start and whatever needs finishing, I'll be able to do myself.
As I look out the studio window, I see the clouds are hanging like a heavy grey shroud over the ridge and light rain is falling. Everything is so green, luscious, peaceful, so full of life; it's hard to discern the underlying ingredients that are threatening our existence. Many people believe heaven is Paradise and have made the great mistake of not thinking our planet Earth is a Paradise also - what a wonder to behold, to have had the pleasure and honor to exist on such a place - I thank my lucky stars or whatever else that has allowed me to live in such a wonderful place and to have met so many good people throughout my lifetime. I am grateful for my accomplishments and my failures because I've learned much from both. And that being said, rain or no rain, it's time for me to grab the pick and shovel and continue digging a 45' drainage ditch so the rain runoff from the road going by Golden Unicorn Farm doesn't flow into the garage, under my studio and where the barn will soon be situated.
Brendan Leeman has been mowing and tilling our new garden area off and on now for about a week in exchange for some signage I did for him in return. He is a good natured, likable, soft spoken 14 year old kid, a young lad of few words, the size of a small barn and the strength of a horse. He has been working very hard since the snow has gone and life has once again sprung forth from the earth - a young entrepreneur who doesn't complain, helps out a lot at home too, isn't a chronic complainer like some kids are; I expect he will go far in life. He may not make gobs of money or become some big shot when he grows older but Brendan is the sort who will be a survivor; a person that his parents and siblings will be proud of and never have to ask for a helping hand - he just will. - many of today, if not the majority of kids, could take lessons from Brendan.
When I think about it, the friends I've made since moving to NB are all pretty much hard working people who have been very helpful to this old city guy whenever I've become stumped on one of my projects, many of them not taking so much as one thin dime for their services. I've tried to be helpful to them in exchange because I'm a firm believer in what goes round comes round. One of my very best friends, Winston Bushnell, who I sailed with through the Northwest Passage 16 years ago, is also a firm believer in this adage. Being a greenhorn when it came to sailing, he helped me out a lot and also when I had to repair my 42' sailboat. I remember once, when I was in need of a brass through-hull valve for Dreamer II, without even asking, he brought me two he had stored in his workshop. When I told him I only needed the one and how much money he wanted for it he said, "They were a gift from someone; I don't want any money and the extra one, just pass it on when you hear that someone else is in need of one." He said, "I've always lived my life like this; I'm a firm believer that if I help someone out when they are in need, the same will happen for me and you know, that's the way things have always worked out for me all my life."
I miss my good friends, Winston Bushnell, Wayne Evenson and Ubo Gronier back in Nanaimo and it hurts quite a lot, because of my age and finances, realizing I most likely will never see them again. However, on the other hand, Clayton and Garry Clark, Bill Leeman, Bobby Farrell and George and Margaret Probst to mention a few, are fast becoming like my friends in Nanaimo. I feel extremely fortunate in moving a great distance across Canada to a place out in the country where I didn't know a soul, to have found the helpfulness and camaraderie of such good neighbours. I'm looking forward to the barn raising on June 25th (weather permitting) because it will be taking me back to a time when people did such things and it should be one hell of a lot of fun; buns, bread and beer with great new found friends. And the way I'm looking at it, since I don't know squat about building a barn and if I can't find someone to supervise the job properly, if it doesn't really get completely built; it matters not. At least there will be a good start and whatever needs finishing, I'll be able to do myself.
As I look out the studio window, I see the clouds are hanging like a heavy grey shroud over the ridge and light rain is falling. Everything is so green, luscious, peaceful, so full of life; it's hard to discern the underlying ingredients that are threatening our existence. Many people believe heaven is Paradise and have made the great mistake of not thinking our planet Earth is a Paradise also - what a wonder to behold, to have had the pleasure and honor to exist on such a place - I thank my lucky stars or whatever else that has allowed me to live in such a wonderful place and to have met so many good people throughout my lifetime. I am grateful for my accomplishments and my failures because I've learned much from both. And that being said, rain or no rain, it's time for me to grab the pick and shovel and continue digging a 45' drainage ditch so the rain runoff from the road going by Golden Unicorn Farm doesn't flow into the garage, under my studio and where the barn will soon be situated.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
I'M AN ORDINARY JOE - ARE YOU?
I have no idea how many books I read a year; mostly at bedtime; many of which are purely entertaining and have the same affect as taking a sleeping pill. However, every now and then I read a book that just grabs me and I have a hard time putting it down; a real page-turner. A book that wakes me up, makes me think and gets me curious enough to wonder how I can be of help; a book perhaps each and everyone of us should read is Rescue the Earth: Conversations with the Green Crusaders, by Farley Mowatt. In these troublesome days, when the Earth and its atmosphere are saturated with deadly poisons and pollutants, the polar ice melting at a disturbing rate and the seas rising rapidly, which must be a considerable concern for many people, since most of the major cities of the world are situated along the continental coasts and are not very high above sea level; it is definitely a book worth reading and if at all possible, each and everyone us should try to leave only a very feint footprint or no footprint at all by the time they reach their final demise.
I've tried to a certain degree to be as kind as I can to the Earth and its inhabitants living within my realm. I know that I've failed miserably in this undertaking but maybe if I start rethinking my situation and requirements, I can live a lot more modestly and become less of a consumer, perhaps even begin producing much of my own sustenance - rather than always taking, actually putting something back in return.
I'm like all the other ordinary joes that exist on this planet and I've often sluffed off the idea of what I can do, what can one person do to help preserve our Earth; how does one person stop the huge mechanic technology ball from rolling, especially since it's moving at such a rapid speed and appears to be utterly out of control? By what I understood from reading Farley Mowatt's book, the people involved and who are in charge of this great ball of destruction are not that many in comparison to me and the rest of the ordinary joes that ignorantly plod around thinking they don't have the power to change their circumstances. The black souls of destruction are truly a minority, should each and everyone of us ordinary joes unite with the angels that guard our domain; each of us stop associating with their greedy beliefs. If we stop purchasing their useless baubles and beads, feeding off what they have ordered that we as consumers need for our existence, no longer look up to their self-centred ideals; we can bankrupt them and defeat their dastardly plans of destroying our home; think aboaut it; the only place in all of the Universe that we've found to be habitable by people and other similar animates exists only here. If we ordinary joes believe that science and technology will save us from our feeding frenzy upon this Earth, then we as the human race and every other creature living on this planet are doomed - our kids and their kids will all die because we will not have left them anywhere to survive - no shelter, no food, no water and no air to breath.
Most of what I read and understood in Farley Mowatt's book to be the beliefs of the professional mercenaries, "the green crusaders" like David Suzuki, trying to save our Earth, mankind and all the other creatures existing here seemed to believe the odds are thus far not in their favour. However, like every mortal being on this planet; where there is still life, I too believe there is hope for our salvation but only if everyone of us ordinary joes are accountable for our actions and band together in an army of brotherhood and make a final stand. For example: if all the ordinary joes of this world said no more oil drilling in the arctic, no more killing and torturing animals, no more clear cutting the forests, no more chemically modified food, no more overfishing and culling - let nature take its course - we would have a voice loud enough to shake the very heavens and whatever God we believe in would be proud.
I'm just a mere voice, one of the ordinary joes even though I'm old and my time here on Earth is not much longer, who happens to care about the continuation of the Earth and all its inhabitants. I have a voice and I'm using it now even though I realize this Blog has few readers. But then again, if what I've written touches even one of you and the message is passed on, other people perhaps reading Farley Mowatt's book, Rescue the Earth or even passing on my simple message of being an ordinary joe and being accountable for what you do, then who knows; the thing about a big rolling ball, it's often a small particle that can send it off in a different direction; maybe the direction of regaining our planet from those that are exploiting it for their own greed and egotistical power.
I've tried to a certain degree to be as kind as I can to the Earth and its inhabitants living within my realm. I know that I've failed miserably in this undertaking but maybe if I start rethinking my situation and requirements, I can live a lot more modestly and become less of a consumer, perhaps even begin producing much of my own sustenance - rather than always taking, actually putting something back in return.
I'm like all the other ordinary joes that exist on this planet and I've often sluffed off the idea of what I can do, what can one person do to help preserve our Earth; how does one person stop the huge mechanic technology ball from rolling, especially since it's moving at such a rapid speed and appears to be utterly out of control? By what I understood from reading Farley Mowatt's book, the people involved and who are in charge of this great ball of destruction are not that many in comparison to me and the rest of the ordinary joes that ignorantly plod around thinking they don't have the power to change their circumstances. The black souls of destruction are truly a minority, should each and everyone of us ordinary joes unite with the angels that guard our domain; each of us stop associating with their greedy beliefs. If we stop purchasing their useless baubles and beads, feeding off what they have ordered that we as consumers need for our existence, no longer look up to their self-centred ideals; we can bankrupt them and defeat their dastardly plans of destroying our home; think aboaut it; the only place in all of the Universe that we've found to be habitable by people and other similar animates exists only here. If we ordinary joes believe that science and technology will save us from our feeding frenzy upon this Earth, then we as the human race and every other creature living on this planet are doomed - our kids and their kids will all die because we will not have left them anywhere to survive - no shelter, no food, no water and no air to breath.
Most of what I read and understood in Farley Mowatt's book to be the beliefs of the professional mercenaries, "the green crusaders" like David Suzuki, trying to save our Earth, mankind and all the other creatures existing here seemed to believe the odds are thus far not in their favour. However, like every mortal being on this planet; where there is still life, I too believe there is hope for our salvation but only if everyone of us ordinary joes are accountable for our actions and band together in an army of brotherhood and make a final stand. For example: if all the ordinary joes of this world said no more oil drilling in the arctic, no more killing and torturing animals, no more clear cutting the forests, no more chemically modified food, no more overfishing and culling - let nature take its course - we would have a voice loud enough to shake the very heavens and whatever God we believe in would be proud.
I'm just a mere voice, one of the ordinary joes even though I'm old and my time here on Earth is not much longer, who happens to care about the continuation of the Earth and all its inhabitants. I have a voice and I'm using it now even though I realize this Blog has few readers. But then again, if what I've written touches even one of you and the message is passed on, other people perhaps reading Farley Mowatt's book, Rescue the Earth or even passing on my simple message of being an ordinary joe and being accountable for what you do, then who knows; the thing about a big rolling ball, it's often a small particle that can send it off in a different direction; maybe the direction of regaining our planet from those that are exploiting it for their own greed and egotistical power.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
LIFE IS GETTING SHORTER
Spring has finally arrived; wildflowers are prevalent wherever I look; the humming of insects, twittering of birds and croaking of frogs are constantly heard; unlike traffic, their sounds are not annoying, that is, except for the eeeeeeee of the occasional mosquito as it takes aim at my ear lobe. Life in the country is definitely different than dwelling in the city; the pace is much slower and since I'm not a young buck anymore, it suits me just fine.
I used to be a workaholic at one time - hard to believe - I used to work 12-16 hours a day, 7 days a week and what's truly amazing about my work habits back then - I actually enjoyed it. My ideals were different in those days; like many people, I was searching for the big dream; a million dollars was my goal. It's hard to believe that I actually attained that goal or very close to it; never did get the accountant's final tally; money in the bank and properties. However, the value of money never really being a top priority, it's no wonder I lost it all during the recession in the early 80's. There have been times when I regretted losing everything and I mean everything; wife and kids and a lifestyle had vanished too. Don't get me wrong though, I wasn't down and out, living out of a dumpster by the time the bankers, lawyers and whoever else had grabbed a hold of whatever assets I'd attained. I still had my motorcycle and more importantly my talent. Did one last big job for a nice piece of change; bought myself a sailboat without my creditors getting their hands on it and basically sailed away; at least in my mind I did. In a sense, moving from the beautiful west coast to the equally beautiful east coast in many ways was much like sailing away from all my financial troubles - I mean, we wouldn't have moved to Fosterville if we could have managed financially to survive in Nanaimo - the one thing about being at the top of the cliff and then jumping off - you know you're going to hit the bottom eventually.
Life is good here at Golden Unicorn Farm near the base of Green Mountain. I imagine I'm a little old to be starting all over again; younger wife and kids but it's my life. Many people my age most likely think I'm nuts and they could be right. Retirement is never going to happen; holidaying in Mexico, laying on a tropical beach.while sipping pina coladas is out of the question for this old guy but then again, I never thought that sort of thing was very appealing. Looking back, the unfortunate part of my life was going after the same dreams as the majority of my generation, which seems to be the basis of the following generation; the "me" generation to generation bullshit - what's that all about? Our planet, which is basically the only home we truly have has taken one hell of a wallop; it's reeling in the heavens, staggering from the blow. We may have delivered a punch below the belt to the Earth but when the fight is over; the final bell has rung; mankind will be the loser; in that I have no doubt. The writing is on the wall, the signs are blatantly explicit; I don't need a wake-up call to tell me the end is nearing, the time when food and water will soon be the most sought after commodity is almost upon us. Tsunamis, earthquakes, droughts and other natural disasters are not worrisome, the Earth has always been this way - filth, poisons, pollution are not natural, they're our doing. I wonder if it's because, since we each and every last one of us knows that we're going to die, we just don't give a shit what happens after our time here has ended as long as we made ourselves most comfortable during our lifetime; is that what's brought the Earth to its knees?
I see the sun has snuck out of the clouds; how I love this Earth; our planet. Although I'm a bit of an artist, a bit of a writer and fairly creative, I just have to look outside my window and see what true creation is really about. I am amazed, actually in awe sometimes just by observing a single blade of green grass; never mind the creatures that inhabit its territory.
I could keep on ranting about the state of our planet and the foolishness that abides here, however, although I'm still not feeling too well today, fighting some sort of virus that has me hacking and sniffling away, I believe it's time for me to get off my ass and get some work done around here - I mean winter isn't that far off, even though it feels as if it has just left.
I used to be a workaholic at one time - hard to believe - I used to work 12-16 hours a day, 7 days a week and what's truly amazing about my work habits back then - I actually enjoyed it. My ideals were different in those days; like many people, I was searching for the big dream; a million dollars was my goal. It's hard to believe that I actually attained that goal or very close to it; never did get the accountant's final tally; money in the bank and properties. However, the value of money never really being a top priority, it's no wonder I lost it all during the recession in the early 80's. There have been times when I regretted losing everything and I mean everything; wife and kids and a lifestyle had vanished too. Don't get me wrong though, I wasn't down and out, living out of a dumpster by the time the bankers, lawyers and whoever else had grabbed a hold of whatever assets I'd attained. I still had my motorcycle and more importantly my talent. Did one last big job for a nice piece of change; bought myself a sailboat without my creditors getting their hands on it and basically sailed away; at least in my mind I did. In a sense, moving from the beautiful west coast to the equally beautiful east coast in many ways was much like sailing away from all my financial troubles - I mean, we wouldn't have moved to Fosterville if we could have managed financially to survive in Nanaimo - the one thing about being at the top of the cliff and then jumping off - you know you're going to hit the bottom eventually.
Life is good here at Golden Unicorn Farm near the base of Green Mountain. I imagine I'm a little old to be starting all over again; younger wife and kids but it's my life. Many people my age most likely think I'm nuts and they could be right. Retirement is never going to happen; holidaying in Mexico, laying on a tropical beach.while sipping pina coladas is out of the question for this old guy but then again, I never thought that sort of thing was very appealing. Looking back, the unfortunate part of my life was going after the same dreams as the majority of my generation, which seems to be the basis of the following generation; the "me" generation to generation bullshit - what's that all about? Our planet, which is basically the only home we truly have has taken one hell of a wallop; it's reeling in the heavens, staggering from the blow. We may have delivered a punch below the belt to the Earth but when the fight is over; the final bell has rung; mankind will be the loser; in that I have no doubt. The writing is on the wall, the signs are blatantly explicit; I don't need a wake-up call to tell me the end is nearing, the time when food and water will soon be the most sought after commodity is almost upon us. Tsunamis, earthquakes, droughts and other natural disasters are not worrisome, the Earth has always been this way - filth, poisons, pollution are not natural, they're our doing. I wonder if it's because, since we each and every last one of us knows that we're going to die, we just don't give a shit what happens after our time here has ended as long as we made ourselves most comfortable during our lifetime; is that what's brought the Earth to its knees?
I see the sun has snuck out of the clouds; how I love this Earth; our planet. Although I'm a bit of an artist, a bit of a writer and fairly creative, I just have to look outside my window and see what true creation is really about. I am amazed, actually in awe sometimes just by observing a single blade of green grass; never mind the creatures that inhabit its territory.
I could keep on ranting about the state of our planet and the foolishness that abides here, however, although I'm still not feeling too well today, fighting some sort of virus that has me hacking and sniffling away, I believe it's time for me to get off my ass and get some work done around here - I mean winter isn't that far off, even though it feels as if it has just left.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
SLEEPLESS IN FOSTERVILLE
It's that kind of night; the kind of night that sleep is as illusive as a virgin in a shiek's harem. And it was dark outside; darker than a murderer's soul, as I cautiously made my way from the house to the studio with a steaming hot mug of goldenrod tea in my hand and fumbled with the lock - talk about easy prey for a black bear on a black night. It's quiet here on Golden Unicorn Farm, quieter than a corpse in a mausoleum; I not only can hear my heart beat; I can hear my eyes blink.
While I was lying in bed listening to Sarah snoring louder than a military marching band on parade, my mind drifted aimlessly searching for the world of dreams; night time enchantments whirling through my head like the visions inside a broken kalaidoscope - none of the pieces matching - no harmony for this tired old man. Thoughts were riccocheting off the walls of my mind as rapidly as the ball in a raquet ball game that never ends - just goes on and on - so to break the spell, I left the warm comfort of the bed.
Sitting here in my art studio, wondering what to write about that won't put any of my readers to sleep, I'm pondering my immediate situation and some of the choices I've made in my life, which have brought me down the road to Fosterville, NB of all places. As I look at the paintings hanging in my studio, some of them depict a different time in my life. For instance, one of the paintings on the wall just to the right and above me is a watercolor I painted of my sailboat Dreamer II that I lived aboard for 25-30 years - a reality for me and a dream many men wish for. Dreamer is peacefully anchored in Desolation Sound and as I recall, it was one of the rare times in my life when I was at peace with myself. Beside Dreamer II is a pen and ink watercolour sketch of Dove III at Cape Lisburne, Alaska, another sailboat I lived on for 7 and 1/2 months while two friends and I sailed through the Northwest Passage in a single season - although not so peaceful - it proved to be a voyage of a lifetime. I loved the sea and living on a sailboat - not so much because it was a romantic fantasy but because it allowed me to have freedom - not marching to the same beat, which so many others follow - not really a rebel, more like a society castaway. On the other side of Dreamer is a small portrait, a pen and ink sketch coloured with pencil crayons, which depicts an actress lover I had for a short time - now there was a dreamer - she was amazing in so many ways! (I guess living on a sailboat does have some romance after all.) Just to the left of me is another piece, which is a combined effort of me and my daughter Brandi when she was just a little girl, She is a lot like me; kind of a chip off the old block so to speak. The piece is a painted portrait of her (by me) worked in with a colourful collage of her artwork and a very short essay. The words she wrote are as follows:
"I go to school on Mon. and Tus. and Wed. and Thur. and Fri. But sometime I talk too much and I get sent out in the hall and about 5 minits later and the teacher will come and try to talk some sense into me. And sometime I lison to her sometime I do not! The End"
The last painting hanging on the wall is of a mermaid, which is a characterization of my wife Sarah as a big bare-bosom mermaid toying with the captain of a ship on her leash - will she lead him to safety or fling him into the rocks of despair - time will only tell.
It's beginning to get light out; I can see the dark silouette of the ridge against the grey cloudy sky and since my eyelids are becoming rather heavy; the bed is calling my name, I'm off to catch a few zzzzzzzz's.
While I was lying in bed listening to Sarah snoring louder than a military marching band on parade, my mind drifted aimlessly searching for the world of dreams; night time enchantments whirling through my head like the visions inside a broken kalaidoscope - none of the pieces matching - no harmony for this tired old man. Thoughts were riccocheting off the walls of my mind as rapidly as the ball in a raquet ball game that never ends - just goes on and on - so to break the spell, I left the warm comfort of the bed.
Sitting here in my art studio, wondering what to write about that won't put any of my readers to sleep, I'm pondering my immediate situation and some of the choices I've made in my life, which have brought me down the road to Fosterville, NB of all places. As I look at the paintings hanging in my studio, some of them depict a different time in my life. For instance, one of the paintings on the wall just to the right and above me is a watercolor I painted of my sailboat Dreamer II that I lived aboard for 25-30 years - a reality for me and a dream many men wish for. Dreamer is peacefully anchored in Desolation Sound and as I recall, it was one of the rare times in my life when I was at peace with myself. Beside Dreamer II is a pen and ink watercolour sketch of Dove III at Cape Lisburne, Alaska, another sailboat I lived on for 7 and 1/2 months while two friends and I sailed through the Northwest Passage in a single season - although not so peaceful - it proved to be a voyage of a lifetime. I loved the sea and living on a sailboat - not so much because it was a romantic fantasy but because it allowed me to have freedom - not marching to the same beat, which so many others follow - not really a rebel, more like a society castaway. On the other side of Dreamer is a small portrait, a pen and ink sketch coloured with pencil crayons, which depicts an actress lover I had for a short time - now there was a dreamer - she was amazing in so many ways! (I guess living on a sailboat does have some romance after all.) Just to the left of me is another piece, which is a combined effort of me and my daughter Brandi when she was just a little girl, She is a lot like me; kind of a chip off the old block so to speak. The piece is a painted portrait of her (by me) worked in with a colourful collage of her artwork and a very short essay. The words she wrote are as follows:
"I go to school on Mon. and Tus. and Wed. and Thur. and Fri. But sometime I talk too much and I get sent out in the hall and about 5 minits later and the teacher will come and try to talk some sense into me. And sometime I lison to her sometime I do not! The End"
My Daughter Brandi When She was Just a Little Girl
(If anyone reading this blog is interested in having a portrait painted of one of their children with their artwork, please contact me via email for a price. Also, check out my E-Gallery by clicking on the link near the top of the Blog. The portrait makes a great keepsake and one they will cherish forever!
It's beginning to get light out; I can see the dark silouette of the ridge against the grey cloudy sky and since my eyelids are becoming rather heavy; the bed is calling my name, I'm off to catch a few zzzzzzzz's.
Friday, June 3, 2011
JAPANESE KAMIKAZI DIVE BOMBERS AND JAPANESE HOGWEED
Japanese Hogweed
My friend George Probst phoned a couple of days ago and left a message stating that the large raspberry patch he'd let me have, if I cared for it, was in need of weeding. Although I wasn't feeling very well; been fighting some kind of virus that has me coughing so hard, my sides ache, I reluctantly grabbed my gloves and mosquito netting and hiked up and over Green Mountain to his place about a mile away. If the raspberry patch looked the same as the last time I went through it, weeding and trying to get the canes straightened out after the heavy snows, it was going to be a tough job. If I'd known just how tough a job it was going to be and the condition I would later be in, I would have left it for a little while longer, at least until I was feeling a little better.
When I arrived at George's place, since it was quite early in the morning and I didn't want to disturb him and Margaret, I went straight to the raspberry patch and before I could even get the mosquito netting in place, I was surrounded by a cloud of black flies that persistently dived at my face like Japanese Kamikaze dive bombers. The raspberry bushes had managed to straighten out somewhat but they were infiltrated by a host of Japanese hogweed, which were about shoulder high. Between the black flies and the hogweed, I felt like I was in a Iwo Jima war zone. Realizing I would most likely take a beating, I tightened up the mosquito netting, put on my gloves, then got on my hands and knees and crawled into the raspberry bushes; I was ready for combat and if I went down, I was determined to go down fighting.
Squadrons of black flies clustered about my head, as my hands went into a rampage; choking, throttling, yanking and snapping the Japanese hogweed, handful after handful! I tried not to think about the damage, which was being inflicted to my head and neck by the black flies, which somehow managed to infiltrate the mosquito netting. There were times when I thought about surrendering, throwing in the white towel but I felt like a true warrior; I wasn't going to give in. Once in awhile, like King Kong, I stood amidst the raspberry bushes and Japanese hogweed and struck out at the tenacious black devils that relentlessly attacked me. I slapped the sides of my head so smartly, my ears rang and once delivered an uppercut to my chin so hard; the blow lifted me about 6" off the ground. Besides infuriating the little black bastards, the blows to my head must have loosened all the snot in my nose because gobs of it began oozing out of my nostrils and collecting in the mosquito netting; instead of frothing at the mouth like a mad dog, I was frothing at the nose. Of course, why should the discomfort stop there; I began hacking and coughing up gobs of clear phlegm too. And if that wasn't difficult enough; Mr. Happy, all safely zippered away in my fly decided he needed to take a pee. But hey, I'm not stupid; even though he may have sprayed down many of the winged pests; I wasn't about to bring the big gun into action. Before retreating, honking my nose one last time, I surveyed the battle ground. The Japanese hogweed, although I knew they would grow back again with a vengeance, had definitely lost the battle; there were mounds of them like dead soldiers heaped together awaiting burial. I may have won that battle but I knew, especially when I took off my hat and mosquito netting as I walked back home, a strong wind blowing the black flies away and saw the inside of my hat ringed with blood; I'd taken some serious hits.
I must be allergic to the black flies' bites because when I arrived home and looked in the mirror, my face definitely had the appearance of a war zone; each bite was vibrant red and slightly swollen. Sarah insisted that I take a pill to combat the swelling but this morning, when I again looked in the mirror, my whole face was swollen so badly, my right eye was partially shut. Let me tell you, I don't feel like too much of a warrior this morning; my face, ears, throat and neck stings, throbs and itches so much, I don't know if I should scratch myself to pieces or just give myself one hell of a good knock out punch.
So much for my big day out; going to the Woodstock Farmer's Market. It's not so much that I look like Frankenstein at the moment and might scare customers away from Sarah's baking, I'm just feeling too uncomfortable - kinda twitchy. I've lathered my face up with some ointment the doctor prescribed me last summer for a spider bite to hopefully draw out the poison from the black flies but so far as I can tell, it's not doing much good. Well, if the bites are anything like the ones I've suffered previously, they seem to take about a week to heal; guess I'll just have to tough it out until then. In the mean time, since I don't have any magical cure for the bites; I believe I'll just kick back and enjoy a few of my home brews - cheers - eh!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)