The stump upon which my little grandson sits has 135 rings old.
This stump is all the remains from a once majestic ash tree.
The 135 rings would have numbered many more, if not for that tiny, emerald green, ash borer.
Rebirth on the forest floor. Room for conifers, deciduous, and many more.
The earth, left on it’s own will flourish.
Happy Earth Day!!!!!
On a country sign.
Beside art, and ice creams.
Read it, if you can!
Having lived alongside the Simcoe County Forest for the past 40-plus years, we have had the privilege of watching the forest transform from a purely red pine forest to one with a mixture of tall, straight pine trees and a healthy young deciduous undergrowth.
Years ago, our children and their cousins ran freely through this forest. Their pathes uninterrupted by saplings and undergrowth. Their steps treading lightly upon the thick blanket of pine needles that covered the forest floor.
The pine trees have been in the minority for, at least, the last decade. This week, their numbers have decreased again.
This spring, as the sun shines through the newly formed openings, a new canvas will be created.
Saplings, once struggling to reach the sky, will now bathe in warmth and sunshine.
Leaves unfurling, trunks stretching, and canopies exploding, sheltering the mosses, grasses, fungi, and flowers that now cover the forest floor.
A new canvas is about to be painted.
The Three Sisters Legend, as presented at the Three Sisters exhibit at the Sweatwater Harvest Festival, held this past weekend at Sainte-Marie Among the Hurons and the Wye Marsh.
Corn, beans, and squash were always planted together. The Indigenous people believed that their spirits were loving sisters who liked to stay beside one another. When the seeds were planted, the Indigenous people prayed to the Thunder Spirit not to burn the earth and to give the sisters all the water they needed.
Late in the summer, when the crops were ripe, the people celebrated because the sisters had grown up. At the next moon, they danced in honour of the harvest. The life cycle was complete. On that day, the women sang. ‘The three sisters are happy because they are home again from their summer in the fields.
If you ask any of our children to give an example of a favourite childhood memory, all three of them will tell you about Brown’s annual Sugarbush party. It’s always been near or at the top of their list.
Celebrating springs arrival with snow, rain, and sleet, and sometimes lots of mud brought with it the freedom to run through the forests and the streams.
They will share how they trampled through the snow with golf clubs in hopes of winning the coveted T-Bear trophy for snow golf.
Added to the experience were the hotdogs and marshmallows roasted over an open fire.
Our host, being an avid hunter, allowed our children and us to experience the culinary delights of bear, venison, and moose sausage.
Sampling maple sap and maple syrup, sometimes with a spoon, sometimes with a dip in the bucket.
Not everyone wanted to use it, but it was there!
There is store bought maple syrup, and then, there is the real thing.
Can’t wait to bring the grandkids.
I went on a wonderful walk with a great friend today, along the boardwalk at Wasaga Beach, to where the Nottawasaga River enters Georgian Bay.
Native plants help maintain a delicate balance as our feet leave footprints on the sandblown boardwalk.
Coastal sanddunes, one of Canada’s most fragile ecosystems, are being restored along the shores of Georgian Bay.
Stretching 14k, Wasaga Beach is the world’s longest fresh water beach.
Marram grasses swayed with the breeze as a light drizzle began to dampen the air.
Life is everywhere.
Wasaga Beach, along the shores of Georgian Bay, is just a short drive away from the place I call home.
This beautiful country of ours has so much to offer, so much to explore, and beautiful people to discover it with!
Winter time,
and the wind
it is a blowin'.
Everyime
you turn around,
it is a snowin'.
Except for this year,
with
El nino,
You never know
which way
it is a goin'.
I fly through the sky
With my eyes open wide.
My world has been opened wide.
I’ve held on with all my might
Even the little blue bird
Can’t make it right
I cry with my eye.
With my eye
I cry.
I cry with my eye.
In time
To see the blue bird fly by.
And the leaf floats.
Tears flow down the window
as the snow melts upon the roof.
The old cow laughs
as it kicks the fresh manure from its hoof.
'It's a funny world'
I said.
As twilight
settled on my head.
The world is dark.
It has hit its mark.
'Everything is stark.'
Exclaimed the lark.
This poem is nuts.
It is full of ands and butts.
I pulled a thread.
My eyes popped right out of my head.
I found them in the morning,
resting quietly, under my bed.
I had rolled my eyes
right out of my head!
Psychological harassment!
Nothing says ‘I love you’, quite the way a boutique of fresh cut flowers do.
Except for the words themselves. I love you!
Summer, spring, winter, and fall,
Flowers bloom,
I love them dearly.
But you, my love, I love most of all.
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 