Fort Willow, a supply depot during the War of 1812, located at the midway point between Kempenfelt Bay and the Nottawasaga River.
Fort Willow located at the halfway mark of a nine mile portage traveled by indigenous peoples, explorers and fur traders.
Our history. Our history to learn from.
The Simcoe County Quilt and Artisan Fair. Finally back again, after a covid19 hiatus!
The finest of quilting, embroidery, rug hooking, spinning, hand weaving, lace making, etc., etc., etc.
So many artists, so much art. So worth the drive to the Simcoe County Museum.
It is amazing how everyday, regardless of how young or old we may be, we learn something new.
Today, I learned that we have a plethora of bumble bees living in our raised vegetable bed and that they are not at all excited about the fact that I want to start preparations for next year’s harvest.
This season, fall prep took on a new meaning when momma bee chased me all the way from the garden to my door. Last week a friend of mine stepped on ground nest of bees, so I’m feeling the need to respect the wish of a bee.
Not sure how I’m going to finish this task?
There are not too many things that I find more rewarding then refilling my canning pantry that has been emptied during the previous year.
Cooking, is not on my list of favourite things to do, but I do love to harvest and prepare the foods for meal preparation. Especially when this activity includes family and friends.
Although I semi enjoy gardening, these are not the fruits of my labour, but bounty purchased at my favourite Farmers Market, Harris Farms.
There he sits
With his frys
As I
Contently, stare
Into his eyes.
I swipe a fry.
He does not know
Where I sit
Or where
I go.
We all have our niche.
Maybe, we have discovered a ditch!
Or maybe, on a broom, we have seen
A WITCH!
Or prehaps
Those are my thoughts
Are my thoughts
My thoughts
I think.
I am putting to bed,
The thoughts in my head.
As they will keep
As I slumber
To sleep.
As I walk through this forest
All alone.
Maria Tuttle
In the midst of our great Canadian landscape, amongst the trees, and the lakes, and the rocks, we discovered The Tree Museum.
Just follow the little blue arrows, and the little blue signs. After a kilometer, or two, and you will happen upon the entrance to the Tree Museum.
Before the entrance, God has his work on display.
A mailbox contains a guest book. We left our names among the rest of the worldly travelers who have discovered this beautiful retreat into the wilderness.
Having just recently recovered from a bout of covid19, I started this outing a little overconfident in my level of fitness and endurance, so we are leaving the rest of tour for a different day.
We have so much more to explore!
In the little town of Craighurst, we came upon a plethora of artsy little trees.
Such a wonderful venture for someone to undertake! Each work of art was created, on metal, by a local artists.
All pieces are located in and around the main intersection of this small country spot.
This last one, though, is the one I love the best. Created by my favourite artist, it stands proudly in the middle of a farmer’s field. Down the road from where we live.
This, D18 1941 Martin, guitar was recently discovered resting in the basement of an old house in Toronto.
The prevailing story is that, 50 years ago, it’s guitarist would open for acts in Massey Hall. Prehaps even for the Everly Brothers, the storyteller says.
When brought up and out of that old dark basement, the case was is serious decay. The body of the guitar was floating with strands of sky blue/turquoise/grey mold. The keys had all changed colour.
A local musician picked up this dear old instrument. He lovely had it fully restored. Renewed, in a golden shade of brown, this light as a feather guitar now dawns a set of light strings and musically rings.
Bluegrass music flows from those strings, as the quitarist sings his funky tunes.
Whether or not this oral history is 100% accurate is truly irrelevant, as the story keeps our musical history alive and strong.
The world is full of interesting and fascinating stories. We need to stop and listen, and sometimes right them down.
Thank you, Mark, you brightening my day with this one. The rebirth of a D18, 1941, Martin Guitar.
Groovy Tales of a Well Adult 