I’ve made strawberry jam, with my children, with girlfriends, with my soul sisters and by myself. Summer just isn’t summer until I’ve made strawberry jam.

When I was a little girl, we moved to a farm in the country. One of the fields was covered with so many wild strawberries that we named the field ‘The Strawberry Field.’ We would pick berries until our jars were full and our white underwear were covered with red polka dots.

We would smash our strawberries into jam and eat them by the spoonful.

We would always run a jar of berries over to an elderly, bedridden neighbour. He was a WW1 army veteran with a long scar down one side of his face. He would give us nickels and we would run to town to buy penny candy.

I often wonder if the Beatles ‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ was written after such a memory. Perhaps/perhaps not.

For me summer is not complete without strawberries. Times that I missed the harvest made me very sad.

“Cause I’m going to Strawberry Fields. Strawberry Fields Forever.” John/Paul

We became regular Mariposa Folk Festival people nine summers ago, with the 50th anniversary celebrations. We sat with thousands of others, listening to Gordon Lightfoot, Murray McLaughlin, and Ian and Sylvia.

Our one day adventure quickly led to attending the whole weekend. I now book Monday’s off for rest and reflection

We met a lot of great people this year, including a wonderful man who has grooved to the tunes of Mariposa, every year since it’s inception 59 years ago, back when he was a self described 19 year old, long haired beatnik that the city of Orillia didn’t know how to cope with. We shared a tree with a three generation family whose predecessor was one of the founding members of the festival.

For some reason, this was an emotional weekend for me this year. As people know, I am not a crier. Crying is just something that I don’t know how to do, but this weekend, at least a couple of times each day, I felt tears slipping down the sides of my face. Perhaps it was the running into old friends and making new friends. Or maybe it was the music, the art and the sunshine. Or it might have been that I could go from sitting on the grass to standing up without falling over. Whatever the reason, they were happy tears and I was equally happy to feel them.

Looking forward to next summer to celebrate 60 years of Mariposa!

The Tiny Marsh has always been one of my favourite places. Since the early 1980’s, it’s a place where many family adventures have taken place. Each walk bringing it’s own excitement. Once we watched as a snake ate a frog, another time a turtle laying her eggs. Hours were spent dip netting, finding lots of bugs, crayfish and other creatures that call the Tiny Marsh their home.

Our favourite part of the 25 kilometers of trails, that wind through this wetland, is the trail that takes us to Mole Mountain. On our way there we would climb up the look-out tower, travel the boardwalk and watch for song birds along the canal. Mole Mountain, which overlooked a large portion of the marsh, was our designated resting place.

One of the unique things about the Tiny Marsh was my father’s contribution. He had started a new business, when he was well into his years as a Well Adult, and one of his first customers was Ducks Unlimited. His new company provided Ducks Unlimited with the aggregate needed to build the dykes which give the marsh it’s shape and structure.

I often think of my father during these walks, specifically on my solo journeys through the trails and along the dykes of one of my favourite places.

Laying Asleep doesn’t talk about anything that is on my list of Things to do as a Well Adult.

Laying Asleep is about something that I experienced today and feel the need to write about.

I started my day bright and early, finding myself at my bank about an hour before it opened. I opened the door and there in front of me, on the floor, lay a young man sound asleep.

My first thought was to move forward with my plan to make a cash withdrawal, taking out an extra twenty to place on his backpack. Then I hesitated, thinking of all the different senarios that might happen.

Prehaps he was just nodding off and not asleep.

Maybe the sounds of the ATM would awaken him and he would take all of my money.

But my greatest fear was that I would awaken someone very much in need of a good nights sleep. Knowing that he would, most likely, be on his feet for the rest of the day.

I knew that he wouldn’t go hungry as there was a spot that he could go for a free breakfast, and another for a free dinner. Both locations were within an easy walking distance.

So I left him, Laying Asleep, on the floor.

Later that morning, I returned to the bank and asked the teller about the young man. She shared that they had had to awaken him when they opened their doors.

She shared that he was a polite young man, thankful for having had shelter that night.

The earliest history of Book Clubs, that I could find, dated back to the early 1600’s, with women discussing everything from church sermons, the political, commercial and scientific topics of the day, to their own writings of poetry and prose.

Back when I was the mom of a preschooler, I belonged to a little book club with a group of other stay-at-home moms. We would get together over lunch and wine to discuss the books we had chosen to read. The only book I can recall from that time is The Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. I remember discussing the quality of the writings attributed to the man and the woman in the book.

That was a long time ago and I have, ever since, longed to belong to a book club. And this past Wednesday night, I joined my second book club with a group of women from my church. This will be a very different book club as we will be studying the book, Finding I AM by Lysa Terkeurst. An evening book club with tea and dessert.

But the fellowship, which is perhaps the most important part of the getting together, will be much the same. One where a group of women can strengthen their relationships with one another and become stronger individuals because of it.

I am very much looking forward to growing closer with these women. This being said, if anyone is starting a book club over lunch and wine, I’m in!

The Wizard of Oz was my all time favourite book when I was a child. The book was already a well loved book when it arrived at our home. And when , after my three older sisters had read it, it came to me – minus the cover but with all the pages in tact. I remember loving the smell of the pages that held the words that I read over and over.

In the Wizard of Oz, Dorothy finds out that she has had the means to return to Kansas the whole time that she had been in Oz. It isn’t until she realizes the power of the shoes that she is able to return home.

We too, have the power to achieve incredible things. We just need to believe.

I love my new red shoes.

I love the complements I receive on my new red shoes. What I love the most about the complements is that they come from women who are in the same age bracket as me. When they complement my new red shoes, they smile and then we smile at each other with a smile that says ‘I HAVE FOUND THE POWER!’

When the moon passed through Earth’s shadow, shortly after midnight, on January 21st, 2019, I standing outside in the -27C cold winter air with my camera pressed against may head while I secured my body against the house, trying to get my best shot of the Super Blood Wolf Moon.

I took the first picture, the white moon, at 7 pm, and the picture of the blood red moon at 12:05 am.

I had started the evening using my tripod, but found it difficult to position myself under my camera when shooting straight up into the sky. So I braced myself , held my breath until the shutter closed and with freezing fingers discovered that I was very satisfied with my photo.

I think the extreme cold of the night, added to the trill of the night.

Two trees, same moon, frozen fingers and a great feeling of accomplishment.

†

At the corner of Mt St Louis Rd W and the 5th Line, in the little town of Mount St Louis, there is a little church hall which every Thursday night is home to Good Vibes Coffeehouse.

It’s a wonderful gathering place for musicians, comedians, poets and artists, and other like minded people.

Everyone gets there fifteen minutes of fame. It is a place where every gift is appreciated and everyone is made welcome. My favourite thing to do there has always been that of a spectator, allowing the music and the atmoshere to soothe my soul.

But everyone once in a while, I would think to myself, ‘it would be kind of nice’ to take my spot on the stage.

I am not a musician, and people need not listen to me sing, but I do love poetry and there are so many poems that are meant to be read.

So, on a quiet night in January, when there were only a few people in the house, I was asked to put my name on the board and read some scripts from a book.

I loved the feeling of being on stage, finding it a lot easier and more rewarding than I had anticipated.

The following two weeks, I again signed my name on the board, reading from Canada’s most passionate poet, Leonard Cohen.

When reflecting on my life, I realize that I have been many things to many people.

A daughter, a sister, a cousin, a niece and a granddaughter. An aunt, a great aunt and a God mother.

A nieghbour, a student, a classmate, a friend and a foe. An employee, a team player, a volunteer and a mentor. A church lady, a Sunday school teacher, a 4-H leader and a soul sister.

A daughter-in-law, a sister-in-law and a mother-in-law,

A spouse, a mother and a grandmother.

Now, upon entering the stage of Well Adult, I’ve made a rather long list of things I want to do. Written in no particular order, to be complete and documented in no particular order.

So, enjoy, or don’t, it’s entirely up to you.