The View From My Yoga Mat

Morning has broken

while I do Sun Salutations. 

Rather, from this angle,

I'm lying flat on the mat

looking up at the waking sky.

In this peace there is hope.

It is good to start each day

in the company of trees and clouds.

It is good to end each practice

in prayer:

Thank you for this day,

for this time on the mat,

for all the blessings in my life.

Lasting Gratitude

Good little squirrel that he is, my husband is busy this weekend putting in supplies for the winter. Yesterday it was cleaning and slicing carrots. He filled 12 large freezer bags! Today he's at the turnips. Six bags of those.
"Gotta keep my family fed all winter," he joked again.
My mother laughed then stopped and said, "You know, there are so many people who only get to eat turnip, you know, just one food."
Which reminded me that I spoke recently with a daughter whose father was a POW in World War Two and he was fed once a day, usually pumpkin soup. Once a week, he received a potato. I'm sharing his story in the newspaper this week.
So allow me to express my gratitude for a freezer full of vegetables and meat, and for this peaceful country in which we are free to grow an abundance and a variety of food.

There's Autumn And Then There's November

River Philip near Eel Creek on November 7

November is funny, isn't it?

It's either warm (ish) and rainy, as it was yesterday, 

or it's sunny with a cold wind, as it is today. 

Sunshine is fine but a mist on the water

is worth pulling over on side of the road.

Some people "hate" November

but a grey, rainy day is beautiful

in its monochrome.

 

Just My Type

Methinks plenty of writers have one of these antiques on display in their house somewhere. A symbol of writing, of being a writer, of the "swing and swirl of words as they tangle with human emotions" as James Michener once put it.
This typewriter sits on a table in the living room of Sheree Fitch's delightful home outside of River John.
Mine sits on a table in my office.
A heavy, tactile reminder that we are -- clickety, clackety, ding! -- writers every day.

Memorable Thank You Gift

The Alzheimer Society of Nova Scotia held its 25th annual provincial conference Monday and Tuesday of this week and I was invited back to participate. Not as a presenter this year but as an interviewer.
It was "In Conversation With..." LIVE with Darce Fardy, a man in his early eighties diagnosed with dementia 11 months ago and well-known in Canada and in the Maritimes as a broadcaster, the Freedom of Information Officer and an occasional columnist with the Chronicle-Herald. (He writes about his adventures with Alzheimer's)

 Last year, presenters received handcrafted forget-me-not mugs; I cherish mine. This year, our gift was a print of one of the creations from the Alzheimer Society's "Artful Afternoons" at the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, an event for people with dementia and their caregivers.

Again, I was delighted to be part of this conference. It is busy schedule but it runs smoothly and the venue (the Holiday Inn in Dartmouth) is perfect for our needs. I learned so much again this year, completely different things, that will enhance my presentations to support groups and community associations (please contact me if you're interested or for more information).
I also met more family caregivers this year, a development I'm glad to see. While the conference is aimed at health professionals, there is so much information that family members will benefit from hearing.

Creatures of the Nighttime Woods

 After I downloaded the photos from the game camera and was scrolling through, removing the "vacant" ones, I had several pleasant surprises. There will be lots of photos of rabbits...then one of a fox....more rabbits...then a fox. I was thankful there wasn't one of a fox with a rabbit in its mouth.

Can you spot the bunny?

Hunting Season

It's not the shorter days and the rain that make November a dreadful month; it's hunting season. Blaze orange and the sound of gunshots offend me. I can't help it; I wasn't raised in a hunting family, I have never fired a shotgun, I don't (yet) need to rely on game we catch ourselves for survival.
It's a part of my country education that is either a work-in-progress or a failing, not sure yet which.
With a field and a pine plantation behind our home, we are avid deer watchers. Before the trees next door were cut down, we had does giving birth in the field every June. Although we had a vast number of deer grazing in the field during a thaw last winter, when the snow was so deep and last for so long, we haven't had as many deer wander through now that the woods next door are gone.
But we've had a doe and two fawns around regularly, the fawns still drinking from their mother.
For the last couple of years, my husband has put out apples in order to deer-watch, using a game camera as a backup. This year, he's more serious about getting a buck and has built himself a stand in the woods. He's still using the camera, as much to see if there is a buck around as to catch photos of the deer. The does and fawns are there, though, eating apples.
Friday morning, a doe and two fawns were at the top of the field, enjoying the morning sunshine after so many days of rain. We couldn't figure out what we were seeing until we realized: the fawns were playing. They were running and leaping and cavorting.
"They're full of apples," my husband grinned.
"Well, they can stay there where they'll be safe," I said.
Here's the irony of the first day of hunting season: a doe was struck by a vehicle just up the road, and the next day, two fawns showed up alone at the apple pile under the stand in the woods.