I think I have a bit of insight into why so many maritimers pine for their home.
We were both a bit sad to leave, Alison and I.
Every photo is a bit of a cliche – like all those calendar pictures we have seen over the years. You know, the ones the bank gives away, with the shots of Peggy’s Cove. For someone from “away” these scenes are a bit unreal. Take my word, it is rather wonderful to be walking here. A calendar photo doesn’t come close, no matter how skilled, in conveying the size of the sky and the taste of the wind.
When you’ve spent all your time on the west side of the continent, a walk on the east side has such novelty. Even the trees are just a bit different, as is the underbrush. Light and air get through, and bursts of bird song was our accompaniment through the woods. What a treat to be informed, on one of our walks, that we had passed through a grove of sugar maples.
Our cottage is one of the little white specks on the point. We went to the viewpoint on Smokey Point, just to say we did.
This was a little guy we met at one of the hot tourist attractions. How to tell you aren’t in the big city anymore – a yarn shop with sheep attached. Purchases may have been made.
There aren’t too many places in the immediate neighbourhood that we didn’t walk, Grant and I. The forty hectare eco reserve not very far from our home is one of them. I discovered this on one of this winter’s rambles. Its not far from the park where families picnic and seniors walk their little dogs along the river, but just far enough that fewer people go. There’s a walk around the perimeter, a couple of little bridges and lots of evidence of bird life.
Its an odd feeling, to find someplace new after eighteen years of walking here. There is a sense of discovery, a mild stirring of interest.
There is a swing bridge near where the trail branches off. It spans the oft referenced Fraser River, silty at this time of year. Its muddy and green most of the time here as a matter of fact.
Late at night, when the city is a bit quieter, I sometimes can hear a consistent industrial roar. Its not always there, and I wondered what it was. The sound of the docks on the river is more obvious, and the crashes and clangs of the work travel across water clearly. As it turns out, the roar is the incinerator for the regional district. It sits at the far entrance to the eco reserve, in the trees between the industrial area and the river. Its well off the main roads through the city and can’t be seen by commuters. In the daytime, the noise is just part of the ongoing background hum, and can’t be defined.
There are still farms in the Fraser River delta, and these came from a roadside stand spotted on the way home.
No fibre arts worth noting these past few weeks. The impulse is on a bit of a hiatus. I expect it will return.
…these delicate pinks.
Wild roses and blackberry blossoms in cottonwood fluff.
From the neighbourhood walk today.