just fetching

One bright Sunday in mid-March, when many of our friends were strolling the sandy shores of the Caribbean, we donned our Michelin Man sized parkas and headed for Martinique Beach. At 5kms long it is reputed to be Nova Scotia's longest sand beach. The biting cold did nothing to diminish the sparkle of the Atlantic or the sound of the simmering surf hitting the sand. And Jigs thought it had potential as a venue for the North Atlantic Senior Dog Fetching Trials.

The beach is backed by long ridge of dunes which protects an extensive wetland area.

I kept my eyes peeled for sand dollars.

It didn't take Jigs long to zero in on a stick.




Throw it again!

fast forward

This year the snow and ice lingered on and on until I could hardly bear another day of looking at it. After it melted, the plants seemed to come rushing out of the ground at warp speed. For the past couple of weeks, every morning is like christmas and I find surprises in each corner of the garden.


The Siberian Squill is spreading

This patch of white Squill is on its last legs

The Heaths are taking over this slope and it is alive with bees




The asparagus-like Solomon's Seal is being charmed out of the ground by warm spring sunshine

who is that masked man?

What's all the fuss about?

I don't see anything


Jigs sent out the critter alert at dusk this evening. You know the bark; it is an insistent "get off of my yard now" kind of bark. When I went to investigate I found that she really did have cause for alarm. Mama coon was just setting off on her nightly shopping trip to the big bug market in the back yard.

fog

I woke to the sound of a muted foghorn and knew that Jigs and I would be taking our morning walk in a heavy mist. I love the bellowing tone and welcome the reminder that the sea is close at hand. Not all of the residents of this coastal town share my opinion and a couple of horns were silenced when downtown condo dwellers complained that they were disturbing their sleep. Apparently the Canadian Coast Guard complied without much of a qualm. The horns are not that effective. The sound bounces around in the fog and doesn't help you find the rocks it is trying to warning you about. GPS navigation systems will probably make the horns redundant and I will miss them when they are gone.

That seaweed looks like Bladder wrack to me

Jigsy The Lionheart stands guard at the Dingle Tower

The greening of the forest floor has begun

terrible beauty

Deborah Sharpe/MyNews.CTV.ca
Yesterday afternoon a small brush fire, whipped by gusting winds, grew into a firestorm 5 miles long and 3 miles wide. It raged out of control for hours, burned 1000 acres and destroyed 8 homes directly across from the York Redoubt Site where I took these photos last February. This park is 4 miles away from my street. 

I was on my way home, mired in traffic, when I heard the news that houses were burning, streets were being closed and residents were being evacuated. I was not sure if my street was affected and I feared that Ms Jigs would be trapped on her own. The adrenaline surge made the drive home almost unbearable and I was tempted to park the car and run. I was lucky. The road closures did not include my street and I found my fluffy friend waiting contentedly at home. The fire situation was still unclear so I gathered a few things and prepared for the possibility of a speedy departure. I did not have to leave. The winds kept the fire moving away from my street and our house was never threatened. The firefighters got some help from mother nature around noon today. Heavy rain showers helped them get things under control and almost all of the evacuees have returned home. The news photos have been surreal, especially the images taken at night when the orange flames made it look like the city was ablaze. 

sweet stuff

Yes. I've been very absent again. I guess living just got in the way of the documentation process with Mr. 163 was on this side of the planet for most of the month of April. My, it was a sweet time. Almost as sweet as the cupcakes I made on Easter weekend. There now Ms Black, are you happy? Do I need to send you to the Betty Crocker Clinic? I have some photos stored up from the past weeks and I will be posting them soon. Mr. 163 must have his Nova Scotia fix.




Mary had a little cake and wherever Mary went little Jigs was sure to follow.


Boy, this photo studio has really gone to the dogs.

Deadman's Island

Shortly after the park was dedicated we saw a large bald eagle perched in the pine tree above the plaque. An animal tribute perhaps.

Jigs and I have another dog walking spot to show Ms Black. The paths in the Dingle park connect to a loop around Deadman's Island. The land for Deadman's was purchased by the city a few years ago when the property was up for development. Although there are no marked graves, the small island served as the cemetery for the naval station nearby. A number of U.S. prisoners are among the dead buried here and when the park declaration was made, a group from the Ohio Society of the War of 1812 came to the site to install a commemorative plaque. It impressed me that those lives were not forgotten even after a time span of two centuries.


Across a small stretch of water is Melville Island, the site of the old military base. The Armdale Yacht Club calls it home now.

On the mend

Do I have stitches?

Last week the Jigster had minor surgery and the vet said it was best to stay quiet for a few days. Easier said then done for a Soft Coated Wheaten Terrorist. The day of her procedure she was pretty wobbly and if she could speak, she probably would have sounded like the kid in this video. We were restricted to short strolls around the yard and Raccoon track inspections.


Can't I go outside?






The snow has filled in the fern gully and is level with the little foot bridge.


A resident raccoon has been making use of the elevated highway.

The novelty has worn off

Mid-storm last Thursday.

It's official. I am completely sick of shoveling, snow-blowing and salting. Another system is due this evening and it must be the 12th storm we have had this year. Will it stop if I say uncle? I am developing shoveler shoulder from all of the digging and ice chipping. How many days until spring?


It is pretty spectacular once it stops snowing.


I could even enjoy looking at it...if I knew it was melting.

windchill

It was bitter today. The wind was coming out of the Northwest and the wind chill of -18 degrees was searing. The rhododendron leaves were rolled tight into pins. They are always a good indicator of the depth of the cold. I always glance at the ones in the yard before I head out the door. I call them the rhodometers.

These leaves need a sweater.


I am counting the days until these icy buds turn into this.

I have admitted that I am not a very dedicated blogger. But over the past 10 years or more I have been a very dedicated foreign correspondent with a tiny readership. Very tiny. Just one reader in fact.

Mr 163 and I have spent about half of our married life apart. He chases down seismic squiggles in the four corners of the globe and I keep the home fires burning. Offshore communications used to be limited and often we had no contact while he was working in the field. It was nearly impossible and or insanely expensive to stay in touch. He would sail off on a project and I would not hear from him until he landed at the local airport or found a telephone when his vessel came into port. I would not know if he was in the middle of a raging storm or becalmed on a glassy sea.

Email changed all of this. It gave us some daily chatter. Our email messages to each other are pretty prosaic things. Not much more then a laundry list of the minutiae that makes up our days. "Tuna for lunch, it snowed again, the car needs new brakes" is echoed with "tom yum soup was tasty, northeast monsoon has started up, program crashed". Nothing too lofty, but we are both devoted to the practice of this daily ritual. One message is sent and one is returned so that the volley can continue. This unbroken string helps keep us tied together. And the photos here are a few coloured threads to brighten the weave.

Sometimes when you're doing simple things around the house
Maybe you'll think of me and smile

You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse
Keep me in your heart for while

Hold me in your thoughts, take me to your dreams
Touch me as I fall into view
When the winter comes keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you

Warren Zevon - Keep Me In Your Heart

Saturday Shadows

My friend Su-san and I are like chalk and cheese when it comes to our sleeping schedules. She puts her head under her wing as soon as it gets dark... which is just about the time my inner night owl clocks in for her shift. I like being up early but I just don't like getting up early. On that rare occasion that I am vertical before sunrise, I love to get outside and watch the day start. This past Saturday was glorious. The rising sun was painting great long shadows against the snow and piercing the Dingle Tower.


The sun was lined up directly with the tower opening. I'll probably never know whether this is a daily occurrence or a Stonehenge-like, annual phenomenon.


We puzzled over these marks in the snow before realizing that they are made by the wing tips of Crows. Crow Angles.


The tail-end of a storm brought a freezing sleet which formed a white concrete crust. Looks like a punch-thru to me.


Jigs investigated and reported on the skim of ice on the Arm. "No skating here boss."


The deep freeze of the last week has not de-babbled the brook


The rolling hills and little bay seem so ideal that you would think Capability Brown had a hand in the park planning. I wonder if he would approve.