Lisa and I headed out early to avoid the ruck. The town put on Valley Appreciation Day. It used to be called Visitor Appreciation Day. Before that it was called Alberta Appreciation Days. Alberta tourists/2nd home owners, making up the majority of visitors to the Columbia Valley. Regardless of the name it is a good day to get the fuck out of the valley bottom.
The huckleberries are under there somewhere.
We took to the mountains in search of huckleberries. We had success. The huckleberries were out and small. We stumbled onto a few good patches to fill our buckets.
Willow rustled rodents. Her tongue swollen and panting. She is a good dog. Lisa says I have to mind her better as she is getting old. I don’t have the heart to shut down her fun even if it’s for her own good.
Getting a swim in the creek. Perfect to cool off.
Lisa kept picking after I reached my limit. We creeped down the mountain in the afternoon, knowing town would be clear, cautious never the less.
Even Willow was powerless against the grasshoppers.
The garden is doing it’s best after being ravaged by grasshoppers. The grasshoppers are still around in abundance but not eating as much as when they were small. When we have vegetables from the garden for dinner I remark my thankfulness that the grasshoppers were kind enough to leave it for us. They were ravenous bastards.
No carrots this year. Almost everything had to be replanted. Strangely they didn’t like peas, which are about 6 feet tall and covered in pods. The tomatoes, they mostly left alone. Same as the zucchini. Everything else was at their mercy.
The cannabis is coming and I’m about to trick it into thinking it’s dying so it will flower. The grasshoppers ate it as well, but it fought back on its own. The grasshoppers who indulged were last seen, wearing dark glasses, listening to jazz, riding vans, driven by a ladybug, down to SF, Haight Ashbury, to find themselves. I’m happy I could, at least, convert a few. The stoned grasshoppers remaining are degenerates, happy to listen to Led Zeppelin overflowing from the gardeners earbuds. They are hard to motivate, but great to have a conversation with once you get them going, unfortunately they still like to snack.
We will miss the carrots. I planted zucchini in many of spots in the garden that the grasshoppers destroyed. We are going to have ‘chini coming out our ears. I won’t be able to give them away. My friends will see me coming and scatter.
Before bed I thought I’d better make sure the garden gate was closed. Walked outside into a warm evening. I never walk anywhere without boots. The garden is only thirty paces from the basement door. I figured I was safe to go barefoot. Half way there I stepped on a wasp and got stung in the crotch of the big toe and the tall one next to it. Damn. That’s seven stings this year! It could be my new record.
Little Big Dog.
I remember when I was about four, one morning, I took a stick and knocked down a nest in the shed. I was stung on the nose. That night I was with my Dad picking raspberries at my Aunt Elenor’s place and got stung on the ass.
Dad thought it was hilarious I was stung on the nose and ass in the same day. He laughed telling Mom when we got home. I couldn’t see the humour in it at the time. Now I am a Dad and Grandad it is damn funny. I can’t help laughing when I reminisce.
Lisa and I were up early and heading for the bush to miss the tourists and second home owners, who are out in force.
Once we made the corner after the first bridge on the Kootenay we were free and never saw a soul, except the most important, a black bear, a murder of crows circling something dead, plenty of deer, bucks in velvet, a shiny muskrat and birds singing songs, so beautiful, that I will never understand no matter how hard I try.
We picked up a load of wood. Tomorrow I will split it. It is birch so the sooner the better. It will keep us warm. Summer is when you should think of winter.
Picked a litter of lettuce in the garden. The grasshoppers have wings but aren’t eating like they were when they were small. As far as I can tell they don’t like peas or tomatoes. Everything else has taken a shit kicking.
We sure have a good country. I may bitch at the folks running it. The country and citizens are so strong even the politicians haven’t been able to screw it up. 🙂 Aboriginal people are seeing a future where injustices are acknowledged. There is no making things right. There is no returning justice. MY small spot on this land belonged to someone who didn’t agree to sell it to me.
Our future is dependant on immigration, that’s a good thing. The ideas and hard work coming from abroad will make us strong.
Whenever I meet someone wanting to make Canada their home I think of my Grandfather coming from England in 1912 looking for a better life.
I live in this time in history when immigrants made my life easy in my youth and will help me in my old age. How lucky is that?
Most of the creeks are still high. I followed a spring, out of nowhere, a hundred yards through a grove of birch, then disappeared underground to cripes knows where.
The country is alive and beautiful. I can’t contribute like I used to. I don’t expect much. That’s how it is when you are happy.
Somehow we have to grab rocks, but instead of throwing them, we have to lie down on them and feel the warmth.
A Blue Heron considers eating a Striped Turtle. The turtle says, not today or tomorrow.
When we were kids, the long weekend in May was the earliest you would even consider being in the lake.
Mom used to say get burned in May and it will turn into tan for the rest of summer.
The sun felt good back then. So did the lake. One would ease the other.
The sun made me sleepy back then. It was like being a garter snake coming out from the clay banks and laying on railway ties. Like everything was okay.
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Busier than shit these last few days. It’s close to 100° out there and someone told me the pool was too cold. It’s 78°.
I told them the hot tubs are hotter and the river is colder.
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The wasps are building their hives. I was called to take one down. I didn’t feel bad as it was over a doorway. It was a poor choice for the queen. She flew away and I hope she finds a spot underground where it is cool and nobody complains.
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There are thousands of tiny grasshoppers out there. They are going to love the coming hot weather.
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Lisa says we should get our firewood before they close the bush down. I agree it could be a hotter than hell summer.
Rain today and we needed it. Work was a missed mash of issues. Most got the better of me. Lisa has a small white board where I get dressed that says, ‘Make good choices’. She knows I don’t always, but I’m getting better from my younger days where it didn’t take much for me to fly off the handle.
The birds enjoyed the rain, they chirped and sang and were grateful for the worms that came to the surface, making eating easy.
You could almost watch the grass grow. I fear a hot dry summer. We have been lucky the last couple of years. The tourists are coming, no longer slowed by Covid, and each will have a pack of matches and a few fireworks, not content with turning off the lights and watching the much more magnificent Milky Way.
Anger still bubbles in me. Deep down. Watching the destruction. The waste, pollution and noise. Nothing changes fast, I remind myself. It takes time they say. In the meantime I try to make good choices.
A very eventful weekend. All of the kids came home to celebrate Lisa’s Mom and Dad’s 60th wedding anniversary. As well, Friday night was the opening of an exhibit at Pynelogs Cultural Centre that I have several photos on display.
Dave and Florence, Mom and Dad, have been married 60 years. Incredible! They are wonderful loving roll models in our family. They demonstrate daily how to treat each other with respect, how to work hard and how important family is. We are all as proud of them as they are of us. To be all together to celebrate such a special occasion was significant for each of us. We took pictures, had a BBQ with plenty of food, laughed, watched the dogs play and cried happy tears, knowing how special these times are.
The art show was great. Plenty of familiar faces that put me at ease. Deb, Kurt and Brian provided the fantastic music which also eased my mind. It was so good to have my Sister and Brother there to share their musical gift.
None of the weekend would have been possible for me without Lisa’s encouragement and constant optimism, who I thank and love. With luck and good health, maybe someday we will celebrate our 60th.
A very nice walk this morning with Kelsie, Cooper and Scarlett. Lisa and I are lucky to have them along. Willow and Lola ran through the creek and fetched rocks and sticks. Lisa and Scarlett brought back pussy willows.
Scarlett decides to cross the creek on her bum. A good choice when unsure.
My father used to say, ‘Horns make poor soup.’ It was a way of saying, while hunting, to choose an animal, not by the size of the antlers, but how it will taste when it is on the table.
Willow thinks the horns taste just fine thank you!
Palliser Pass 