Christmas Gifts from Cow Bay

How would you like to give or receive a little something from nature this Christmas? Wouldn’t the shopping be easier? Wouldn’t the gift seem more unique?

In response to a suggestion from Sahlah to give one another virtual gifts from nature this season, Centria at Opening the Door, Walking Outside, has already offered up some excellent choices from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Yesterday was Black Friday in the US, a day known for crazy Christmas shopping. Wouldn’t a walk in the woods or along the beach seem a more fitting way to begin the holiday season?

So here are some virtual gifts from nature in Cow Bay to all Flandrum Hill readers and especially the regular commenters. Hopefully you’ll find something you like among these treasures.

The ring-necked pheasant feathers shown above were found in my yard where male pheasants often strut.  You could stick one in a hat or place a few in a vase. 

If you’re into novel fashion accessories, the mermaid’s purse shown at left might be just the thing for you even if you’re not a mermaid. 

Or perhaps a green sea urchin is more to your liking.  Found on the beach but sometimes in the woods where they’ve been dropped by seagulls, up close, each one reveals a five pointed star design.  They are delicate so don’t usually ship well, but seeing as these are virtual gifts, that’s not a problem.  Arranged in a bowl, they’d make a beautiful holiday centerpiece. 

If you’re into practical gifts, the opalescent sheen on this razor clam is bound to make any other shaver seem dull in comparison.

Still haven’t found anything you’d like?  Perhaps money is the gift for you then, in which case these sand dollars are sure to please! 

I sincerely hope you managed to find something you like.  And, if you’re Christmas shopping this weekend, you might want to reconsider that trip to the mall.  Maybe your perfect gifts are already waiting for you to find under the trees.

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The Earth Remembers

The heart of the poppy remembers. 

During the Napoleonic era,  it was first noticed that blood red poppies bloomed in fields that had seen battle.  Somehow, the earth remembered.  Later it was discovered that the chalk in the soil reacted with the lime left from the rubble  created during battles.  Regardless of the science, what is most important is that the poppies remembered.  Human activity did not go unnoticed by nature.

And if the earth can remember pain and suffering, I wonder, can it not also remember joy?

Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.

~ Kahlil Gibran

Does the grass remember the children who ran across it barefoot all those years ago?  Do the trees remember the boys who played their army games from their makeshift bases among them in the woods?  Now the boys are grown and war is no longer a game.   If the forest can remember, does it also long for their return?

Long after I am gone, and the trees and grass are still here, will they continue to hold the memories of the boys who played among them?  These boys who too quickly grew into men and travelled far from home?  And one who especially liked to run barefoot through the woods and is now serving in Afghanistan, a land known for its poppies, and the ravages of its war?  

I hope so.  But if the trees and grass forget, I’m sure the poppies that spring up every year in the front yard will remind them.

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Tamarack Time

The tamaracks that were barely noticeable in the forest all year long now take centre stage. 

Their soft, burnt orange needles provide a bright contrast to the clear blue sky.  Being complementary colours  (set opposite one another on the colour wheel), orange and blue look especially vibrant together in the autumn landscape.

Tamaracks don’t mind wet, boggy soil.  Their Ojibway name, muckigwatig, means ‘swamp tree.’  They thrive in Cow Bay wherever there is little competition for sunshine with other trees.  These deciduous conifers are tolerant of extreme cold.  Their delicate appearance often enhances residential landscapes in northern regions.

The inner bark of tamaracks is edible and has many medicinal uses among Native Americans, among them, treating burns, wounds, inflammations and headaches.   It’s also a favourite of porcupines. 

Along Bissett Road, which has extensive stands of tamaracks on both sides, it’s no wonder that porcupines are a frequent item on the roadkill café menu.  I’ve crossed paths with them twice in as many weeks, but both times managed to see these slow walkers in time to yield. 

It won’t be long before the tamaracks shed their needles for the winter and once again fade into the background of the forest.  But for now, it’s tamarack time.

For more information about tamarack trees, see The Last of Autumn’s Leaves and Needles

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The Beach in Autumn

Traffic along the boardwalks and pathways leading to and from the seashore is slow enough for caterpillar crossings these days.

It may be October, but the beach is still open to visitors despite the absence of tourists and high temperatures.  Sparkling waters beckon beyond the sand dunes.

On such a quiet morning, it’s hard to imagine this beach covered with human flesh baking in the summer sun just a couple of months ago.  The scene is peaceful and quiet, except for the roar of the waves.

The sand, sea and sky all work together to create a vista that’s refreshing and uplifting.  The sea breezes still feel soothing on the face and the sand is still warm on the feet.    

Waves continue to make their deliveries of Irish moss onto the shore.  Also known as carrageenan, this sea moss is raked along some beaches in Nova Scotia.  It’s used as a thickening agent in many foods, including coffee cream and ice cream.

Hot temperatures aren’t a prerequisite for children to enjoy playing in the sand.  Their needs are simpler than ours.  Wherever did we get the notion that beaches are only to be enjoyed in the summer time?

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This Life of Mortal Breath

A small cemetery overlooks the ocean in Cow Bay. Hidden from the road by trees, it holds numerous graves, many of which no longer have markers.  It’s quiet and peaceful as many such places are.

One of the gravestones dating back to 1889 has the following words by Henry Longfellow engraved on it:

There is no Death! What seems so is transition;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.

Longfellow himself died in 1882, just a few years earlier.  [The American Longfellow is well known in Nova Scotia for writing Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie, which relates the story of the expulsion of the Acadians from Nova Scotia in the 1700s].

The word elysian in the poem refers to the final resting place of the virtuous dead.  A place so named refers to paradise or the afterlife.  The ancient Greek poet Pindar described it as a place “soothed by ocean breezes, surrounded by blazing flowers and shining trees. “

At the centre of the cemetery, where there are most likely unmarked graves, cranberries grow despite a recent lawn mowing.  They’ll likely provide sustenance for birds in Autumn.   Seasons change and Man comes and goes, but Nature carries on its work from age to age.

Lord, make me to know my end.
And what is the extent of my days.
Let me know how transient I am.
Behold, Thou hast made my days as handbreadths,
And my lifetime as nothing in Thy sight.
Surely every man at his best is a mere breath.
~ Psalm 39: 4-5

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Going to Extremes

If you’re not living life on the edge, then you’re taking up too much space.

Living in a family of extreme sports enthusiasts, I’ve spent many years worried at home while others went rock climbing, scuba diving or sky diving.  No more.  I figure the best way to stop being anxious about others is to do something extreme myself.  But what?

My grandmother was an expert at ironing shirts.  As a young woman, she had worked in a boarding house for lawyers and doctors and had spent her days doing laundry and ironing. It’s a skill that’s seldom learned or appreciated in our permanent press world.  My friend Faye, who is always crisply dressed, believes she’s one of the last people on the planet who still irons.

Like most other skills, ironing requires attention to detail and patience with some knowledge of technique.  It’s considered a boring tedious activity by many, which is why many people do it while watching television, if they do it at all.

Although ironing is usually done indoors, about a decade ago, some daring and creative men in the UK decided to transform ironing into an extreme outdoor sport.  Since then, people from all over the world have ironed in all kinds of crazy places, from the top of Mount Everest to the bottom of the sea.  I don’t know if I would do anything so radical but I figure it’s worth a try.

So… before the summer ends I’m going to see where I can do some extreme ironing in Cow Bay.  If you’d like to join me in this activity in your neck of the woods, the more the merrier.  Here are some things you’ll need:

1. An ironing board that’s at least a metre (39 inches) long.
2. A working iron – travel irons are supposed to be ideal.
3. A piece of clothing that’s at least the size of a shirt.
4. A photograph of yourself doing the ironing outdoors in an unconventional place.

What do you think?  Are you up for the challenge?  No prizes this time.  Kookiness is its own reward.

For more information on the sport of extreme ironing, see the website of the Extreme Ironing Bureau or if you’re on Facebook, have a look at one of the several Extreme Ironing groups.

For the Wikipedia entry, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extreme_ironing

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Views from Cow Bay

View from Cow Bay Road looking towards Lawrencetown

The above view struck me as the most awesome in the area when I first saw it. Like a tourist, I often used to pull over while driving, just to admire this view from Cow Bay Road.

This week marks twenty years since we moved to Cow Bay.  Back in 1989, there was only the odd tree in the front yard and the house was totally visible from the road.  I soon got to work transplanting trees from the backyard to the front.  Today, a wooded area affords more privacy while also providing a barrier to sound, wind and dust from the road.

View from the top of Flandrum Hill Road looking towards Lawrencetown

Fog and mist are common here, but on clear days, views of the Atlantic Ocean are possible.

Looking towards Osborne Head

Views of Osborne Head became visible once trees were cut down to make way for the construction of new homes in the subdivision.  Paved streets gradually replaced the peaceful forest trails where I used to hike with my children.  What trails remained  became impassable due to fallen trees after Hurricane Juan in 2003.

More than the landscape changes over time.  One facet of aging is the tendency to become more insular with the passing years.  While youth looks out and expands its territory, as we age our focus is directed inward and we more often look within for reason and meaning.  These days I spend more time in my own yard, exploring less the landscape beyond the surveyors’ lines.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the best views are yet to be discovered.

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Earth Day Quilts

To commemorate Earth Day 2009, I thought I’d design a couple of quilts using earth colors.  Real earth colors.  I created a palette using photographs I’ve taken in my yard over the past six months, made squares and then arranged the squares into a quilt pattern.  I decided on a Double Irish Chain pattern, as the Irish were among the first Europeans to settle in Cow Bay.

The first quilt employs colors taken from feathers and fur:  Bunny Brown, Blue Jay Blue, Jay Tail Feather  Blue, Ring-neck Green, Pheasant Grey and Squirrel Red.  I don’t think Martha Stewart could have come up with a more beautiful selection.  Here is the finished virtual quilt:

Double Irish Chain Quilt with Feathers and Fur Palette

For my second quilt I made use of colors found in photos of trees and leaves:  Inner Birch Bark, Spruce Green, Balsam Green, Ivy Red and Sapling Bark.  The white is an authentic ‘Snow White.’

As a quilter, I’ve often wondered how strange it must seem to non-quilters that we cut fabric into small pieces, only to sew them back together again.  As crazy as it may be, the process of creating a virtual quilt (without a program for doing such) is even nuttier. (This is what happens when you spend too much time with the squirrels).

Happy Earth Day!

Double Irish Chain Quilt with Snowy Trees and Leaves Palette

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Flandrum Hill on the Map

Halifax Regional Municipality Urban Map Project

Often the names on maps don’t reveal the whole story.  Neighborhoods are often referred to verbally by the locals in terms that seldom, if ever, will appear in print.  For example, my sister used to live in an area located in between Creighton and Lively in Ontario called ‘Dogpatch.’  Try finding that word on a map.

Waye Mason of Halifax decided to remedy the situation in our area.  He created a shared google map with some neighbourhoods from urban Halifax drawn in as a starting point and invited others to contribute.  I offered up ‘Flandrum Hill,’ which is the dark pink dot within the light pink area covering Eastern Passage.  An interactive and potentially more updated version can be found by clicking on the static image of the map I’ve provided above.

Some of the first maps of North America were made by the Ojibwe and were written on birch bark.  They probably were very sensitive to local names and landmarks.  Mapping may have come a long way since then, but I’m the type of person who’d probably feel more comfortable using a Native American birch bark map than a GPS.  Unfortunately, my sense of direction is so bad, I’d probably STILL get lost in the woods.

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The Hoop That Never Ends

How can there be so much that you don’t know?

~ from Disney’s Pocahontas

Before the area was ‘colonised’ by Europeans in the 1700s, my neck of the woods in Cow Bay was considered a prime hunting and fishing spot by the Mi’kmaq tribe during summer months. It must have been an incredibly beautiful place back then: sparkling waters, sandy beaches and an abundance of wild berries growing in the open spaces overlooking the ocean. I often wonder about the people who walked the trails in this forest centuries before my home was built here.  What did they feel and think as they listened to the wind in the trees and the rain falling on the waters in the bog?

Disney’s movie Pocahontas attempts to contrast the attitude of Native People with that of Europeans upon their arrival in the New World. It also carries the message of our connection to one another and the earth in a song called the ‘Colors of the Wind.’  I hadn’t watched it in years, but when I saw it again recently, I was reminded of what a masterpiece it is.

Pocahontas’ real name was Matoaka.  She was a member of the Powhatan tribe, who were rightly angered in the late 1990s by the way Disney exploited her story and distorted history for entertainment’s sake.  However, Disney did correctly portray her as a bridge builder between the cultures that began to clash in North America in the 1600s with the arrival of European colonists.  She was a risk-taker who was willing to see past surface differences in order to connect with others at a deeper, common level, for the benefit of all.

As unique as we may think we are, with our different habits and origins, we are all more alike than not.  Perhaps the greatest thing that we don’t know, is how much we are all the same.

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Does Country Living Make One Happier?

Photo credit: Rosalie Sawler

Could children who grow up in a country setting be happier as adults?  Though the area around Flandrum Hill is considered semi-rural, it shares many of the characteristics of country living:  namely, fresh air, lots of open natural space and the presence of wildlife.

Why would children growing up here be happier?  Country kids can play ball in a field or hide and seek in the woods.  They can climb trees or play in tree houses.  In the summer they can pick berries and wildflowers.  They can spend an afternoon looking for frogs, snakes or salamanders.  Living near the ocean, kids also have the advantage here of walking to the beach.  It seems obvious that any child would grow up happy in this type of environment and take this inner joy with them into adulthood.

But what advantage does country or semi-rural living have for adults?  Can we expect to be happier in the country than in town?  Certainly the larger lot sizes afford more opportunities for gardening and privacy to do one’s own thing without worrying about disturbing the neighbors.  But there has to be some greater advantage for so many people to be attracted to living outside the city when it’s so far from many of the services we rely on in our modern lives (shopping, transportation, entertainment, dining).

We can’t underestimate nature’s uplifting effect on our senses.  Perhaps just seeing open spaces, trees, wildflowers and wildlife on a daily basis makes people happier.  In summer or in winter, there’s nothing like the scent of fir or spruce boughs to clear one’s head.  From birds singing in the spring to the sound of the wind trembling the aspen leaves in the fall, each season brings its own special appeal.  Seeing a deer or fox on one’s drive into work in the morning makes life here seem special.  Simple pleasures, like feeling the morning mist on your face as you taste a couple of wild blackberries from the vine, would make even non-believers consider the notion that God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world.

The year’s at the spring,

And day’s at the morn;

Morning’s at seven;

The hill-side’s dew-pearled;

The lark’s on the wing;

The snail’s on the thorn;

God’s in his Heaven -

All’s right with the world!   ~ Robert Browning

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