Across Lake Erie

You can't see Canada across lake Erie, but you know it's there. It's the same with spring. You have to have faith, especially in Cleveland.

~ Paul Fleischman

A couple of posts back, I brought you with me to Port Dover, Ontario where we celebrated Friday the 13th - biker style. True, those weren't photos from this November 13th which filled my blog page, but rather Friday the 13th of March. At the end of that post, I promised to share some different Port Dover images from that same visit, and these are them - with nary a biker to be seen in any of them.


I was in Port Dover to visit my lovely sister, Andrea (hi, Andi!) who who has lived in this picturesque town for close to forty years now. Being March, we still had a fair bit of ice and snow to contend with on the northern shores of Lake Erie.






Yet, the melt had indeed begun as evidenced by the free-flowing creek.






It was a cold day for just sitting but this pooch and his person were enjoying the icy view.






I don't think we often consider the dangers that commercial fishing entails but this community has had its share of sad losses. This monument is for them.






The lighthouse is a well-known landmark in Port Dover and it looks especially pretty when the setting sun creates such a colourful backdrop.






The sign says "No Swimming - No Diving - No Jumping." With all that ice... no problem!






The next evening, Andrea and I went out to dinner at Callahan's Beach House. Old posters and photographs of performers decorate the walls of their lobby.






The rest of these images were taken through glass where reflections distract somewhat but the view was still enjoyable.






This pair navigated their way over the bumpy lake ice.






As we enjoyed a delicious meal, we were treated to another warming sunset.






Always beautiful - Port Dover.

On With the Show

This past week has been unseasonably warm. This is November. This is Canada. We're supposed to be bundled up in layers and walking with hands in pockets, and heads lowered to brace for the brisk north winds. Instead, we spent the better part of last week in t-shirts, with hands free to enjoy the beautiful, balmy breezes which still carried that unmistakable scent of autumn with them.

It has cooled down again since then, and November now feels as it should. Summer has had its last hurrah. Soon I'll be focusing the camera on frost and other white reminders of the season, but for now, please enjoy these images taken over the past few weeks.

As with the previous post, there are movie quotes which accompany them. How many of them do you know? Answers can be found at the end of the post.

9) “The shadows are just as important as the light.”

The grass behind this fallen leaf was casting shadows, courtesy of the autumn sun. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

10) “Don’t miss the wonders that surround you because every tree, every rock, every anthill, every star is filled with the wonders of nature.”

This is one of my favourite spots along the path which surrounds my neighbourhood pond. No matter the season, it always looks beautiful to me. The little bird on the lower right branch thought so too. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

11) “What we take for granted might not be here for our children.”

This heron had been wading in the pond to the left of the path when he decided to check out the fishing in the creek over on our right. Without a moment of concern over the two of us and an active dog, he just strolled in front of us, over to the creek. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

12) “Nobody takes a picture of something they want to forget.”

Some of these photos were taken a couple of weeks ago when autumn hues were much more prominent than they are at this time. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

13) “Always look on the bright side of life.”

Standing here, looking out over the water, there's a bench behind me where we almost always stop to sit and maybe sip - no matter the weather. This was a rare view of the lake set ablaze with the season's finest colours. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

14) "Heres looking at you, kid."

A robin absorbs the sunshine while watching cautiously from the safety of a still-leafy branch. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

15) “The photograph shows only the reality. The painting shows not only the reality but the dream behind it.”

This photo of chicory growing in front of a backdrop of vivid, autumn hues did not turn out as sharp and crisp as I had hoped, so I played around with it in Photoshop, giving it a "water colour" effect just for fun, and to avoid hitting the delete button. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

16) "The trees are strong, my lord." (quote continued below)

This is the view we see from across the creek on our late afternoon walks near Frank's place. No matter how many times we stop there, it always seems photo-worthy. (please click, and then click again to enlarge)

16 continued) "Their roots go deep."

This is a close up of the roots seen in the above photo but taken on a different day. The two quotes go together.


Answers to movie quotes
9) - Jane Eyre
10) - Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.
11) - An Inconvenient Truth
12) - One Hour Photo
13) - The Life of Brian
14) - Casablanca
15) - Harvey
16) - Lord of the Rings

Bridging Generations

I often wonder how my parents would have embraced their adult grandsons - aside from with gusto, that is.

Mom was able to greet and know each of them shortly after they came into the world but she passed away when Alex was a year and a half, and Jeffrey was soon to turn five. My sister has two beautiful daughters, both of whom our mother knew and adored - her firstborn grandchild and her last. All four of her darlings lost Nanny from their lives much too early.

Dad was a favourite uncle to many of his nieces and nephews, friends' young children, neighbourhood kids and the many little tykes who frequented his store. He was enchanted by children and often made it his duty to collect a smile, giggle or full-out belly laugh, mindless of anything else that might be going on at the time (like a mouthful of pablum). It's one of my saddest regrets that Dad passed away before any of his grandchildren were born.

When I look at the men that my boys have become, I know that the two of them would evoke enormous pride in both of my parents, yet there would also be pause for concern.

Jeffrey is a soldier and third year student at RMC (Royal Military College) in Kingston, Ontario. One day, all too soon, his training and education will lead him to a foreign country where, as an Officer, he will be expected to lead his men and women safely through their dangerous missions. I don't need to explain the mix of emotion.

If the adult Jeffrey were to walk into my father's store of thirty-five years ago, my Dad would give him a hearty, excited handshake which would immediately evolve into a warm hug. He'd claim him as his boy and he'd make sure that he was introduced to all of his regular customers as such. He'd be bursting with pride. Dad also had a military history during the time of the second world war, but he was never sent overseas, having developed diabetes in adulthood. He would have felt that kinship with Jeffrey and possibly a sense of satisfaction that his boy would be living out one of his dreams. He'd love the logic of Jeffrey's thoughts and the confidence with which he expresses them. He'd be proud of his achievements, and hungry to hear the stories that Jeffrey will have accumulated over the years. They might share their respective memories under the stars.

My mother would be taken with Jeffrey's accomplishments but like her daughter, her pride would struggle with worry when she'd pause to consider what the world has in store for our boy. So she'd fuss over his hair, snip a loose thread on his uniform and ask right out loud if they feed him well and if he's dressed warmly enough. Nanny would marvel at how well-spoken he is and how he carries his smallish frame with a soldier's confidence. She'd be impressed by the wide range of weapons and strategies he has learned to employ. She'd wonder how he grew from a sweet, gentle, humourous, inquisitive, socially-conscious child into a soldier. Then she would think about it some more, and she would realize that he's still exactly that boy. She'd absorb his every word about his world views but she'd want to hold his solid body, and protect him from danger. She'd fear the day he'll be deployed. She wouldn't be alone.

Alex is a budding musician. He first laid his hands on a guitar about four years ago, and it's been as if his fingers instantly meshed with the strings. My son and his guitar will never part. He looks the role of the metal head musician, with his waist-long blonde hair and bearded chin, and his chosen uniform of jeans and black t-shirts, which display his favourite metal bands' logos. He looks exactly like the kind of customer who, if entering my Dad's store, would have made my father's radar beep. He would assume the worst about this boy. Perhaps deem him as a drug-user. "You know - the kind who buys cigarettes AND rolling papers." He might even try to shoplift something. Dad would keep a steady eye on him. But of course, that's not Alex. My Dad's grandson doesn't smoke, and I don't believe he's rolled too many joints, and he certainly wouldn't steal. He's a bright, engaging, very funny and talented guy, and my Dad would probably chide him constantly about his "girly hair" while encouraging him to play a lick for anyone who'd listen. A sense of humour is the bridge which would connect them immediately. They share a look in their eyes which deceives their attempt to pull one over on you. At the core of both men, lies a loving, light-hearted, playful child.

Upon meeting Alex at eighteen, my mother would first be struck by how much he physically resembles his grandfather. Tall, lanky and smiling blue eyes. Her own eyes would fall to his hands and she'd remark that he has a musicians long, slender fingers. She used to say that even when he was a chubby baby. She was right. Alex acquired his musical talent from his Nanny who played piano quite well. It is her piano which now sits in my living room, and I have little doubt that one day it will find its home with Alex. Mom would love Alex's humour and marvel at his talents. He's quite artistic and that came from her creative genes. She'd want to like his choice of music, and so she'd find a way to make it sound appealing to her, by focusing on his fancy finger work. She'd want to feed him and talk to him about his dreams, and caution him about the dangers he may encounter in the world. She'd melt in his hugs.

As I think about how my mother only knew her grandkids as very young children, and how my father never knew them at all, I realize that as a Mom of 53, my young sons may not have children of their own at a time that would allow me to know them as adults either. I would hope that one day, they would portray what they would imagine were my thoughts and feelings to my grandchildren about who they have become.

And while my boys are at it, I hope they know every day just how supremely proud I am of both of them.


Morning and late afternoon to early evening walks always bring out the best colours of the day. Below are a few photos taken during some of those walks over the past few weeks. Please click to enlarge the photos. If you use Firefox, it seems we now have to click twice - once to get the image in a separate window, then wait for the magnifying glass to appear and click again.




One gray afternoon after driving through patches of rain, a brilliant rainbow greeted us upon our arrival. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





As long as the weather remains reasonably mild, we tend to see the Great Blue Heron at some point during our morning walk. Seconds earlier, this one was on the near side of the creek, but flew across the water when Benny startled him. He immediately began preening much like a cat does with its "I meant to do that" kind of expression. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





Approaching the field on an afternoon walk, the sunlight saturated the growth around us with its golden warmth. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





Close to the creek, the colours contrast against the blue of the cool, running water. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





This tree overlooks the creek as the afternoon sun paints the landscape, resplendent with a blend of colours. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





Walking into the cedar grove, the late-day sun works its magic. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





One afternoon, the air temperature must have dropped slightly. As we walked away from the creek to go back home, we could see a fine mist beginning to form above the creek and breeze over the path. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





By the time we reached the path just a few meters away, the air was filled with this golden cloud. Here two people - one on bike and one on foot break through the haze. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)





Evidently the cedars in this photo have a hidden talent. They can sing. Head on over to Frank's post "Singing Trees" to read about it. (Please click, and then click again to enlarge)

The People on the Bus

Last month I wrote about a bus ride that I took, during which an initially grumpy little girl and I exchanged funny faces and gestures, and became fast friends by the time her stop arrived. Despite the fun and the endearing connection that we made, the incident left me feeling sad because of the lack of interest her mother showed her. Last week I took that same bus ride at the precise time as the previous trip, and I half-hoped I'd see the little girl again. I didn't.

As I settled into my seat, someone rang the bell indicating their intention to disembark at the next bus stop. As a woman and her young son passed my seat, I could hear the boy enthusiastically singing "The Wheels of the Bus" It brought me back to a time when my own son was around four, and my cousin's ex husband taught him his version of the song. My son was the only kid at school who knew the verse "The muggers on the bus say 'give me all your money' all day long."

Shortly into the trip, a woman and four very young children climbed the steps into the bus and paid their fares. The youngest was in a stroller but the other three cautiously made their way down the aisle of the bus, as it angled its way outward from the sidewalk and back into the flow of traffic. This sudden acceleration caused the bus to lurch slightly, and one of the little ones stumbled backwards when he turned around to make sure that his Mom was still nearby. He was an easy catch as he staggered into my outstretched arm. I helped him to steady himself, and the woman glanced over to me and smiled her "thank you."

The three older children took their places on a long, side-facing seat at the front of the bus. They immediately scrambled up onto their knees so that they could look out the window. Their mother took the next seat which faced front where she could keep an eye on them, and a firm grasp on the stroller holding her youngest child.

Throughout the trip, the children chattered to each other and to their Mom. Each of their questions and comments were met with a thoughtful response from their mother. Her pride showed in her eyes as she caught my smile while watching them. The kids were oblivious to my presence, even when I snapped a couple of photos with Mom's permission.


The interaction between parent and offspring was heartwarming. The four pre-schoolers were well-behaved, curious and bright. Mom was warm, available and proud. I felt grateful for the reminder that most parents do their best, and love unconditionally. This young family may not have known it, but they made my day.

Like last time, this bus trip was the start of my journey eastward to visit Frank for a couple of days. As usual, the photos below are from walks around his place. Please remember to click on them to enlarge.


The day before I arrived, this lovely historic town suffered a bad fire. Two of these 100 year old buildings were completely gutted, a feeling which I'm sure was shared by store owners and customers alike as their town is preparing for its 150 year anniversary this summer. We wandered through a few of the quaint shops directly across the street, which were open for business as usual, but the sadness and sense of loss among onlookers and passersby was palpable. By Thursday afternoon, the building was fully demolished. Click here for a view of this same street, just a few doors down, as it appeared to me in December.



Further east along this same main street, there's a cozy little tea house which recently opened for business. One full wall is dedicated to dozens of varieties and flavours of loose tea, which you can purchase in several sized packages. Their entrance way displays this unusual table and chair set, made from the wood of coffee bean plants.



As you can see by the above photo, they offer much more than tea. Along with appealing lunch items, they also have delicious homemade sweets such as tasty pecan butter tarts and dunk-worthy biscotti. As I was leaving with a package of tarts for that night's dessert, this "Daily Special" sign caught my eye. I hadn't had lunch yet, and the opening line seemed particularly friendly. I read it as "Homemade soup, Baby!" in a George Costanza kind of voice. It took a moment for me to realize that the use of "baby" was referring to the salad greens, and not their customers.



Heading out of the downtown area, a set of steep steps leads back to the wooded paths along the creek. The area is beautiful in any season, but the changes are quite startling as the spring foliage emerges and the rich green colours return.



Frank picked a bunch of these delicious fiddleheads the week before. By the time I took this photo, most of them had unfurled into the lovely ferns that will last through the summer. We boiled them until almost cooked, then sautéed them in butter, minced garlic and freshly-ground pepper. Once drained, you can also toss them in a dusting of Parmesan cheese which will cling to the unopened fronds. This springtime treat goes great with almost any dish.



This view of the creek urged me to stop and snap a photo. The trees have sprouted leaves, but are nowhere near as lush as they'll be in a week or two.



As I glanced out over the creek, this tree caught my eye. If you click to enlarge it, you'll see something red and white hanging from its branches, just a little left of center.



Zooming in, I could see that it was a wayward fishing float. I wonder if an avid angler will rescue it before it becomes completely hidden behind the growing foliage. I'm looking at you, Frank!



A walk in the woods is incomplete without the silly antics of a goofy JRT. Benny dares us to just try and take his stick. Don't even bother - you can't win. The puppy runs like the wind.



Back at Frank's place, he suggested that I take this shot as the late-day sun shone on this bare-boned chair. In a few weeks, it will be warm enough to grab a cushion and sit out there most any evening, while that night's dinner sizzles on the barbeque. He'd probably pop open a beer and I might pour a glass of wine as we both toast our appreciation to the return of warmer weather.

For amusing tales about walking with Benny, check out the most recent post (April 29) over at Frank's blog.