Sunday morning musings
I turned 67 on Friday. Sort of a nothing birthday, hanging halfway between 65 and 70. I felt off all week, and I’m still not sure whether my birthday contributed to my discomfort. My husband and I both came home last weekend with full-blown colds after visiting my daughter and family up island. A drooling baby, slobbery toddler kisses, and exhausted children probably all played a part in us falling sick. I used to be able to shake off a bug with a day curled up in bed - a good book, hot tea, and plenty of vitamin C. But that’s no longer the case. I’m not sure if I can attribute that to age or the ferocity of germs these days.
I always stumble into reflection around my birthday. I say stumble because I don’t plan it. I just suddenly realize that I am focused on my age, the many years that have passed, and the years stretching ahead. Occasionally, this reflection is a celebration, but truthfully, it is often more about time spent with past pain and sad memories. Why even go there, I wonder? This year, I blame this darn cold!
Today, I finally feel better. Cool and cloudy, the smell of rain in the air, it is a perfect fall day. This morning, I was woken up by a single tree frog croaking loudly on the deck outside our bedroom door. Rather than the chorus of trilling mating calls in the spring, this was an individual ‘rain call’, deep and throaty.
Cradling my oat latte in my hands, I stood looking out the kitchen window at our yard, grass yellow after too many hot weeks, a few shrivelled plums hanging from the plum trees, and our maple tree, bright yellow and orange. I cannot begin to count the many robins I see. Our pyracantha (firethorn) has never had such an abundance of red berries, and robins are perched on thorny branches gorging themselves. The robins are also in the garden, pulling the last rotten strawberries off their stems.
“Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!
For Summer’s nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,
Cool breezes in the sun;
Our Thrushes now are silent,
Our Swallows flown away, —
But Robin’s here, in coat of brown,
With ruddy breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,
O Robin dear!
Robin singing sweetly
In the falling of the year.”
I step onto the deck and catch a slight movement in the grass. A chipmunk scurries onto the lower deck, equally intrigued by me. I think it is a chipmunk, but maybe not. It has the colouring of a squirrel but is only the size of a chipmunk. This one lives with her mate in the trees along our fence line. They tease Bella unmercifully, and almost every day she is reprimanded for her incessant barking as she leaps up and down trying to reach them. She flies out of the sliding door as she hears me chattering to the chipmunk, this time not making a sound. With one leap, she is down the stairs and on the deck, heading towards her prey. She is fast but will never be as fast as this little rodent, who quickly pops under the deck.
Later this afternoon, my husband and I are going to a concert. Corey Weeds, a saxophonist from Vancouver, is on the island and will be performing with island resident Mike Allen, a jazz artist. We will be listening to them perform in a small venue with stunning acoustics. Bliss.
That leaves me a few hours today to head upstairs to dig out my winter clothes. Next week, my husband and I head off for Quebec. I love British Columbia and this little island I call home, but I miss the four seasons I grew up with in Quebec, particularly autumn. We are flying into Ottawa and renting a car to drive a circuit to the Laurentian mountains, Quebec City, Charlevoix, the Eastern Townships, and then meandering back to Ottawa. My husband has never been to Quebec City, and it is on his bucket list. I am looking forward to an extended stay in the Eastern Townships, a corner of the province I have never explored.
I’ll spend an afternoon at the Knowlton Writers Festival, immersed in murder mysteries. Louise Penny is interviewing Eliza Reid, former First Lady of Iceland and author of Death on the Island. Wendy Mesley will be interviewing Ausma Zehanat Khan, author of the Esa Khattak books, as well as the detective Inaya Rahman series.
I am also looking forward to a visit to Abbaye St-Benoit-du-Lac, the inspiration for Louise Penney’s book, The Beautiful Mystery. We are planning our visit so we can listen to the Gregorian chants that are part of their vespers service. Then we will purchase some of the cider and cheeses the abbey is famous for to enjoy over a late-night dinner by the fire at our vacation rental.
So my blog posts may be a bit sporadic over the next few weeks as we meander through the spectacular foliage of la belle province.
