Happy New Year 🕊🍾

A few nights ago I woke in the dark and wondered why until my ears slowly made out the tumbling notes of "The Shadow of Your Smile". I lay back down and drifted off to sleep. I haven't touched the church of Nog since.

And I better not touch it in 2018 because it's a year of the dog and I'm a dog. My new student Katy who's from Taiwan and is mildly interested in the Chinese Zodiac did a research and translation project for me on that subject. The news was not good, especially in the areas of health and money. DAMN. I'm beginning the year with a bum knee and back and was looking forward to better health and more wealth in 2018. Maybe I'll get a bit of wisdom instead, just enough to realize I've got what I need and that's as good as a feast. Katy was a bit nervous about revealing bad news to her teacher, but we ended up having some laughs. Mandarin is an amazing language to try to translate. I guess because it doesn't have an alphabet but is comprised of symbols it seems to translate into English in a choppy way. In spite of the prospect of misfortune ahead for me, we laughed at her rendering of what "you dogs" must prepare for in the coming year.







Snowshoeing on the shore of Kal Lake this week. The dog days of winter.

Christmas is coming; the turkey's thawing out

It's noon on Tuesday, December 19 and Vernon is finally white for Christmas. When I woke this morning all was clear, but by now an unknown good Samaritan has shovelled the front walk and it is quickly getting covered again. The radio has just announced that the Coquihalla southbound between Hope and Merritt has been closed. I hope Mo and John made it over the Rogers Pass this morning; they're heading to Alberta for the holidays.







Before I get lost in the moment, I want to recognize the fact that Ron Noginosh died on November 15 this year. He had had heart trouble even before Jim died but had carried on quite well until he dropped suddenly while sitting with Max. I hadn't seen him in ages but I have fond memories of his visits to our place, sometimes with his sons. He rarely showed up when he said he would but we could count on surprise visits, sometimes to use the sauna as a sweat lodge with his boys. It's true that he had a "biting wit and a wild and wacky sense of humour". I'm lucky to have some of his works to remind me of that. In fact a bizarre thing happened when May and I were putting together the Christmas tree last week. We are two accident prone women, but in spite of the fact that I knew that from past catastrophes, I hadn't even had the forethought to get breakable things out of harm's way. Crash! The first to fall was 'The Church of Nog'. Ron's wonderful creation that I bought about 20 years ago at Mela's silent auction. The glue had dried so that when it hit the floor its many wacky symbols scattered. I must have looked shattered because May instantly assumed blame. I could see how sorry she felt, so I tried to lessen her guilt by making light of it and comparing the desecration of the church of Nog so soon after Ron's death to the old song about the grandfather's clock that "stopped short never to go again when the old man died". She'd never heard that song so it eased the moment as we picked up the bits. We found them all, even the little AFN (Assembly of First Nations) pin. The next day, I went to Canadian Tire and bought a tough metal glue. The objects had been so long on the church that a vague impression of each remained on it so I was able to glue them back on. The only part that has not fully recovered is the little music box that played 'The Shadow of Your Smile'. Once in a while a few notes ping out, hardly a shadow. But the memory of Ron and his inventiveness remains sharp.








I went to Jay and May's this Sunday for lunch and our annual decoration of Christmas cookies. I make the cookies but the girls are the decorators. Jay really threw himself into it this year too.

Poetry

Last night I went with Miriam and Bill to a poetry reading organized by Miriam's bookclub. Usually they invite local poets to read but this time they decided that each person would introduce and read a poem, one they had either written or chosen. I had no idea what to expect and took quite a while choosing my contribution and thinking of how to present it, finally settling on 'One Art' by Elizabeth Bishop. In my introduction I said that the content of the poem was very meaningful to me but that I wouldn't dwell on that. It was the art of the poem I wanted to show. I went on to say that the best poems are the essence of literature; they are to writing what 'tire' is to the sap of the maple tree. I used the word 'tire' not taffy because the latter didn't seem to conjure up the image I was trying to convey of long boiling sap, amber essence poured over early spring snow, rolled onto a stick and licked, the unique maple sweetness bursting with memories of blazing leaves in the fall. But as I spoke I realized that the word 'tire' had no meaning for them. What I had thought was going to be a glorious analogy wasn't. I 'shut'er down', as Jay would say, and read the poem.
It didn't need an introduction.




The rest of the evening was entertaining, an eclectic group of individuals reading their poems or those of others with more or less success. It was my first time being among people I didn't know well who were mustering the courage to present to others what was meaningful to them.

Last Saturday the big maple in the back yard was pollarded by Caitlyn Snyder, a young arborist who has her own company, Wise Wood Tree Care. I called her in because I could tell that the tree had been pollarded before and some of the huge new branches looked unstable. But I was surprised when she estimated that the work had probably been done about 15 years ago. I had thought it must have been at least 25 years because the branches were so big.
Watching her at work was fun. She was in the cage herself, manoeuvring it and cutting, either with a scythe-like saw or a chain saw. Two young men ran around gathering the limbs as she carefully let them drop and pulling them into the chipper. She arrived late because of unforeseen hitches but managed to cut the last branch just as the sun set.













The pollarded maple. It's quite stark, but as a result, I was able to get a spectacular view of the super moon on Sunday evening. I probably wouldn't have seen it through all the branches and I hadn't heard about it before seeing it.

Jay sent me this cartoon yesterday. It's the most succinct expression I've seen so far of the dilemma we live with in these days of Trump. I hope these days are numbered and it doesn't become the age of him because if it's just for a while we can learn a lot from it about wisely doubting all powerful people but if it goes on for too long we'll just get numb from the neck up.

It's 3:15pm, Sunday, November 26; the sun will set at exactly 4:00 today. It's already getting dark after a day that was sunnier than most we have had lately. At least it's been warmer this past week than it was in early November, and there's no snow on the ground. Unfortunately, there's not been much in the hills either.

I went Xcountry skiing with Miriam about ten days ago; conditions were perfect at Sovereign. I was surprised at first by how tentative I was because of my right knee, which remains capable of giving me eye-crossing shots of pain if it's bent and weight put on it. However, after a little while on an easy trail, I felt more confident and moved at a moderate pace that satisfied me. We went all around Sovereign Trail and Woodland Bell, the two easiest trails. It felt great. Yesterday was a different story. I went to Silver Star with Mo and John. The day was cool and dull; the conditions were icy. I skied a short way, realized that I could easily get out of control and turned back. Mo and John carried on but even Mo who's usually buoyant about all life in the Okanagan said it was the worst ski she's had since she moved here. The only good that came out of the day for me was that I was finally convinced to pursue Mo's suggestion, which she's been repeating for months, that I see her friend Avis, a retired physiotherapist. I spent a couple of hours with the latter yesterday morning and now have a regime, taping my knee and doing numerous squats with a pillow between my knees, that gives me hope at least of improvement. After years of criticizing my dad to his face and behind his back for doing nothing to try to improve his knees, I came perilously close to following in his footsteps; I use the cliche figuratively because ultimately he couldn't walk. I don't want that to happen to me but I sure have his stubborn tendency to just push on through and damn all medical intervention. And this after having been pulled back from immobility many times by physiotherapists and saved by a surgeon from melanoma. Incorrigible. I like to identify with the crow, but I think the donkey is more my kin.

Jay on the other hand is perhaps too willing to submit to interventions. Thinking to ease the pain in his neck and shoulder and give some work to a Filipino friend of May's who does massage, etc., he was having weekly treatments at home. After one of them he was in such pain he could hardly move his head. When he showed up for work in spite of it, the HR person insisted on driving him to the hospital where he was examined and given a CT scan. Fortunately, it showed no serious injury and he too is now doing the exercises recommend by a physiotherapist.

May arrived home safe on Friday from Manila. There is no satisfactory solution to the awful murder of her brother, but she did what she could and the family and friends gave him a good funeral which eased their pain a bit because finding his body, shoeless on the street was horrific.




May, in black and white, at her brother Dexter's funeral.

Some pain-Some gain

The new stove is snug in its spot in the kitchen, and I do mean snug. Jay came over last Saturday and did a lot of jobs that I hadn’t been able to do by myself, among them was fitting the stove into the counter. The opening was only about 1/4 inch narrow, so he didn’t want to attack the arborite with a saw; besides, we didn’t have one. But we did have time and hadn’t had a chat in a while so, after failing to get the sandpaper to adhere to Jim’s old circular sander, we set to sanding the opening by hand. It took ages, but after a certain point there was no changing plan. Finally, it almost went in, except for a *#~& inch or so. We had to pull it back out. That’s when I stupidly decided to help a strapping young man who easily could have managed it alone. I pulled and twisted at the same time. I’m not sure if I felt or heard the muscle tearing on the left side of my back, but I knew in an instant that for the first time in my life my dependable back had gone. Jay made me stop all work and continued alone to finish the job. It’s now in its place and so am I. At 71, with a bum knee, weak shoulders and a back that painfully reminds me of its presence with almost every move I make, Leonard Cohen’s words,”I ache in the places where I used to play,” have real meaning for me. I used to think that was just another example if his inspired wording.

Today is a warm, gray Saturday, and I am going to use the stove again to bake the cake for our celebration of Min Hee’s 18th birthday tomorrow. Jay, Jin and I will be running the show without May. She flew to Manila early this morning to join her family to mourn the death of her brother Dexter. He was shot to death in a Manila street last week. His life was not blameless, but no one deserves such an end. May and her brothers are going to do their best to find out what happened, but justice in the Philippines is not easy to obtain. At least the family will be together to remember their brother and son. Attention will be paid.

Today is Remembrance Day, and for the first time since I moved to Vernon I will not be at the ceremony, but I do remember.














Dad wearing his uniform as a navigator in the RCAF in WW2













I put together this picture of Min Hee, a beautiful woman with her whacky family, as part of my birthday gift to her. She will be 18, and in the Philippines that is the day when a girl becomes a woman.

Winter’s coming

Reporting from a Starbucks in Kelowna as I wait for Mazda to change the tires and in all other ways ready the car for winter. Oddly enough it’s one of the warmest days in over a week, 15c, but we’ve had cool wet days which have left snow on Terrace Mountain and Silver Star. Winters in the air. I bought my dual cross country pass last week. Before coming to Starbucks, I walked across the road from Kelowna Motors to Walmart to see what I’ve been missing by more or less boycotting it; bargains it seems. I bought a sports bra and chemise for $7.00 each and a big wiener for tomorrow’s end of the season Ramble and bbq for $1.48. I don’t expect much from the latter, but the former are made by Danskin which used to be a good name. “Am I right or am I left,” as the BFG or one of Roald Dahl’s creations used to say.
Now it’s Sunday, October 29, and I can report that the wiener from Walmart was as tasty as a wiener can be; especially when flavoured with cheese and jalapeño pepper. It was a beautiful day for a hike and I saw parts of Ellison Park that I had never been to before.
Vernon is not without culture either.
On Thursday this week I went to a play at the Powerhouse Theatre about a local artist, Sveva Caetani. Her aristocratic and eccentric familiy arrived in Vernon from Italy in 1922 and never left. Their huge house remains, not far from mine. They and it have nourished the imaginations of Vernonites ever since. The play itself was not exceptional, but sets, props and costumes were wonderfully artistic. I’m sure they would have satisfied Sveva.
I bought my tickets to and from Malaga last week, just hours before hearing on the news that the streets of Barcelona were full of jubilant Catalans celebrating the declaration of their independence from Spain. Of all the hot spots to avoid travelling to in the world these days, who would have thought Spain would rise to the top of the charts for even a day. But it did. It can’t stay there for long. Consider the competition. After living for over 30 years in Quebec, I have some idea of how long a nationalist pot can simmer, so I am more curious than nervous.
I put the yard to bed for the winter today. I’ve been working at it in slow stages this year because my knee still isn’t perfect. Will it ever be? I still haven’t been able to contact an arborist to cut down the rogue branches on the maple tree. My new stove was delivered this week but it didn’t quite fit into the space in the counter, so I baked Jin Hee’s birthday cake in a stove that was abandoned in the middle of the kitchen. Jay will fit it in when he gets a moment next week.
We had a very tasty Korean meal at Jay’s for Jin’s 15th birthday. May is a great cook. She’s mastered kimchi.




Jin Hee’s birthday dinner


And dessert


The last bike ride of the season

Same old, same old

Same old, same old and that ain’t all bad, not by a long shot. My little house is warm and safe. The friends I do the things I do with are still here , those who aren’t out of town, and we’re carrying on. Jay and his gang are well. Jay kept all the plants in the yard alive and only almost drowned one of the house plants. The kitchen stove is so close to death that I finally accepted the inevitable and bought a new one last week. That opening of the purse strings inspired another and another. Now I’m arranging to get the huge maple in the back yard cut back. It looks as if it was pollarded about 30 years ago and many of the new branches are like trees themselves, stretching precariously over fences and into neighbouring yards. I have arranged to have the gas stove and fireplace checked and serviced and the car’s fluids and tires changed for winter. The leaves are beginning to turn, and the days are so cool that on the last two hikes, after getting into a sweat on the uphill part I have been so cold during the lunch break that I have put on all the clothes in my pack for the walk back to the cars. Today we saw snow on Terrace Mountain so winter can’t be far off.

We had Thanksgiving dinner at Jay and May’s yesterday. I went over there at 2:00pm with my contributions. We worked together on the dinner, Jay, May and I that is. The girls did their girly things. We watched a movie, “The Dark Tower” starring Idris Elba, my hero from “The Wire”. Then we all gathered for a meal for which we were thankful.










Thanksgiving dinner








Dishes at sunset








Jin Hee fighting blackheads








Min Hee chilling

Walkerton and back west

I'm in the airport in Calgary waiting for the plane to Vernon and trying to stay calm after having just erased all the blog text and pictures I had put together in the Kitchener airport and on the plane here. It's a minor first world problem. I'm over it already. Things are put into perspective by the memory of the news story I read in the Kitchener airport about the earthquake that struck Mexico City a few hours ago, on the same day as the one that killed thousands there in 1985. Jim, Jay and I saw the devastation of that one as we drove in a taxi from the north bus station to the south one on our way to Cuernavaca in early January, 1986.

The last week of my trip east was spent in the lush green land of Brockton. I was especially impressed by the peaceful beauty of the place after having spent a couple of hours on my way there in and around Union Station in Toronto. It was under restoration with scaffolding, tarps and plywood everywhere, nowhere to eat and homeless people on the street, two men barefoot and sprawled on the sidewalk within a block of each other and a young woman further down leaning almost unconscious in the heat of the sun against a wall holding a sign that read, "homeless and pregnant."

Cathy and Brian met me at the Kitchener train station just before sunset. We drove to Walkerton through fields of corn and soy beans. While I was there we went to the Tara fall fair, a Mennonite market and an apple orchard. We took walks and drives. One day we drove to Kincardine for our traditional lunch there. Mark took me to an auction of trees and bee equipment and on the ATV to see his growing bee colony at the farm. The whole family gathered there one afternoon for dinner. I felt at home.

Now after leaving and returning to Vernon so many times I feel I'm going back where I come from, especially as Jay will be meeting me at the Kelowna airport in about five minutes.







A monarch on Cathy's butterfly plant





Mennonites at the tree and bee auction





Cathy with some of Dave and Dana's farm animals





Jen, Mark, Cathy, Leah, Dana and Brian at the family dinner





Mark with Emily and Evan at the apple orchard






Brian with Leah





Jay welcoming me back to the Smokanagan.

Back in the hood

Albert met Caroline and me at the airport, we drove home, changed and drove to Grounded, Gabe's restaurant to join Don and Mela and other guests who had been invited to sample the new dinner menu, four courses from four regions of Canada. Among other treats, I had the best land shank I have ever eaten.

I went home with Don and Mela and had a good visit with them, walking all around my favourite spots in Britannia, visiting, eating, having coffee with Margaux and generally feeling at home.

Mela, Caroline and I drove to the gathering of the WWW (now more wonderful than wild) at Cordula's. Her place is still a work of art, both inside and out and of course one of the wonderful things about the WWW is the food we all make. Come to think of it we still have wildly funny conversations and entertain each other thoroughly.

Mela and Caroline dropped me at Barb Steer's that evening and thus I discovered why Annick, wanting to let Barb tell her own story, had only hinted that the moral was don't wash your own windows. Barb's leg was much improved by the time I saw it but was still noticeably swollen and well bandaged. She had been going to wash a window, carrying a ladder through ferns at a corner of the house where she hadn't walked in years when one leg broke through the rotten wood cover of an abandoned well, slicing her leg to the bone. Needless to say, the rest of the story is gruesome and painful, but after days of going to the hospital three times a day for antibiotic injections all is improving. Our visit was less active than usual but the weather was good and I was happy to sit on her lawn watching the river, drinking wine and chatting. I did swim for about two minutes in the Gatineau and it was not too cold at all.

Barb drove me to Chelsea where Caroline and Albert picked me up for the last stage of my return with them. Perfect. We had long conversations; ate well, at home,at Grounded, the Trattoria and their local Pita Palace and visited the amazing Mosaic Garden, built to celebrate Canada 150. Caroline and I had long walks and went to her garden. Albert helped me with matters I appreciate being able to discuss with him and, being the generous guy with the good gear that he is, gave me the most powerful mini flashlight on the market; I have no doubt.

My last stop on the reconnecting tour was the traditional Sunday dinner with all the Baughans. We had a hot tub, the usual feast prepared by Caroline and a great visit. It's good to be able to get together as we do and pick up so quickly where we left off.

Now I'm on the VIA train to Toronto and on to Kitchener, where Cathy and Brian will pick me up. At the moment we're on time. MILAGROS.










Don's art work in their garden








Margaux and Mela in their kitchen








Barb's front yard








Caroline and Albert at Mosaic




Me at Mosaic

Newfoundland 4

Newfld. 4

Saturday, August 26, Bill's birthday, was a rainy day in St. John's and we went to The Rooms, Museum/Gallery. Above the main door was large sign remembering Beaumont Hamel, July 1, 1916. The 100th anniversary of this WW1 battle that took the lives of so many young Newfoundlanders has been a recurring theme of our trip. The Rooms turned out to be well worth the visit. I joined the tour of the Newfoundland art section where the guide introduced some works by Gerald Squires that impressed me so much that I went on to spend a lot of time in the section of the gallery devoted to a special show of his work. It was impressive.

On Sunday we drove to Trinity, settled into our new home there, cooked dinner and walked to The Rising Tide Theatre to watch a musical, 'The Nobleman's Wedding'. It wasn't my favourite but there was some good traditional music. We walked home using our flashlights, of which there were many in our house, but the most brilliant by far was the one Caroline had brought with her, bought on line by Albert, the guy who knows gear.

We woke on Monday to the haunting sound of a fog horn, but the weather was otherwise perfect for our hike along the Skerwink Trail. I had read about it when we first started planning the trip and was only mildly disappointed by the fact that we couldn't see the birds we could hear as we walked around the highest section of the trail. It's a beautiful hike and we did see some of the stone stacks at the beginning, including the Sentinel that Gerald Squires painted. After the hike we drove to Ellison, the root cellar capital of the world, to look at them and also the puffins, which are entertaining little birds. We got home in time for a rest before going to dinner at the Twine loft Restaurant, a part of the Artisan Inn where we were staying. We had chosen the late sitting, so around 8:00 pm we were dining on perfectly cooked cod followed by blueberry pudding with a buttery Screech sauce. Lit by wine and Caroline's flashlight, we walked the short distance home and fell into bed.

Tuesday we rose and enjoyed the beauty of Trinity, Trinity Bay. It's an ideal Newfoundland setting. We drove back to St John's for our last night. I was happily surprised to discover a sauna in our place. I took one and then we all went for our last supper on the Rock at the home of one of Barb's fellow pharmacists and his wife. What a couple. They were so generous and entertaining. We ate cod cheeks, cod tongues, perfectly fried cod with mashed potatoes, peas and corn, accompanied by white wine and great stories about politics, economics and general life in Newfoundland.

Wed., August 30, in the air again, leaving St. John's on a lovely afternoon. Caroline, Barb and I are flying to Ottawa. Soon after us, Cheryl and Stacey take off for Halifax to visit relatives. A body sure do get around these days.




The painting, The Sentinel, by Gerald Squires




The Sentinel as seen from the Skerwink Trail.




A church in Trinity, Trinity Bay.




A laundry line in Trinity. I think that even a housewife in Hull, Quebec in the 50s might not have been embarrassed to claim it.




Caroline and me at L'anse aux Meadows.




The four of us at L'anse aux Meadows




The five of us at dinner in Trinity, Trinity Bay.

Newfoundland 3

Newfoundland 3, Fri., August 25

Our bus arrived in St. John's after 10:00pm, about 45 min. late. It was a short taxi ride to our Airbnb, where we were met by Cheryl's daughter who had arrived before us. We were too tired to do anything but open all the windows, revel in the fresh air and fall asleep.
Thursday began with a slow morning, but once we started moving we did a lot. Barb and Cheryl picked up the rental van, we ate lunch and drove to Cape Spear, arriving just in time for the last tour. The guide was a shy young girl who knew a lot about the place; I hadn't known that the light on each lighthouse has its own unique flash interval so that sailors know not only that it's there but also which of the many it is. We walked around the site a bit and then drove to Signal Hill where we went into the Cabot Tower. Then three of us walked in a mighty wind to the Queen's Battery; Caroline didn't want to get blown into the ocean and Barb stayed with her. By the time we met up we were too hungry to cook so went out for dinner at St. John's Fish Exchange Kitchen and Wet Bar. Caroline and I had cod au gratin which was delicious and the best $3.00 side salad I've ever eaten.
Today we had another leisurely morning followed by a drive to the unfortunately named Blackhead Cove for a hike along part of the East Coast Trail, through tuckamore, over rocks along the shore, along boardwalks and back to Cape Spear. All along the way we were able to just bend over a bit, pick and eat the plumpest wild blueberries I've seen since I picked with the women in Lac St. Jean. It was great, the weather perfect. Then we shopped for the ingredients to make the chowder in the recipe book of the woman whose house this is. We doubled the recipe. It was delicious. We ate as much as we wanted and still have enough for at least one meal.
Cheryl caught a cold on the plane and Barb and Caroline now have it , so Stacey and I are the only ones who remain healthy.
It's raining tonight. I wish The Okanagan could get some of it. Jay told me last night that it remains hot and dry with a new fire just east of Kelowna.



Cabot Tower from the trail around Signal Hill



The Narrows leading into St. John's Harbour as seen from Signal Hill



The gang on the path just beyond Cape Spear Lighthouse



The fireplace in the original Cape Spear Lighthouse; it reminds me of the Rumsford fireplace in our first house.



The gang at Blackhead


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Newfoundland

We left our nest in Rocky Harbour and drove north along the west coast of Newfoundland to St. Anthony. For most of the drive the road was fringed by a narrow tangle of stunted, wind-swept spruce,alder, juniper and tamarack. The locals calls it Tuckmore. Beyond this on the left, the waters of the gulf stretched endlessly grey and on the right almost equally flat was a boggy land, some streams and ponds. The settlements were small and few, the houses also and mostly close to the shore, as were the cemeteries. Our main destination was L'anse aux Meadows. We also wanted to take a boat from St Anthony to see whales. The former was a complete success, the latter not.
Our guide at L'anse aux Meadows was an entertaining local who played on the mounds before they were first looked into by archeologists in the late 1960s, worked on the site after graduating from university in the 70s, was part of the crew that recovered the area in peat to preserve it, lives and builds boats within view of the site and works as a guide. Before and after the tour we wandered around in the wind. It was great.
The whale boat ride the next day started well too, wind and big swells. I was excited. We spotted a few blows and a large fin early, then the captain swung the boat around, a wave hit us broadside, some water poured in over the deck and I started to feel queasy. I made my way to the bow and stood gripping the rail until I knew I was going to hurl. I made it back to the head just in time and then returned to spend the rest of the two hour trip back on the bow wishing it were over. I slept for most of our drive back to Deer Lake before I felt stable again.
We had a good sleep in the Deer Lake Motel, returned the rented car to the airport, lugged our gear across the four lane highway to the big Irving's gas/transport truck/bus stop and are now heading to St. John's in a bus that even the woman who collects the money admits reeks of the room that is at the back for our convenience.


The flags flapping in the wind at the lighthouse where we watched the memorial show.




A reproduction of a house at L'anse aux Meadows that reminded me of the places described by Hannah Kent in "Burial Rites".




One of the memorial markers that are placed over each spot where indigenous peoples remains have been left.




The only picture I took on the ill fated whale watching trip.




My travelling companions waiting for the bus in Deer Lake, or is it Seoul?

Newfoundland

As it is a truth universally acknowledged that "a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife", so a widow with a sufficient income need not be in want of a husband. But a traveling companion can be an asset. I have recently discovered that a few good women fill this bill. Women are not likely to look lovingly at you and delight in the things you say, but they are quick to pitch in with cooking and cleaning and slow to anger when your navigational skills are wanting, or maybe there have been enough women on my recent trips so that I have not been needed to navigate. The trip to Wells Grey with seven other women for five days went very well and we four are having a great time in Newfoundland.

It's 12:23,Sunday, August 20, our first day of real rain, and we are each pursuing our own interests after eating a substantial sausage and egg breakfast made by Caroline. Barb and Caroline planned the Writers at Woody Point section of our holiday very well, and our place at Meeting Hill Cottages on the shore at Rocky Point has been easy to feel at home in. We shopped in Deer Lake before driving here and have made most of our meals. We were disappointed to find that there was no cod for sale in the area, but mussels are plentiful. We bought eight pounds of them from the shop at the dock. We'd asked for ten pounds but balked at the heft of the bag. They were our dinner that evening and we finished them off the next night with fish cakes we bought as 'take out' from a restaurant Caroline had heard of and chip wagon fries that I could not resist. Our meals have not been completely green free. Caroline brought beans from Barb's and her garden and we bought two boxes of salad greens.

Writers at Woody Point has been well worth attending. We began with "Up Close and Personal - Annie Proulx in conversation with Lisa Moore." It was wonderful. They discussed Annie's passion for reading, extensive research, interest in history and geology, love of nature, ability to create fascinating, dominatrix characters and writing sex. Lisa Moore was a bit more voluble on the latter topic than Annie Proulx. People who have been here many times in the festival's 14 years said this discussion was one of the best they had listened to. For the reading of her own work, Lisa chose two sections dealing with orgasm; the second was hilarious. I have read nothing by Lisa Moore but intend to soon. She was able to engage Annie Proulx in an animated conversation, and I don't think that would be easy because although she's a gifted writer, Annie Proulx seems reserved in conversation. People who attended her readings said she just came on stage, sat down, read and left. We have also heard readings by Eva Crocker, a young writer from Newfoundland whose work I will definitely follow. We also listened to an interesting conversation between Linden MacIntyre and Lawrence Hill. Last night's "Up Close and Personal" conversation with Angela Antle and Mary Walsh was wonderful. Mary Walsh really opened up and filled the room with hilarious reminiscences and stories. The whole evening was moving because the opening act was Tim Baker from 'Hey Rosetta'. I had never heard him before, and he admitted to not performing alone much but he captured the audience with his music and his absolute involvement in each song as he sang it. After, we went for a drink at the Legion, where most of the people from the festival gathered to talk loudly and dance. At midnight we caught the last ferry back to Rocky Harbour, sitting on the bow in the black, windy night.

Sunday was a slow starter, our first day of real rain, but not a complete loss. We drove to Lobster Cove Head Lighthouse arriving just in time to see 'The Memorial Show', honoring local men who fought in WW1. We sat in a tent that the wind howled around so fiercely it almost blew it off its pegs and listened to young actors read, sing and play music. It was moving. Then I went for a bracing walk along the shore. I love the wind in Newfoundland. We had a rousing evening, billed as a kitchen party, at a pub in Rocky Harbour. The man running the show had a great voice and knew how to get people up and dancing. I even played the spoons; I think I might have some talent.

Tablelands, one of our first walks. It's a vast area of rock that is totally different from all the other rock in the area because it was forced up from deep in the earth's mantle ages ago.











Cheryl, Caroline and Barb on the ferry from Norris Cove to Woody Point which we took to and from all events at the writers' festival.











Tablelands in the distance from Norris point.









Western Brook Pond from the boat. We walked in about 1.5 km over flat peat bog; much of the path was wooden sidewalk over wet areas. Then you board a boat and sail up what was a fiord but is landlocked fresh water now because since the ice from the last ice age finally receded from its mouth, the land has slowly risen, blocking the entrance from the sea.