An unexpected Trip

Originally posted on Multiply May 2 2009

The famous Spirit of Haida Gwaii, at Vancouver Airport.

My dear mother just died, as unexpectedly as that can be at age 93. I will do a post on her another time, when I have access to my own computer with pictures.
She was a frequent visitor to our land and loved it here.

Right now I am at my sister's place in Holland for the funeral. So here are some travel pictures.


The last time I flew was 5 years ago, things have changed since then! E-tickets and automated check-ins where you can even pick out a favorite seat. I remain a sucker for window seats.

On the way to the first plane I had the privilege of meeting Ebeda, the shoeshine lady from Somalia. She works 7 days a week to support family in Africa. Foot massages are for ladies only. She started with her spiel on the importance of relaxed feet, lol. Preaching to the choir! I didn't have enough time to take her up on her offer, but there was a brief lull after my shoes were shined and she allowed me to massage her hands and show her where the reflex to the spine is on the hands, so she can relieve her own back aches. We parted with a big hug. A truly inspiring human being. Her religion forbids taking pictures, or she'd get a place of honor here.


Got a window seat on both planes ( For some weird reason it was cheaper to fly over Minneapolis) but alas, the joy was brief. It was hazy right away. That's Stanley Park below.

And here are the Gulf Islands, a truly paradisical place.

Then the cloud rolled in, just about solid till we got to Minneapolis. It was sodden there, and the trees were just as late as at home.

The coast of East Anglia, looking lovely and inviting in the early morning light. Almost there.

The Dutch coast. It must be near IJmuiden, you can see the blast furnaces and the North sea canal in the background.

Some typical Dutch landscapes.

Amazingly they manage to maintain some open landscape spaces. Get this: the place is the size of Vancouver Island, more or less, and these days it holds about 17 million people. We were glad to leave it 40 years ago, when the population was about 13 million.

Any remaining beauty is thanks to rigorous and necessary planning. If the Dutch claimed the same freedom to build helter-skelter depending on which developer gets hold of a piece of land the place would be one big ugly strip mall. The curtailing of some individual rights is the price one pays for maintaining open public spaces that are as pleasant as possible.

Sometime during the flight the captain mentioned that we would arrive on Koninginne dag, Queen's Day. The present queen's birthday is January 31. Beatrix wisely decided that most people would prefer their day off on her mother's birthday, April 30..

Now in my Dutch days April 30th was a nice day, with some parades, some fleamarkets, but not the zoo it has since become, with multitudes dressed up in orange paraphernalia. Apparently it has become a huge party day.

My sister met me at the airport, bless her. From there the train took us straight through Amsterdam. I may never come here again at this time of year  and was feeling remarkably chipper, so we decided to stop over in the city, leave the bags in a locker in Central Station, and take in the party atmosphere.
For security reasons the lockers were closed that day. We shlepped ourselves to the terrace on the water just across the station, bags and all, enjoyed the sun and the atmosphere for a good half hour, and then decided that the loud, garbage strewing, drinking mobs were too much. By now it I was fading fast.

Coming out of Grand Central Station used to be a joyous moment. The city opened up its lovely heart right there. The last time I was disappointed because there was construction going on, and visibility was obscured. It has become WORSE. What a disgusting mess. Let's hope the new South Line of the metro is worth it in the end. At the North side, where the harbor is, the plan is to create a big bus station and a pedestrian/cyclists only boulevard, that should be fun.

Once we got to Margreet's home in Hilversum we found out about the events in Apeldoorn, where some disturbed individual had driven a car into the mob, aiming for the open bus with the royals, and turned a festive day into national shock. It is impossible to protect against that sort of thing!

An Equinox Land Walk

Disclaimer: I did this for my own records. No artistic merit, it may be very boring.

These pictures were all taken on a walk on the first day of spring last year. This year it is all still covered with 2 feet of snow/slush. YUCK! Last year the snow was about halfway gone and it was easy to walk everywhere. The top is somewhere below the trailer, on the way to the spot below. It is amazing how many micro-climates one small 10 acre patch can have!

The next picture shows the first area of the land to become snow-free. It faces more or less South and lies between the road and the old-growth mini-grove that we call the Magic Spot. You can see snow still covering the flatter space near the road.

TThe heart of the magic spot. These trees were there when we bought the place, which was otherwise a neglected hay field. Look up, way up, to see the tree tops. I couldn't do them justice.

Pipsissewa, one of the many healing herbs on the land, on the sheltered slope of the special spot. After 3 or 4 months of not seeing the bare ground the sight of any plant is exciting.

Just behind the trailer, our dwelling for the last 21 years. Looking up the slope towards the old log house and the fenced vegetable garden.

The trailer seen from the top edge of the magic spot.

Deer tracks on the shady side of the Magic Spot, still in deep snow.

Coming up the slope towards the old house and the garden. The garden is in a tiny dip, so it takes a bit longer to get snow-free in spring. But on the plus side, it retains water better in dry summers. We only have a shallow well, and we can't just turn the taps on willy nilly.

Remembering Beth

Many of you have been drinking green beer and making friends with leprechauns today. Enjoy!

To me March 17 is, or rather was, above all the birthday of my friend Beth, gardener and political activist extraordinaire. 
She is so present in my gardens. The plants that remind me of her most are the old fashioned primrose and the red Russian kale. Like Beth herself they are hardy, generous beings. Every year I give some of those away, always with the reminder to plant and enjoy them in Beth's name.

In her day Beth had been not just nice looking but a raving beauty. I stole the picture below from the Facebook page of her daughter Karma, who is doing a brilliant job of succeeding her mother as the family matriarch.

Beth died a few days after her birthday in 2007, aged 68. She is dreadfully missed, but she packed more living into her 68 years than most others do in 98.

Seriously: if you live to be 100, and 40 of those years have been spent in a cubicle waiting for the weekend, can you call that living to be 100?


Most of our times together were spent in her gardens, or marching for various good causes. We saw each other most in the nineties, when a home support assignment took me to her neighborhood about 10 Km from my place once a week.
I was working with a mentally handicapped man. We were supposed to find something to do that might qualify as a job, so he could get some extra pension. In summer we spent Friday afternoons tidying up walk ways and camp sites at Summit Lake Park, just past Beth's place. It was wonderful!

After work we'd stop for a visit and a cuppa. Beth and I would walk her blooming property and exchange garden talk, while Joe contentedly puffed on Beth's cigarettes. I sincerely believe those times were among the happiest in Joe's life.

There were even a few Septembers when the park was closed, but the winter job hadn't started yet. We got work at Beth's farm, mainly digging out the goat manure and pruning the raspberries. Note the sturdy support system, vastly superior to my ramshackle contraptions. Beth was a self sufficient handy mountain woman.

Once I retired from Home Support in 2000 our paths didn't cross as much. Beth was living close to the edge and would never casually hop into a car to waste time socializing. I lived without a car for 7 years. We did make it t0 the garlic fest together, as witnessed by this newspaper clipping.

 We also marched together in protest before the start of the Iraq war. 

And our paths always crossed on Saturday at the farmers market, which Beth had started. Her children had a memorial bench placed under the tree where her booth used to be.

When she died I wrote this for the local papers. Many people commented on how well it captured Beth.

Celebrating Beth James
The mother of the Nakusp farmers market has left us. Beth James just died.

Apart from her grieving family and friends Beth leaves behind the legacy of the market, some rather spoiled goats, and an incredibly fertile piece of Earth.

Summit Lake is not exactly prime agricultural land, but thanks to Beth’s passionate care, backbreaking labor and plenty of goat manure her small stony acreage bloomed and produced like the finest Fraser Valley farmland.

Passionate is the first word that comes to mind when I think of Beth. Passion and compassion. Beth cared about all creatures great and small.
In body she never strayed far from the farm. Being the sole caretaker of milking animals will do that to you. But she had traveled extensively in her youth, and her intellectual scope was huge. In her mind Beth went everywhere under the Sun and beyond it and had strong well-informed opinions on anything she encountered.



Beth was both a proud patriotic Canadian and a true citizen of the world. She was acutely aware of the terrible injustices that occur on this planet and they made her furious. This ironic poster hung in the bathroom. The text reads: Is your washroom breeding Bolsheviks? Unreadable here, beneath, if memory serves: If not, you are not providing the right reading material. How about a subscription to Mother Jones?

According to Western standards Beth may have been poor, but those were not the standards she set for herself. She did not compare herself  to people with big houses and shiny cars, but to the wretched of the earth. So she lived mainly in gratitude, knowing that anyone living in Southern B.C. on her own piece of land is fortunate indeed.

The market will not be the same without Beth.
She never charged enough for her quality homemade products. Last summer I tried to talk her into raising the price for her goat cottage cheese. She was selling it for about half the usual price. Said Beth: “Oh, I always think, as long as everyone gets dinner”.

Ways to honor Beth’s memory:

Be good to your planet.

Count your blessings and give thanks daily.


Share your abundance.

Beth, we miss you. Thanks for sharing parts of this Earth round with us.

A City Mostly Nature

We are going to visit our brilliant daughter (she has a science PhD) at the coast tomorrow. She likes her privacy and does not want to be blogged about, so she will be mentioned as DD and there are no bragging pictures. Alas, the weather will turn to RAIN just in time for our visit.

Since it won't be good weather for pictures here are some I took last August. Whenever we visit the Vancouver area I understand why so many people want to live there. It is just gorgeous.

No matter where you are, you can lift your eyes and see beauty. OK, you may have to walk a few blocks. But even from the depressed East Hastings neighborhood the beach is only a bus ride away.

DD is in a satellite community, not Vancouver city. She has a community garden plot and even the walk to it from her apartment is pleasant. Blackberry bushes are everywhere! This area borders on a linear park that contains a salmon bearing stream, so there is no spraying. Organic fruit free for the picking.

The creek. It feels like the forest primeval, yet a 5 minute walk takes you back to the suburban streets.

Chris and I often take skytrain downtown. I love sky train! They come every five minutes and are wheelchair accessible. Not that we need that, but it is a nice touch. We started going the long way around, so we don't have to change trains and can just enjoy the tour. This is taken from the skytrain. The Fraser River near Westminster is a working river, with a lot of industrial bustle.

In its final stretch the mighty Fraser takes its time getting to the Pacific, leisurely dividing itself into a number of channels. Vancouver is a city of bridges.

The beach at English Bay! I just love that place. It is all there: a working harbor with real freighters in the distance, a sandy beach with gorgeous mountains and water clean enough (most of the time) for swimming, and a lively downtown right around the corner. Total travel time from DD's place in Burnaby about an hour. Walk 10 minutes from home to skytrain, two blocks between skytrain and bus. Sometimes we walk the bus part. It takes us through the liveliest part of the West End, a perfect city fix.

Vancouver, what's not to love.

Canada Reads

A shot from our local book-club, a wonderful group of smart and funny women ranging from late 40s to 80. We don't all read the same book, we just bring whatever we happen to be reading at the time. This is a great way to learn about books one otherwise would not pick up.

We meet once a month from 10-12 in the local library, which FINALLY got its much needed expansion. It has become a spacious place with a huge children's section, videos and audiobooks, and quiet corners for reading magazines or going online. For such a small town the selection is outstanding.

The book bunch goes for lunch afterwards, which is the highlight of my social life. Yes, I lead a sheltered life. A little bit of going out goes a long way.

"Canada Reads" is an annual sort-of contest on CBC radio. Five sort-of celebrities each pick a book that they think everyone in the country should read. They each get a moment on radio to talk about their pick, and all get together in vigorous debate to whittle the final selection down.

I looked at the selection this year and did not feel that attracted to any of them. Slavery, who wants to go there? But Marg, the club member in the blue shirt, insisted that The Book of Negroes was an uplifting, rather than a depressing read, and she was right.

"Fruit", another Canada Reads pick, was indeed a quick fun read, so with 2 down, 3 more to go I decided to read the other 3. Just for the H of it, I will write reviews of each.

Remember: Libraries get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no libraries!

The leeks are showing!

I know, only a true fanatic can get excited about this. But I didn't expect my leeks to show the first sign of above-ground life for another week, and by golly, here they are only a week after being planted. I seeded them sparingly, just one or two seeds in each little square. I will be experimenting with the Square Foot Gardening method this year. (http://squarefootgardening.com)

Today I started 3 kinds of tomatoes, green peppers and parsley. We had some fresh snow but most of the day is above freezing. The great melt has started! March is a popular time for people who can afford it to take a quick trip to Vegas or other sunny spot. I can so see why!

No money? try Barter!

The small Interior towns of B.C. are getting clobbered by the economy and by a government that ignores us, except when it makes useless regulations that limit self-sufficiency. Like outlawing small-scale butchering which limits on-farm meat sales.

It will take a lot of ingenuity to keep the villages going. All government attention is on the (expletive deleted) 2010 Winter Olympics that are costing, surprise! more than expected. Isn't it time to give those games a permanent home somewhere and stop beggaring local populations in an endless game of one-upmanship? We digress.

Some good things are happening: people are coming together in unexpected ways to pool resources.

Coming Sunday we are having the fourth monthly community potluck. I missed the first 2 for various reasons, and walked in halfway the third. We'll be there with bells on for the next one.

Consider it an exercise in practical imagination. Much as we all love money, when all is said and done it is only a means of exchange: a way to keep track of promises we make each other.

Our area is rich in natural resources and skills. Lack of money should be no reason to stop exploiting the resources and exchanging the services.

As a way of getting ready for the meeting I am asking the following questions. Fill in your own blanks.

________ will get you through times of no money

better than

money will get you through times of no________

Examples: Libraries. Health. (which includes access to clean water and air, and good food.)

What is your ____ and how can you get it when money is scarce?

I for one am happy to barter my skills as a Reflexologist and my powerful home-grown organic herbal tinctures.

These are interesting times indeed.

Writing on Stone Provincial Park

This amazing place is in the Milk River valley on the border between Alberta and Montana. This part of the river is in Alberta, but the hills in the background are the Sweetgrass Hills, across the line in Montana.
We stumbled on Writing on Stone park for the first time during a short prairie trip in late summer of 1998.
We had been to Waterton National Park. Some of you may know it as the Northern part of Glacier National Park. Grizzly bears don't care that the 49th parallel forms the border between two nations. Many people on both sides don't care much either and cross merrily back and forth, though that changed after you-know-which date. But we digress.
Our destination was the intriguing Cypress Hills on the border of Alberta and Saskatchewan. Seeing a provincial park on the map we decided to take a peek, it was on the way.
As always we choose the road less traveled, the Soutern-most route. It is a dusty lonely road through largely deserted ranchland. Signs of rural decline abound. Originally this was shortgrass prairie. This land is a more intimidating sort of wilderness than the woods and mountains we are used to. In our part of B.C. water is plentiful, and anyone with a few tools would find the raw materials for shelter.
On the bald open prairy water is scarce and there is little shade or shelter from the wind. Travelers get the full blast of whatever Mother Nature wants to dish out. On this late August day that was blazing heat. We had no air conditioning and the car was swelteringly hot.We had left the mountain views behind and were traveling through an almost empty landscape on a road that was barely on the map, roughly skirting the river and the border. This picture was taken elsewhere in the Palliser region on a later trip, but it gives a good idea.
Finally we came to the town of Milk River and from there we could see, to our surprise, the far silhouette of a mountain. We didn't know of any ranges between the Rockies and the ancient Cypress Hills.
The Sweetgrass Hills are just across the border in Montana and liven up the skyline for a huge portion of Southern Alberta.
We got to Writing on Stone around 2 PM, and found an oasis of sweet cool shade among huge cottonwood trees. That was it, we were done traveling for the day! There was even a nice sandy beach where local people came to swim, or rather frolick, in the lukewarm river. Chris stayed in the shade by the tent while I had a blast playing in the current. Alas, I was recovering from a broken ankle that year and couldn't take part in the guided tour of the petroglyphs. We did take a short self-guided tour.
What I most remember is the berries. I am pretty sure they are Buffalo Berries, but I am not sure. They grow on thorny silvery bushes, taste tart, and give you an amazing uplift that goes far beyond a bit of quenched thirst. I wondered if they are Canada's version of the Goji berry.
You don't have to be a medium to feel the spirits of those who lived here in this sacred place.
http://www.uleth.ca/vft/milkriver/native.html
http://www.cypresshills.com/index.php?id=2
http://www.eidnet.org/local/grassland/gallery.htm

Growing up Locavore in the Fifties

In case the word doesn't explain itself, a Locavore is someone who tries to eat locally.

It makes perfect sense for many so reasons. As good old semi-hippies we have been onto this one for a long time, but it sure is nice to see the idea go mainstream. There is hope for this world yet!

I just read ''Animal, Vegetable, Miracle", by Barbara Kingsolver, who is one of my all-time favorite writers. The book describes Barbara's move to the farm in Virginia and the family's efforts to live more or less strictly on local food for the year. They grow a lot of their own.

This was sent to the website, http:// animalvegetablemiracle.com.

Growing Up Locavore in the Fifties

During my childhood in post-war Holland eating with the seasons was still the normal way of life.


I'd say produce was 90% local. There was a band of market gardens, many with greenhouses, surrounding Amsterdam. They got paved over when the city expanded in the mid fifties.


Shopping for bread, milk and produce was done daily, at specialized stores or by home delivery. Most people did not own a fridge or a car and there were no supermarkets. Mothers were at home, whether they enjoyed it or not. Mine didn't, but that is a whole other topic.



Winter was the time for fat winter carrots, Brussel's sprouts, witloof, various cabbages, leeks, onions, endive, and kale. Sourkraut, liberally spiced with juniper berries, was scooped up fresh from the vat at the greengrocer's.


Vegetables like fresh lettuce, cauliflower, green beans, broad beans, had to wait for spring and summer.
First would come the more expensive greenhouse crop, which my frugal mother might serve on a Sunday, but certainly not during the week. A few weeks later we would come to the main season, when green snap beans or cauliflower would be available "van de kouwe grond", literally "from the cold ground".


I didn't mention potatoes, because they went without saying. If you asked mother what was for dinner, the answer would be the vegetable of that day. Potatoes with jus, made with the Sunday meat and stretched with Blue Band margarine (yuck, in retrospect) to last all week, were always on the table. Protein was meat only on Sunday.


On weekdays the protein might be an egg, or a slice of blood sausage, a tiny piece of smoked sausage, or fish, or it might be missing altogether. We got plenty of cheese at other meals and were in no danger of kwashiorkor.


Delicacies like strawberries, raspberries, cherries and red currants were all available for a brief but much prized season only. My birthday is in July. Never mind cake, the special treat was always a tall glass with various soft red fruits layered with vanilla ice-cream and whipped cream.


Broccoli, zucchini and green peppers were still unknown, garlic frowned upon and generally disliked. I remember my grandparents returning from a bus tour to Austria with a bunch of garlicky sausage. It was declared to be inedible.


During the sixties the place became more cosmopolitan. These days Dutch supermarkets have the usual assortment of everything, from everywhere, all the time.


However, when I became a gardener in Canada I went back to eating with the seasons, because it just makes sense!


One of my favorite crops is KALE. It gives us the first tender greens in spring, the last fresh food in fall, and its abundance feeds chickens as well.


I was incredibly proud when a Vancouver food writer described my garden as "the mother of all kale gardens".

The rogue mother of all vinegars

Making herbal concoctions, usually tinctures, is one of my passions.

Usually I use Smirnoff 50% wodka, but for this batch of fall-dug Dandelion root I choose organic unpasteurized Apple Cider Vinegar, or ACV. A squirt of it makes a nice winter drink mixed with honey and hot water. ACV tinctures only lasts a year, but it is cheap and it has all sorts of health benefits as well.

Live vinegar still has some strands of Mother of Vinegar in it. That's fine.

But this mother went absolutely nuts on the Inulin, the precious sugar compound that is to the Dandelion what fat is to a bear. It helps it get through winter. Last year when I didn't wait as long to decant the tincture the Inulin showed up as a nice white layer at the bottom of the jar.

Inulin is not digested in the small intestine, so if all is well it makes it into your colon, where it becomes food for good bacteria like bifidus. That is known as a Pre-biotic. Food for the good wee beasties, the Pro-biotics.

If you are severely depleted in intestinal flora it may give you gas.

Anyway, look what this crazy Mother did. It ate most of the Inulin, and grew to monstrous size. You could peel layers off, a lot like a Kombucha culture.

Is it good for anything? Apart from making more vinegar, which doesn't interest me.

The Joy of Farmers' markets (again and more)

Guess what: I just got my first batch of SEEDS in! Can spring be far behind? Actually it can, but I am chomping at the bit to get started. As soon as the Moon is past full the first seeds will go into their baby pots. Leeks take forever and are quite demanding, so they need a good long headstart.

I have big plans this year, not only for my own use but also for the farmers market. We had a shortage of vegetable bedding plants last year, so this year I'll start some extra for sale. The weekly market is the highlight of my life in summer. I started going with my Amazon Rainforest business, and brought a few plants along. To make a long story short, the plants took over. Last year I started doing Reflexology demonstrations as well, a dollar a minute. It was a big hit on warm days! The picture above has been posted before. It is a few years old, when I still had the Amazon business and would pour samples of Rainforest Treasure Tea. For the record: I did not quit the business, the Canadian government made things too hard for the company. I am still choked about it.
This is the ancient Subaru that I used to call the Silver Wreck, but have recently started to call Survivor. My husband's tender handling and sheer willpower has kept it going well beyond its expected lifespan. It is used mainly to take plants to the market and garbage to the dump, and as extra vehicle for Chris in case I am off with the good car.

Detail. It truly is a miracle the thing is still going.








Chris starting on the canopy. It is old, but still perfectly fine. Next year I might get one of those easy things that just unfold. It is really nice to have help in getting the booth up and ready to go.

No matter how early you start, some "early birds" will be running around trying to beat everyone to eggs, fresh bread or tomato plants.The market is underneath some glorious big Acacia trees. This is what you see in June when you look straight up. The smell is incredible. I heard that the trees were planted by returning WWI veterans, who had gathered seeds at the Champs Elysées. I would have to check with our local historian, but doesn't it make a great story?

The market on a busy summer morning. People come and hang out. It is getting busier all the time!

The booth of my best market buddy. Colette is a market onto herself. She has plants, produce, bread, relishes, hand-made crafts ranging from Moon pads to juggling sticks and gorgeous baskets, massage lotions, you name it. Our lines overlap but we are always helping each other out. The whole market is like that. We all try to help each other. I love it, and I can hardly wait till we get going again on the Victoria Day weekend!!

City of my heart

Some of my Dutch pictures. I have not the slightest desire to return there to live. But Amsterdam will always tug at my heartstrings. I was happy there in my early twenties.

My family of origin is all in the Netherlands, so I have made regular visits back.

Amsterdam was a very different town back in the sixties. The place has always been liberal, and the red-light district in the "walletjes" has been there for ages. But the walk from Grand Central Station to Dam square was not an assault on the senses with ugly blaring blatant sex ads everywhere.

The Jordaan, now a gentrified prize location, was still a working class neighborhood, albeit with a sprinkling of students and artists.

I'll do more another time, but I just had to post these pictures I found on the "miscellaneous"CD that was made from old regular negatives.

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Happy Obama Day!

Just a quicky note to congratulate all my American friends on a peaceful transition of power. So much for all the conspiracy doom sayers who were predicting martial law etc by now.

We were glued to the TV, watching history in the making.

There is hope for the world!

Wasted time, and some gelo-therapy

I am really ticked off.

I spent several hours on a thoughtful essay on the definition of racism. One of those rare times when I don't just dash it off, but actually polish the style, move blocks of texts around, decide a big chunk should become an essay of its own, and so on.

Just before the end I got tired of it and stuck it in Draft. And decided to do a little fluff piece, started on it, but didn't feel like getting the camera for the picture that was part of it, and stuck it in Draft too.

It turns out you cannot do that. Only the fluff piece remains. DAMN.

But I did get a chance to do a bit of blog visiting, and a friend's religious jokes prompted me to finally post this one. It cracks me up every time I tell it.

Some Gelo-Therapy*

*Healing through humor. Taking ourselves too

seriously is the cause of much suffering.

Saint Peter has been manning the Pearly Gates for

many centuries, and the novelty has worn off.

He goes to see Management and says: “I really need

a break. Any chance Junior here could fill in for

me for a while?“ Jesus being the good sort that

He is agrees to take over and reports for training.

“It’s pretty straightforward”, says Peter. “We have

all the records in this big Akashic filing system here.

All you have to do is ask who they are, the rest is

on automatic Karma pilot.”

And so it proves to be. All is well till a dignified

elderly man with handsome Mediterranean features

shuffles forward.

“I can’t remember my name” says he. “The whole

recent past is a bit fuzzy. But I do remember this:

“I worked with wood.

I had a son who became very famous.

My son taught many people important moral lessons…”

Taken aback, Jesus looks into the old man’s eyes.

“DAD??” he asks.

And the old man replies:

carefully crafted pause.....

“Pinocchio?”

Snowy heroism

We finally got CABLE!!! Yeeha!! The router connection seems to flicker on or off a lot, I will have this machine hard-wired soon. That means a bunch of ugly wire strung along the ceiling from the living room to this back bedroom, but it will be worth it. This is an old trailer anyway, not exactly Martha Steward or Colin and Justin territory.

Anyway......It has been snowing. And snowing some more. For almost a month now.
Husband Chris has been doing a heroic job keeping the driveway and parking space clear. Today we are expecting a professional with a machine, only the second time this year. It was insane yesterday. It snowed the way it rains near Vancouver: there is less space between the drops there. Then it got too warm and wet, heart attack snow.
So, with the new ability to post pictures quickly, here are some pictures of the man at work.
He has it down to a fine art. Goes out for a half hour, comes back in to rest for an while, and so on. Scoop it, push it around, pile it on top of an ever-growing pile.... and start all over again. I would feel guilty if it were not for the fact that I do 90% of the outside work in summer. That is a choice, I live to garden. But still. Anyhow, it sure is nice to not have to worry about snow removal, and I appreciate it!