I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible.

Charles Lamb said that. He was an English gentleman poet and a loyal brother to his sister, both of whom suffered from bouts of Melancholia. What a pretty word for depression.

It dawned on me about 2 years ago that if I fracture a bone, it will take me much much longer to heal than just 10 years ago. Once that sunk in, well hell, it freaked the crap outta’ me.

I remember the olden days ( did I just say that out loud?? ) when I was as nimble as a Gazelle.

As agile as a Cougar

And as sure footed, err, sure tailed as a spider monkey

 

Okay. Maybe not. Maybe I was never as nimble, agile and sure footed/tailed as I think I use to be. Whatever.

I remember leaping up onto counters to clean the top shelf, and bouncing down BOING! when finished. Now I seek out the step-stool and configure the whole procedure like an expert mountain climber.

I warily peer up at the top shelf, look down with trepidation at the step stool, and begin to formulate a master plan. Because, hey, people have been known to fall off 2 foot step stools and die.

Then I make a tea. And say out loud to myself in my bestest Scarlett voice, I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow. The dogs then look at me and sneer.

I bravely hike the 2 steps to the top of the stool ( hey, a person could fall off a step stool and break their necks and die you know! ) , tightly grab hold of the corner of the cabinet and gingerly pull myself up so I’m standing on the counter. All the while planning how and where to place my poor aged body when if I fall.

Finished with the hated chore, I look down and face the 128 million miles to the floor. I contort my body and stretch my leg out to meet the top step. All the while saying to myself * careful, c a r e f u l, c a a a a r e f u u u u l.

And then I party and make myself another tea.

Because I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible.

Know why? Because my first grandbaby is going to make his/her entrance in a couple of months…here’s the latest portrait of our wee perfect and precious darlin’

Treats! For me!

Yesterday was a bit of a drag. On our normal morning run, just a few minutes into it, Watcher whipped around a corner and spooked a flock of Junco’s. Henry, hot on Watcher’s trail couldn’t see the birds and ensuing panic of them, but he certainly sensed it, and felt it. The feeling part was when one of the Junco’s lost it’s freakin’ mind and flew directly under Henry’s chin.

The fear that overtook Henry was so intense, he flattened to the ground and shook. I kept walking, calling to him in a happy  * life’s a bowl of cherries *  voice. But nuh uh. He was not budging. Ticket went back to him, touched his nose and took off. That is normally enough to get him moving again. But not this time. So we all sat on the ground saying nothing. Just letting Henry catch his breath and mind.

10 minutes later we were off again. But all the way home Henry walked with a lowered body and with not nearly as much excitement. Ohhhh sonuvabitch. I was worried that this may develop into a serious fear of that stretch of our walk,. It happened before….he had the unfortunate luck of stepping into a mud filled hole that went up to his elbows. We now have to walk waaaaay around that spot.
Sometimes, there’s no convincing a blind dog the danger is no longer there. At least, this blind dog.
I left them all pooped out and headed down to the post office to collect the mail. My sleepy little town still has not progressed to door-to-door mail delivery. I kinda’ like it that way. At least a couple times a week I’ll run into people and we go for coffee or over to the park and yak for a bit. I’d miss those moments if we had postal delivery. :)

Anyway, while 9 times out of ten my mailbox contains flyers and bills, this time was different. Along with the aforementioned, It had a card letting me know there was a package waiting for me at the desk. With a big smile on my face I picked up my package and headed home.
Unwrapped the package and there on top was a really sweet card inside of an equally sweet organza *envelope*.



Digging through the sytrofoam chips I uncovered 3 bars of home made soap! All 3 bars wrapped in pretty paper, tied with pretty string. And each bar had a sticker with my initial. I immediately unwrapped a bar and washed my hands with it. :) Oooh la la, soooo soft….and nice bubbles!



Thank you to my friend Nancy for truly brightening my day! She has a super cool blog A Rural Journal , where she writes about her life on her 80 acre farm in eastern Nebraska. She has a couple of gorgeous German Shepherds, a whack of chickens, other fowl, a nasty rooster, a bunch of cats, the occasional few cows and a husband to attend to. Whew! I’d take her life in a heartbeat. Except for the husband. Oh, and she takes awesome photographs of all of the above as well as being a craft wizard. Yep, I want her life and her many artistic talents.

Good things continued on in the day. On our afternoon walk, Henry trotted calmly past the horrific-junco-experience stretch of the walk as if nothing happened. YAY!!
Has any of your dogs experienced a fear they just could not get past? Or one that took ages to overcome in the end?

Hope you all have a great weekend! It’s supposed to be rainy and sunny here, which is great…better than rain all weekend.

Bill Robinson and his Camp Defiance

Bill Robinson. He was a miner, a trapper, a carpenter….well more than a simple carpenter, I guess an engineer of sorts, because he planned his home, and built it, fisherman,gardener and a fellow creature of all things nature.

I have searched and searched, dug through web archives and physical archives and have only a small bit of the man’s life. And that bit only tells of his existence at 22 Mile. 

21 Mile is a point that is literally, 21 miles from Hope. That is where Bill Robinson carved a homestead out of the forest right smack dab beside the Sumallo River. The Sumallo winds alongside the Crowsnest Hwy and is quite beautiful all on its own. The river is many miles long, but resembles a creek as it is on average 12 feet across and has many bends and turns in it. It is one of the many narrow rivers close by that are consistently being fished for it’s multitudes of Trout. Mmmmm, pan fried trout…

Bill Robinson named his homestead Camp Defiance. He built his cabin, a second smaller cabin and a cook house/storage shed, all from the forest around him.

A man after my heart.

I wonder what he thought when he realized that the Hope Princeton highway aka Crowsnest Hwy, aka #3 Hwy, was going to be built meters from his home in 1949. Here is a link with a bit of information, some very cool older photographs of Bill, his friends, his Camp Defiance and some beautiful watercolour paintings: Camp Defiance 

I grabbed Kelsie and we drove up the highway to snag some photos and do some planning. When the snow is gone, and it’s a bit warmer we are going to cross the creek and go exploring on Bill’s old homestead. Maybe even camp there for a night or two!

After driving this highway hundreds of times, we noticed something neither of us had before. Was it the remnant of an old stone chimney, or a monument of sorts? I don’t know, but am determined to find out!

 

A few blocks from home we stopped on the banks of the Coquihalla River to suck in some of the sun straining through the clouds. It was a vast difference from the grey and pissy days we’ve had of late.

More heart rocks…

Don’t forget about the super duper Full Moon tomorrow night! And enjoy your weekend!

Girls Day

Ticket, I, Kelsie and her daughter Brianne spent a bit of time at the river today. It was yet another grey and sometimes pissy day, only saved by the color Brianne’s boots. Her coat brightened it up as well, but the boots. Ohhhh, the boots.

I want a pair.

Ticket, very impatiently waiting for Brianne to * throwthedamnstick*

 

I wonder if she’s happy?

This and That

I was surfing one day and came across a web site that has to do with heart rocks. They were requesting other people’s stories of their own heart rocks, so I obliged by sending them my story of the first heart rocks I happened across. You can read it here at THE HEART ROCK COLLECTIVE

Daylight Savings began today.

An extra hour of daylight….well thanks! Who can’t use an extra hour of light? After the short and sometimes grey days of winter, this is a welcome change. I’m taking full advantage of the extra hour this spring. A fence and a long narrow garden box need to be built, a whack of scrub and 3 trees need to be eradicated, and a fair amount of tree branches need to be trimmed. Sounds great to me! The best thing is that I can do it at my leisure. It doesn’t all need to be done in a day…although I would love it to happen like that!

Made the last batch of winter suet for the birds yesterday.

This little guy got caught with a mouthful of suet, he looks angry!

The snow is basically all gone now, the grubs are plentiful. I found that out yesterday moving a chunk of fallen tree….they came skittering out. *shudder* I’ll keep putting out the dry commercial bird seed mixed with black oil sunflower seeds for another month or so. Then it’s over for those beggars, and onto cleaning out Hummingbird feeders. I forgot one hanging off a branch this past winter…it froze and cracked in a billion pieces. I never seem to come across them in thrift shops or garage sales, so I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a decent one on sale.

These videos cracked me up. Hope you get a few giggles too!

 

Don’t Piss Off Smokey!

Every time a Tsunami hits anywhere, all of B.C….well at least the people living close to the shores….begin to sweat. Questions and accusations are peppered at the city officials. “Why aren’t all the buildings up to Tsunami/earthquake code”, “Well what are you doing about it then”…when the answer is inevitably No.

The largest recorded Tsunami hit Lituya Bay, Alaska in 1958. It was a whopping 1720 feet tall wave. That’s just under 5 football fields in lengths.

If it ever does hit the shores of the southern west coast of B.C., there isn’t a whole lot people can do. Hang on? Instead of down at 0 ft. sea level, I’m at 152 ft above.

Where I’m at, I’m not worried about a Tsunami. The biggest natural disaster that scares the crap outta’ me is a fire.

In the spring and summer everyone that lives surrounded by forested areas sweats a little. Then, when the tourists start rolling through, camping in the midst of dry timber with all the campfires going, that gets even more stressful.  Every August for years now, the Ministry of Forests places a ban on all camping fires. A bummer for the campers who are looking forward to roasting the mallows and weenies, but a teeny tiny bit less stressful for those of us who live year round in these areas.

But as always happens, there are always a few people that think that law does not apply to them. That’s when we get serious here and sic Smokey on them.

But seriously…..