roadside attraction

Some people stop to smell the roses.

One of my favourite things to do when the stars align (ie. when I'm alone in my car, am not rushing to be somewhere, and have my camera at hand) is to stop to pet the livestock.

I was busy being nuzzled by one horse, when the thunder of hooves made me look up to see this fellow coming to check out this stranger in a toque.

 With much whuffling and snorting, he greeted his fellow-horse, and called the small herd of highland cows that were resting nearby to attention.

 (I need a bumper sticker that reads, "I Brake For Highland Cows"). The horse started interacting a little more feistily, so the cows decided to wander off to whiter pastures. They were kind enough to stop and pose for me.

 Then the horses went all wild-west on me, rearing up, hoofing at each other (is this a verb?), alternately pooping and sniffing each others' poop.

In the Ottawa Valley, this is what we call a Roadside Attraction.

Fair Time

Things change slowly in a small town. Traditions get passed down year by year, so that when I attend annual events with my children, things don't seem too different from when I myself attended as a child.

The Cobden Fair will take place over the weekend of August 26-28. I know who will work the gates; the man who wraps the plastic bracelet around my wrist did it when I was 14. The kiosks selling airbrushed unicorn t-shirts and coloured feather roach clips will be set up beside the stage where step dancers and country singers will perform all weekend.

The Searson sisters, who went to high school with my husband!

The Centennial Hall will boast a farmers'/crafters' market, and we'll stop by for an ice cream at some point. The Curling Rink will hold the exhibits of garden flowers and vegetables, quilts, preserves, knitting, photography, and so on. We'll seek out the blue ribbons since we're entering some of the categories this year.

The ice surface at the rink will be transformed into a show ring; little boys and girls in white clothes and paper headbands will proudly display their calves and lambs, and we'll walk back to the barn behind the arena to see the young farmers grooming their animals for the next competition. Instead of video games, these kids' hands will hold blow dryers, brushes, clippers, and shovels to make sure their wards stay pristine for the judges. My kids will pet the lambs and their eyes will widen at the size of the cows.

Then we'll walk around the outdoor track where horses pull wagons and carts, to the horse barn. This has always been my favourite stop at the Fair. Percherons and Belgians stand quietly like tamed giants, stamping their plate-sized hooves, their tails and manes braided up prettier than Rapunzel's. I'll talk to the boys, now men, that went to school with me years ago, and lift my kids up to gaze into those horse's long-lashed eyes.

The midway is what the kids come for: the smells of dust, cotton candy, popcorn, and French fries, with a bit of grease thrown in. The young men running the rides look as bored and shady as they did when I was a girl, and I'll wonder again (as teachers do) if they've finished high school. Soon, heat and hunger will drive us to a concession stand to fill up on some greasy, sweet, nutritionally deficient snack.

Ah, the Cobden Fair. It's one of the best of its kind, if you ask this small-town girl. In a world that sometimes changes too fast for my taste, I can always count on the Cobden Fair to bring me back to a time when making good pies and preserves mattered, and a man was judged not on how much money he earned, but on how well he'd trained his team of horses. Maybe we'll see you there!

For information, call the Cobden Agricultural Society at 613-646-2426.

The Land

July in the Ottawa Valley. The sky is at its biggest and bluest, the clouds are at their puffiest, and the greens are at their greenest.

While we complain about the record humidity and head for the beach, farmers are hard at work, cutting and baling hay.

The corn is working its way towards being as high as an elephant's eye.

And the only witnesses to my forays across the road and through grassy ditches, camera in hand are

these curious bovines.

This is the landscape I crave when I'm far from home, and every July I'm reminded why I've chosen to live here.

GratiTuesday: Busy

When I started GratiTuesday, it was to create an opportunity for stream-of-consciousness gratitude in the midst of my busy life. I don't always take pictures of what is on my list, because it usually just flows out as I write it. Gratitude isn't something we should PLAN, but something we should just naturally feel in the presence of the many blessings in our lives.

Here's my list, in no particular order...

.: my parents' generosity in helping us purchase a second vehicle (thus saving my sanity), and in the gift of tickets to see the Lion King at the National Arts Centre. It was unforgettable, for my kids and for me, and something I would never have been able to afford.

.: the gift of music, especially since it's something I can share with my husband, with so much joy. We had our first performance together in a long while, at the Bonnechere Caves, sharing the stage with many other local talents. Later, we recorded a video INSIDE the Caves! Amazing! Visiting with friends I haven't seen in ages, listening to the water going over the Fourth Chute of the river, and seeing the almost-full moon rise conspired to create an unforgettable evening.

.: getting together with a dear friend, whose children love my children. One older, reading child plus four smaller, book-loving children equals a beautiful storytime!

.: creating my first "stock"...piles of hats, felt crowns, knitted snails, and small cotton dolls to sell at a arts/crafts show this coming weekend.

.: having captured this moment: my mother fitting Violet for a handmade dress. I can remember standing on a chair in this same kitchen, my mother expertly holding pins in her mouth as she created a hem. The added beauty of this dress is that the darker fabric is from a dress my mother made for ME when I was in Grade Two. She'll be selling dresses like these at the craft show mentioned above!

.: the joy of a really great, can't-put-it-down read: "One Day" by David Nicholls.

.: always, always, the first sip of coffee in the morning

.: Brad Pitt as Tristan in "Legends of the Fall" which I watched last night AGAIN!

.: the cool nights that follow a wicked thunderstorm

.: bellydancing outside at a local farmers' market, settling back into my body, loving the breeze swirling my skirt and the warmth of the grass beneath my feet

.: looking at my husband in the early morning as he sleeps, marvelling that he looks EXACTLY as he did 10 years ago when we met: hands crossed across his chest, so peaceful, and so beautiful.

.: as always: Jude's freckles, Violet's cartoon-character voice, and Margot's fingers holding a paintbrush.

What I'm getting around to saying is that gratitude is not some polished stone that should be taken out and admired once a week. It's something I want to feel sifting into my soul throughout the week, at random moments, especially when I'm worrying about money, or the mess of my house, or how I can get everything done "on time". Because really: there is abundant EVERYTHING in my life right now.

Grab that button and link back to me: what are YOU grateful for this week?

Emergency...Kind Of.

When you live out in the country and have three small kids, you worry about things. In the winter, I worry about fire. When I was pregnant with Margot, I used to lie awake making escape plans...Violet, who was one at the time, would be strapped onto my back. Jude, age three, would hang onto my neck. I'd shimmy down sheets tied together. Forget the fact that I was 8 months pregnant at the time. In my imagination, I gained superhuman upper body strength, and catlike agility.

When my husband is away for a night or two, I make sure all the windows are locked, double check the doors, and often dial my neighbour's number, then hit "end", just so I can hit "redial" if there's an emergency.

I'm not actually a paranoid person, generally. There's something about living way out of town, though, combined with exhaustion, that does things to my mind.

Last night, for some reason, my neighbour's number just didn't seem like enough. So I thought I'd dial 911, then hit "end". Because dialling "redial" is SO much quicker than dialing 911.

Did you know that 911 connects automatically, even if you hit "end"? I didn't.

Almost immediately, I got a call from OPP dispatch. They were going to send a car out, in spite of my assurances that all was well (aside from the fact that my husband left his three children in the care of a slightly delusional woman who calls herself "mom").

While this may seem like overkill, I find it reassuring that the police check in, even if the caller has confirmed that the call was accidental. Imagine a woman in a situation of domestic abuse, being threatened by her partner to tell the dispatcher that everything was fine.

Within 30 minutes, a cruiser pulled into our laneway (it was now about 11:30 at night). The floodlight scanned the farm (I'm sure the neighbours were wondering if I was being busted for late-night crafting), and the officer approached the house cautiously.

I came out on the porch in my shawl, and introduced myself. The officer is also a mother, and sympathised with the fact that I'm on my own with three kids for a few days. She took a look around the house, reassured me that yes, 911 does work, (and quickly, even if you don't speed dial it!), and told me she was nearby if I did really need her during the night.

I almost called at 5:30 a.m. when Jude woke up with a nosebleed.

And again at 6:15 a.m when my kids woke up for the day.

It may be time to store a baseball bat under my bed, to give me peace of mind when I'm here alone at night. If that doesn't suffice, I know that the OPP will be here if I ever need them.

this moment

No words, just a photo of a moment I'd like to treasure in the midst of the madness that I call my life:

Have a peaceful weekend.

Library Day!

I may have mentioned that I have the best job in the world. I am a kindergarten teacher. I get to spend my days at work surrounded by children ages 4 to 6, with gaps in their teeth, crooked pigtails, freckles and scrapes, and lots of stories about things unconnected to the topic of discussion. We sing and count, say sorry and pray, grow things and play in water and sand. We build and figure stuff out. I use a pink pen to draw smiley faces on their work, and sit in a tiny chair to listen to them read.

I feel very blessed to call my classroom my "workplace".

Because my job is part time, it means I'm home with my kids on Tuesdays and Thursdays, doing the other best job in the world: being a mother. Tuesday in our house is Library Day. We scrounge around the shelves and under the couch to find the books we borrowed last week, rewind the videotapes that need to be returned, and drive into town to the Bonnechere Union Public Library.

Our village is on the small size; the population sign reads 1300. So, a visitor to Eganville might be surprised at the beauty of our little library. Everything one sees says, "Welcome!", from the warm red walls to the cozy chairs pulled up to the gas fireplace.

Paintings and sculptures by local artist Andy Adach (who can often be found sketching in one of these chairs) adorn the walls and corners.

I treasure our visits to the library, where gathering information, cuddling into beanbag chairs for a story, and trying a new computer game add variety and colour to my children's lives.

The littlest readers are always welcome, even if they read a book like this: "Ho ho ho, Cwismas, The End!" Perhaps they're welcome BECAUSE they read like this! The library staff know our names, and we know theirs.

In addition to learning resources, our library offers a Knit Night, support for homeschooling families, readings by local authors, a film club, and book clubs for teens and mothers/daughters, coffee houses featuring local musicians, and more.

In addition to teaching kindergarten, the best job in the world is mothering. What makes it even better are the days when I say, "Let's get ready to go to the library!", and my words are met with a resounding,
"Yaaaaay!" from my kids.

If you're a visitor to the Eganville area and your kids need a break from driving, stop by the local library, and tell them I sent you!  If it's a Tuesday, you just might see us there.

Share the love...tell me about your local library! How can you support this essential community service...volunteering? Donating books, CDs, or movies? Teaching a class or sharing a skill?

Houses in the Fields

"They're growin' houses in the fields between the towns,

And the late night drive-in movie is closin' down

The road has gone to the way it was before,

And the spaces won't be spaces anymore"...

Travelling down the 401, Ontario's superhighway that cuts along Lake Ontario and through the Greater Toronto Area, I was struck by the old farms I saw. Transports and thousands of cars race by what were once quiet homesteads: old houses built from the limestone that is found nearby, and pastures hewn from Canada's old-growth forests using man, woman, and horse power. Now, billboards for the next rest stop litter the fields, and big box stores and factories interrupt the landscape. Prefab homes sprout behind noise-reduction walls, where once crops grew and animals grazed.

Our little road is so far out of the way, it still isn't paved. There won't be a superhighway coming by our homestead anytime soon, but I have seen urban sprawl on the highway that takes us to Ottawa. I remember
"Old Highway 17" that took us through the small city of Pembroke, and all the forests and farms that provided us with peaceful green views until we reached the big city. There is research being done about the effect of a beautiful view on our spirits (the researchers don't refer to our spirits of course, but to the endorphin receptors in the parts of our brain that are stimulated by looking at, say, a forest scene or a lake view).

Ah...a Gaspe Peninsula Farm

Whether we think it's good for our soul or good for our brain, we can all agree that green spaces are a good thing. Billboards and box stores? Not so much. When things get hard for us financially (like right at this moment, for instance) and I feel like giving up on the homesteading dream, I just need to remind myself of all those abandoned farms, where once corn grew; I am filled with new optimism and resolve to find a way to keep my family here, come hell or high water. The world's farmland is precious, and dwindling...and certainly worth fighting for.

"Houses in the fields, no prayers for steady rains this year,

Houses in the fields, there's houses in the fields...

The last few farms are growin' out of here..."

~John Gorka

Sugaring Off: Maple Taffy

When the sap has been collected and the evaporators are at work, there might be a lull where you can enjoy the fruits of your labour.

Pat down some of that melty, crystalline snow you find in Spring. We used a garbage can lid, but you can do this on a cookie sheet if you want to try it at home!

Gather some sticks.

 Boil the syrup until it reaches the soft-ball stage (it clings into a little ball when dripped into a glass of cold water). Pour it in strips across the snow, then let it sit for a minute. Before it hardens completely, take your stick and squish it into one end of the maple strip...now roooollll the strip up onto your stick! (Check out Jude's look of anticipation!)

Pass quickly to the nearest child. Ignore the warnings that the tooth fairy is whispering in your ear about your child's dental health. Making maple taffy outside is the clearest memory I have of my childhood visits to a sugar shack.

Gooey, sticky, sweetness dabbed with bits of ice and snow...incomparable and unforgettable!

Sugaring Off: Boiling Down the Sap

Making maple syrup is a long, steady job, a few intense weeks of collecting, boiling down, and bottling.

While the sap boils, there is time to enjoy the inimitable scent of maple steam,

and time to enjoy a mug of chai tea steeped in hot sap.

Little ones are kept busy with stories and games of fetch-the-stick with a friend's dog. If there are musicians about, there might be some sharing of traditional Appalachian tunes, traded for a Canadian tune or two.

The magic moment arrives, where the bubbles look just right: the syrup is ready to be filtered...

...and bottled!

It's a true labour of time and love, one to be shared with friends, relatives, neighbours, and anyone else who is willing to stop by to lend a hand. The extra-curriculars (singing, sipping, storytelling, snacking) are optional but highly recommended to fully enjoy the experience.

Sugaring Off: Collecting the Sap

In provinces and states in the Northeast of North America, Spring means many things: an end to a long winter, wet basements, snowsuits traded in for rubber boots and splash pants, and the lengthening of the day.

The cold nights join forces with warm, sunny days to create a magical effect in forests all around: the running of the sap.

Wet forest floors freeze and melt, freeze and melt.

Buckets hang from spiles tapped into sugar maples, and the sap begins to drip-drip-drop with a sweet pinging sound.

The buckets are checked often for the watery liquid gold that will be boiled down into maple syrup.

There is work for people of all ages, and everyone feels needed and useful.

The littlest ones marvel at the gift of the tree, and pat her bark, whispering "Good job, tree!"

Small hands gain confidence with the support of a larger hand.

Off to another tree to collect more sap!

This is part one of a three-part series about the days we spent in the sugar bush! Join me tomorrow when I share tales of the boiling of the sap.