A Taste of Fall

I have difficulty believing Winter is almost upon us. Living in the Cariboo, I have found Spring and Autumn to be of short duration. Already, most Leaves have fallen off their Tree, to cover the ground beneath with a patchwork blanket of gold.

Most mornings, there is also Frost...not much, yet, mind you...not enough to bother still blooming late Flowers, Kale or Carrots. But Tomatoes are finishing their life cycle in the little cold frame greenhouse,  in which it is usually ten degrees above whatever the temperatures are outside.

The Magic Apple has been picked, polished and eaten. It was the best Apple! We cut it in half...within one or two bites it was gone...a small taste of Autumn. We are awaiting the results the Magic Apple has promised to bring...



It seems as if there was hardly any Summer weather this year. By the time Lakes in the area warmed up enough to swim in comfortably, smoke obscured Sun's rays and breathing was difficult.


And, as soon as the smoke lifted and left, the weather turned cold and stormy. To be sure, it warmed up again, but many degrees cooler. A month before the calendar said it was supposed to, Autumn weather arrived.

Animals are travelling down from higher valleys...Deer and Moose are becoming quite common along the highways. They travel through our property, as well, along with the predators who follow in hopes of a meal.


Those predators surprised me the other day. When I came home from a Hospice vigil, I gave both Dogs a bone, as a reward for being good and staying home alone for quite a few hours. They each took their bone to opposite ends of the house, to lie on the Grass and enjoy their chew.


I made myself a cup of Tea and took it out onto the deck, to sit and think about the morning and let sadness dissipate...

The weather was warm and sunny...I could hear crisp, yellow Leaves swish as they fell, to join their compatriots already on the ground.


But, other than that, there was only the silence of Nature. I could barely hear the construction on the highway far below me, which is unusual.  After the bustle in the hospital, the calm soothed me.

It was the kind of afternoon where the hum of Bees and Wasps could easily induce a drowsy slumber, but after a morning away, I had things to do. I did not heed the call for a nap.


I stared mindlessly across the property to a huge, old Stump which still exists even following  attack after attack by Bear and Bug.


But there was something different this day about that Stump.


I've just purchased new glasses; I cannot believe the difference compared to my old ones. I can see!  Without blurring! And so, what I may have missed with my old glasses, I saw with sharp clarity the difference concerning the old Stump.

There was a dark Wolf sitting in front of it.


I thought it was a Dog at first. I tilted my head to see better...but it was Sun's rays which glinted off of golden eyes that made me sure.

He sat in the shade of Trees surrounding the Stump...he was almost undetectable. But once my eyes focused on his, the shape and colour of his body became more apparent.


He sat very still, his ears tilted forward, his nose in the Air. My first thought was where were the Dogs and why had they not sounded an alarm?

I can only surmise that they were busy with their bones, with the Breeze coming from the North, blowing Wolf's scent away from them.


His colouring was very dark. His long front legs were stiff, full of tension. His ears were long and perked...when his eyes met mine, I felt the now familiar jolt inside. That jolt always happens when an Animal visits and our eyes meet.


He did not stay long. When he stood, I watched in awe. He was big...I believe he was the biggest I've seen here. I prayed the Dogs would continue with their bones...there is no way either of them would survive an encounter with this Wolf.


His eyes never left mine. I was afraid to move. There were many thoughts racing through my mind...Would Wolf jump the fence and attack the Dogs for their bones? Would the Dogs finally realize Wolf was there and decide on a foolish confrontation? And...why did I not have my camera?

One of the thoughts I had was that this Wolf could never leave soundlessly, with all the dry Grasses and crispy Leaves strewn about. But he proved me wrong.


He wheeled about, his head turning back, his eyes still locked on mine. And then, oh so silently, he melted into the brush, as if he had never been.

That's when Magpie appeared.


I haven't seen a Magpie here, ever.

According to my Bird books, he ranges all the way to Alaska...there should be no reason for his absence here. In fact, when I moved here, I was looking forward to seeing this sassy Bird and interacting with him. He was very rare on the Island, if he was there at all.


He sat on a branch above where Wolf had settled.  I watched him for a bit...he was not there long...and I marvelled at this Bird, who, in the 1930's, evaded efforts to exterminate him.  He was thought to be a threat to crops and livestock.


The thing that drew my eye to his appearance was the flash of white I saw as he settled on another branch in the Tree above the Stump.


Such a whiter than white belly he had! I wondered how long he had been there...had he arrived along with the Wolf?

I couldn't find anything in my research with reference to the two of them commonly travelling as companions, but I am convinced anything is possible.

After someone I have sat with dies, it is not uncommon for small miracles or sightings of wild Animals to occur. Usually, there will be a message involved as well...one telling me the deceased is well and moving forward on their new journey.

And then, there is the personal message which the Animal represents, as well...


Winter and extreme weather is indeed almost upon us. But before it arrives, I hope I have many more Animal encounters in a day just like this one...the day of the Wolf and Magpie.





We are intending on taking advantage of the cool, crisp mornings and the warm afternoons by taking a trip to the Kootenay district of BC. During that time, I will have no computer access.  I will be back in a few days..

A Drive to Horsefly

It has been three years since we moved to the Cariboo District of BC. During that time, there have been a few forays into the area around where we live, but never enough...

Busy with renovations and building, we have not had as much time as we might have wished for sightseeing. But on a day when Sun shone strong and the Leaves on the Trees were beginning to turn gold, I had an intense craving to drive...just drive anywhere...it didn't matter.


And so we did.

We've driven to the little village of Horsefly once before, in the middle of Winter. There were large, blank, white spaces, all covered with Snow and Ice, then. This time, there were large Fields and small Lakes. There were herds of Cattle and Horses. And colour...there was so much Autumn colour! 

It's only about a 45 minute drive to the village of Horsefly from our place. Horsefly is well known for the artists who live in the area, along with ranchers and loggers. There are about 1000 inhabitants. But my primary purpose in going to Horsefly was to see the spawning Sockeye Salmon.



There was an unprecedented huge run of Sockeye this year. Fishermen took extremely large hauls at the mouth of the Fraser River for a period of time set by the Dept. of Fisheries and Oceans.


The Fish who managed to navigate their way through the fishing nets travelled up the Fraser River to their tributary spawning grounds. The Horsefly River spawning grounds are quite well known; after our visit, I realize why.

We stopped by the little, one car bridge that crosses the River. How lovely it was...as we stood there watching Salmon resting in the shallows, a Horse from a neighbouring farm wandered down for a drink from the cold, clear Waters. It was truly idyllic...I could easily have stood there by the Water for hours...

I wanted to see the provincial park at Horsefly Lake, so we drove on. It was not far before we came to the spawning channel and I knew we had to stop. Spawning Salmon remind me of my childhood; I grew up not far from the Fish ladders built in the River of my youth...Stamp Falls. Every Autumn I would find my way to the ladders just to see the brave, doomed Fish who fought their way up the Falls.


I had no idea how emotional I would become when I saw that channel loaded with reddish Sockeye which, through Sun and Water, shone golden. How beautiful they were!...even though they'd been battered and beaten by Rocks and Boulders as they fought their way up the Fraser River...still, I would swear at that moment, there was nothing more stunning than those Fish.


We spoke with a gentleman who told us only yesterday, there were enough Fish in the spawning channel that he could easily have walked across their backs to get to the other side. A man who has lived in the area for years, he said he had never seen anything like it.

As I snap photos here and there, over and over again, I idly wonder, once again, why there is such a huge Salmon run this year. Last year, fishing was closed to commercial fisherman because of lack of Fish...and this year, there is an unexpectedly enormous run? It appears no one really knows why, although there are many theories...

We walk a short distance up the small causeway towards the small pool at the end of it, where a pipe connected to the Horsefly River bubbles up. The Salmon, accustomed to fighting their way up a River, are confused...they are not used to going with the flow. I want to tell them, when they throw their bodies against the rubber, protective mat which stops them from congregating at the pipe area...I want to tell them how much easier it is, really, to go with the flow.


The Sockeye, some of them extremely large, were insistent on beating their bodies a little more. I imagine them thinking...How can anything in life be this easy?


But finally, they accept that, right now, life is a little less difficult; they reverse their course and follow that easy causeway back to the channel and then further on to their particular spawning grounds. I shake my head as I wonder at the marvels of it all. I am moved beyond words...


Along the River, corpses of Salmon who lost their fight to spawn and procreate litter the shore. Signs are posted warning of Bear, Cougar and other predators who show up for an easy meal or two, at any time of day.


It is a long and difficult journey Salmon must undertake at the end of their lives. It is filled with hazards. And yet, the call is unbelievably (to this human) strong to return home, to the clear, fresh waters of their youth.


And the colour of the spawning Salmon is unbelievable, as well. A beautiful Fish even when young, they become more so...Sunlight bouncing off those wriggling orange and red bodies make me think of Firelight...a dying Fire, as it turns out.


It is sad and stunning, all at the same time, the sight of these Fish returning home, battered and beaten, some of them.


There is a lesson in this for me, somewhere. I feel it, yet can't quite grasp it.


There was nothing that could beat the sight of the Sockeye in the little Spawning channel; we turned around and returned home, ourselves.


And as I watched the Firelight later that night, I was once again reminded of  the fight of the Salmon...not a fight to save it's life, but a fight to procreate. And the reward is...death.


I'm glad the urge to drive somewhere...anywhere...overtakes me, once in awhile...

Experience and Mistakes

When I began volunteer work with Hospice, I did not really know what to expect. I had taken a very comprehensive course on Hospice and what it's all about...it was experience I lacked. What would it be like to sit in silence for two hours with a dying patient? Or what on Earth could I say to people who have only hours to live?

I've made many mistakes. The one mistake I continually make is asking how a patient is feeling. And one day, one of the clients might just say to me...How do you think I'm feeling?

Or, I sometimes even go so far as to say...You look great today!...I want to take that one back as soon as it comes out of my mouth.

But there are times when a client is not conscious. During those visits, I sit and write. Sometimes I write about the client's life; tidbits gleaned from photos and books and belongings all gather together in my writing. Whether or not my writing is correct about all of it makes no difference...I write what I feel during what might be the last time I visit this particular client.

Long term palliative care patients have so many stories to tell! Living with Death as a very close partner cannot be easy; yet each client I have met mostly lives each day to the fullest, with as many jokes to tell as they can remember.


I was discussing marriage with one of them the other day. After looking at photos of the man and his wife in their car on the way to their honeymoon, I asked the man what he liked most about marriage.


Of course, as soon as I said that, I wanted to take the question back.  What if they had divorced, what if she had died and the gentleman in question was still sad about it, what if I had opened a can of worms?


And this is what it's like for me. I rarely know the clients well, I rarely know what their hobbies were, what their lives were like, do they like this or that? Do they like to be touched? Do they want to talk, or do they prefer silence? Do they even want me there?


But I know this long term palliative care patient as well as any. He loves to tell stories about his life; yet I rarely heard his wife mentioned in any of them. Which is why I wanted to take the marriage question back as soon as I had said it. Asking it felt a little like skating on very thin ice.


He thought about my question for awhile, looking into the far off distance. I held my breath...what had I begun? And then he nodded, as if the answer had just come to him.


He said...The best thing about marriage to me was that the house was always picked up. Yup...he said...that was the very best thing.

He was very serious when he said this. At first, I thought he was joking, since he loves to use humour. But he wasn't...and somehow I had to answer him without breaking out into a big belly laugh. I had to laugh inside instead, and mumble...Yes, that sounds nice...and leave it there.


I find arguing with a dying person intolerable, and won't do it, although given an answer like this to my question by a well person, I certainly would challenge it. There must be more to a marriage than a clean house! But not for Tom...


I visit a lady who is fully aware, yet due to a stroke she cannot form words. And much of the language she remembers is Native, which is very difficult for me to enunciate. I have a sheet of Native words; we practice them, she and I.  She smiles at the way I pronounce them...and yes, I have even heard her laugh. Once.

With this lady, I tell her about my week since I last saw her. I don't ask her any questions, other than whether she requires something to drink. I tell her how I miss the Coast, where my children are, I tell her about my garden and how it is not doing well. I read her stories, many of them posts done by my fellow bloggers. Blog owners of blogs like Enchanted Oak, Studio Lolo, Dragonfly's Poetry and Prolixity, Options for a Better World , Writing Down the Words, All Consuming and others have generously allowed me the use of some of their posts and art work.


With this lady, I will never know if something I've said is hurtful or out of place. When she gets tired of me, her body language tells me it is time to go. It may be after a half hour or five minutes...I no longer worry about whether it's because she's tired or decided she's had enough of my prattle.


But we have a relationship, she and I. With many of the clients, there is no time to form a relationship.

So many clients I have been involved with have died. When I began volunteering with Hospice, I thought I would remember them all. But, unless I look in my book, I cannot.


But when a client dies, I do a small ceremony here for them, by Grandfather Rock. He has absorbed much of my tears and sadness and even happiness, if the dying person was ready for the next journey.


It's the ones who are not ready who I cry over. The ones who have fought the inevitable, who insist and insist and insist it is not happening right until they become unconscious. And when the family is still in denial even at this stage...well, it is sometimes heartrending for me to see young people, especially, in tears at their terrible loss.

It is so much more difficult when death occurs without acceptance.

I will glean more and more experience with volunteering as the days, weeks, months and years go by. I know a volunteer who, by her very presence, can calm a whole room full of relatives of the just deceased. She's volunteered for years...there is not much she hasn't seen or heard.

She's the very epitome of experience and wisdom.

I strive for the same.


In just a few more years...



Work with Hospice is completely confidential. Therefore, patients I mention have been disguised or are a composite of many. Names have been changed.

A Magic Apple

A couple of years ago, Graham and I planted an Apple Tree. It was not the first Apple Tree I've planted...on every property I have lived upon, there was either a fully grown one, or a small sapling I'd just transplanted after the move.

But the small Tree we planted in the Cariboo is finding life difficult.


It was planted at the top of a bank. We dug a deep, wide hole, trying to pry all the Rocks out of the Soil in the immediate area, but not completely succeeding. And so, I knew I would have to Water it a little more often...Rocks don't hold the Water and there is a lot of run off down the bank.

It tried to bloom. Each time a blossom opened, however, it would Snow. Snow did not bother the Crabapple Tree, planted at the same time, but the little Apple Tree's blossoms would wither, turn brown and drop off.

It was cold for a long time, this past Spring. Snow happened fairly rarely, but with the cold, Bees and such were still hunkered down, still in hibernation.

Our little Tree tried over and over again to fruit...in fact, at one point I actually counted over six little Applets clinging to the branches. These would all eventually drop off.


Except for one.

This one is strongly attached to the Tree. This Apple is perfectly round, with a small dimple which collects Rain Water, making it look as if it has a small window.

Sometimes, one can even imagine that one could look inside through the window and see magic at work.

I dreamt about it the other day, although not expressly about only the Apple Tree. I was in an airport; there were long runways in front of me. My feeling was I would have to choose one. But how was I to know where each led?

I was becoming frustrated and anxious in my dream. Even as I understood that in this dream my choice of runway would have an impact on my life...I couldn't choose. It felt as if I was paralysed, physically and mentally.

The ends of the runways were obscured by smoke. Now, my dreaming of smoky runways was not so difficult to understand, since we have been in smoky conditions for a long time. It is only over the last couple of days that North Wind brought Storms, which put the smoke on the run.

I peered and I pondered. Which runway to choose...? And I knew without a doubt I would have to choose one, in this dream. But I really, really didn't want to do so.

In the misty, murky distance, a Tree appeared, half obscured by the grey tendrils of smoke. I watched it for a long while...was it my Apple Tree? And was it a sign given to me by the Apple Diva? Surely, in a dream where anything is possible, she would appear to give me advice.


Suddenly, I felt a hard, round object in my hand. It was the Applet...the only Apple on the Tree in my backyard. It was easily recognizable...I have stared at that small Apple on the Tree for months and know it well.


Don't you wish, during dreams, that you could take an interpretor along with you? Someone who could point out what is important and what is not in a dream? Most times, I can figure out what it is I am supposed to know, but sometimes...my mind seems too clouded to grasp the concept.


The Apple I held in my hand was ripe. It's scent was lovely...as strong as a box of just picked, perfectly ripened Apples. I wondered if I should eat it, or place it back on the Tree in the distance on the runway. But I knew if I walked on that runway, it would be the pathway I chose...for good and all. And I felt real apprehension at the thought.


Could I commit to one pathway? Could I even make a decision about whether or not to follow the runway to the Apple Tree?


Quite possibly,even in a dream, I would still be standing there at the beginning of all the runways if I hadn't heard a voice coming from the innocuous little Apple in my hand.

Take me home...she said. 


I wondered where home was...was it the Tree in the distance?


Yes...said the small voice...it's the home of Truth and Magic, and you know that.


I didn't know anything. I did not want to follow any of the runways...that much I did know.


But, with the Apple in hand, I find myself walking down the runway that led to the Tree. On my way, I discover the runway is no longer smooth. It becomes hilly, and there are many streams and obstacles to cross before I can reach the Tree, which never seems closer.


There is a change inside myself, as I traverse that long, long treacherous runway. I suddenly know, without a doubt, that I can do whatever it is I am to do. Inner confidence comes back, just as the dream scene begins to fade, with the Tree still in the far distance.


I wake up feeling the imprint of the little Apple in my hand.


Upon arising, I check my small Apple Tree. The Applet still hangs strongly on the branch, ripening day by day. It is a sturdy little Apple, surviving Hail and drought and heat and Wind and smoky Air.


I look upon it a little differently, now.


A magical Apple. One who knows the truth. And one which has a strong sense of...home.


Who knew?

Home Again...

During our holiday to the Coast, we all suffered through a heat wave the likes and lengths of which I've not, as far back as I can remember, ever felt before.  With searing temperatures up to 40C, each and every day, the normal activities of life were abandoned for a deck chair in the shade of the big old Maple Tree in the back garden.

We all stood in Graydon's little plastic pool. At one point, there were four adults and little Graydon all squished standing together, attempting to gain a little Cool from the rapidly warming Water in the pool.

We had a relatively quiet trip to the Coast; it was not until we arrived at Chilliwack that the traffic backed up to a crawl. The joys of travelling in the Summer are not all they are cracked up to be...car accidents and road construction had us joining the ferry lineup with one minute to spare. But we made it; that's all that counts, in my book!

My daughter and I visited the Vegetable stands at Naesgaards in town, after dropping my granddaughter and her friend off at Sproat Lake. Brianna is so very fortunate, indeed, to have a set of grandparents who live right on the Lake, with the extreme weather the way it was.

Naesgaard's is a place I loved, as I grew up. They sell the best Corn on the cob I have ever tasted, bar none. Every year, I would visit it, always coming away with some stunningly beautiful Vegetable that would grace the family's dinner.

I could not resist buying bags of Tomatoes, Peas, Beans, Carrots and Corn and Potatoes. Is there anything quite as beautiful as crates of freshly picked produce, at their very most luscious? It's the very taste of late Summer, to me.


In the evenings, we could see the smoke from the fires, just over the Mountains to the East...just a bit, just enough to know there would be plenty of smoke to greet us when we returned home.

And if the anticipation of breathing difficulties to come were not enough for us to worry about, we were given plenty of time to work out any concerns. We were caught in traffic jams from Departure Bay all the way to Abbotsford...a distance of some 80k. 


It took three hours of driving very, very slowly in 36C temperatures. I was grateful for Air conditioning in our vehicle and felt deep sympathy for the travellers in convertibles and older trucks and cars. It must have been hellish, if the red, perspiring faces of the passengers were anything to go by...


After solving the World's problems during the long time spent crawling along, Graham and I stopped (finally!) at our usual motel and continued our trip home the next morning.


It was hot. Dry and smoky and yes...almost itchy. The very Air, filled with smoke particles, bothers my skin. And I re-learned how to breathe in the smoky Air...short, almost panting breaths.


Once again, I am becoming accustomed to gray/brown days. The green of the Coast is becoming a distant memory, one to be brought out when I am in despair over the misty, smoky flavour of the Cariboo.


There are tales of heroics amongst the fire fighters, each of whom deserves my gratitude. Fences and barns may burn, yet not one house has succumbed to the flames. Stories of wayward cattle and predators abound.

The smoke from these Fires has reached Alberta...I was told Williams Lake and its Fire Storm was on the front pages of Calgary's newspapers.


I don't know how long these Fire Storms will continue...there doesn't appear to be any let up as yet. We need Rain. Wind only fans the Flames and dry Lightning Storms don't help at all, only beginning new Fires.


It is as if the Fires have their own minds.

A lady told me how, on returning from her own holiday, she could not see the City of Williams Lake from the outlook on the highway. She thought to herself...Where is my town? It looks as if Fire and smoke have swallowed the town...


And so, with this tale in mind, I began a new story yesterday, where Fire takes on human characteristics. In my story, Fire takes over an entire country, leaving behind a black, evil space with twisted, burned creatures...a little dark, perhaps, but oh! so much fun!

It is always interesting to me to see where the stories I write will go...it is not as if I have any real idea at the beginnings of the writing of it.


I find it strange that something so drastic as a Fire Storm and the reports surrounding such a disaster would titillate the creative muse. 

But perhaps the mini holiday and the relaxation I have just enjoyed had something to do with it...