white-tailed deer have been feasting on my sweet peas
I noted with more than passing interest the news that black bear have been making appearances and causing problems in the Shallow Lake area, brazenly killing and eating chickens close to homes, and breaking into wooden garbage containers at Sauble Beach.
There certainly are black bear up here in heavily-wooded Hope Ness, on the Georgian Bay side of the Bruce Peninsula, where I live. I saw a big one from a safe distance crossing the Hope Ness Road out by Bruce County Road 9 a week or two ago just after setting out for a trip to Owen Sound. Most of my neighbours live out there, compared to where I am at the end of Cathedral Drive. That’s a “No Exit” road that leads to the Hope Bay Forest and a fairly popular section of The Bruce Trail through the mature hardwoods to a wonderful lookout from the Niagara Escarpment cliffs above Hope Bay. Continue reading
My granddaughter, the irrepressible and delightful Asia at her favourite place, the lookout over Georgian Bay from the Niagara Escarpment cliffs, just a short walk from “the family farm” in Hope Ness on the Bruce Trail.
I happened to be in Wiarton twice the day before the start of the Canada Day long holiday weekend, on my trip to and from Owen Sound to run a bunch of errands. Both times the northbound traffic was as heavy as I’ve ever seen it, in 37 years of living on the Bruce Peninsula. Continue reading
Granddaughter Mirabella in the Yukon Gold
I don’t like using the expression, but I guess I have to admit to “growing old.” I still feel perky enough after I get up with the sunrise, just before 6 a.m. here in Hope Ness, have my morning coffee or two, or three, and some toast or a bowl of cereal.
My daily “to do” list is longer than ever, so much so that there hasn’t been enough time and energy to do a daily post. I’m always anxious to get an early-morning start with the outside work. I know by mid-afternoon most of that once-boundless energy will be pretty well done for the day. Continue reading
Let’s go for a little morning walk in the garden. The sun’s out, but clouds are forming, with the prospect of some timely rain. It’s been about a week or so without – nothing too urgent just yet, a few things are in need of watering without rain today. But all in all, if I do say so myself, the garden is looking pretty good.
The cool garden is looking good
Mr. Massey before
There’s a mountain of work to do at Cathedral Drive Farm in Hope Ness these days: weed between the rows, hill the potatoes, spread straw mulch everywhere possible to hold the moisture in the soil and keep the clay-loam soil from baking to hard-pan in the sun, mow the hay, take the wild barn cat his morning dish of milk, prep the downstairs bedroom for painting . . . on and on it goes.
But I’ve got it down pat now: I take a few minutes in the morning after the indispensable two cups of coffee to write the daily to-do list; and then I proceed to ignore it as I just “keep on keeping on” with one thing at a time, or two or three, until the sun begins to set. And then I think it’s about time to see what’s going on in the world and the blogosphere.
But first, this day I went over to “The Shop” to see how Brent was getting on with the restoration of Mr. Massey, my world-famous, and one-of-a-kind, Massey-Harris 22 tractor.
Asia at the lookout
A spring walk through the Hope Bay Forest has a unique, fleeting complexion this day: Continue reading
A cool breeze from Georgian Bay to the east was blowing this morning, so it was still toque-weather for me. But those two little ones, and the bigger ones too, were having the time of their lives in the great Hope Ness outdoors.
“Grandpa” at the controls of Mr. Massey Too, with Allie, Asia, Jacob, Mirabella, and son-in-law Scott enjoying a trailer ride.
It was a homecoming for my two youngest daughters, Lila Marie and Kathy, who were both born just around the corner and as little children used to visit Wilma and Cliff Butchart at this very Cathedral Drive homestead. Continue reading
This year’s recent Sources of Knowledge (SOK) forum based in Tobermory at the tip of the Bruce Peninsula about an hour north of Hope Ness focussed on First Nation history in this area.
Hope Bay, looking out to Georgian Bay, from the top of the Niagara Escarpment
I regret having missed it; otherwise, I would have been aware of the special presentation virtually right around the corner from me on the other side of Hope Bay at the Chippewas of Nawash Unceded First Nation Community Centre at Neyaashiinigmiing (Cape Croker).
I’m kicking myself: it may have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to hear much more about the significant archeological work done at Nochemowening. Known in recent years as Hunter’s Point, Nochemowening, is an area of land below the Niagara Escarpment on this side of Hope Bay. It is part of Hope Ness. Continue reading
The understanding of who you are is within you.
Trapped inside, often for far too long, that clear vision of one’s true self desperately wants out, so it can be free at last to find its right path to becoming real. But things can get confusing, and we can lose our way.
I am reminded of the bird we saw two summers ago, a frantic little creature that somehow got trapped between two window panes in a second-floor room of this old farmhouse.
The window where the bird was trapped; and one of Wilma Butchart’s creations
We shared that special moment, didn’t we, my love? It told us something very important. We even knew what it was. But by then I suppose the troubles were already insurmountable.
This one’s a no-brainer, right?
“Hope,” I mean, as the Word Press Daily Prompt, and this blog, called Finding Hope Ness.
How many times have I said I’m “surrounded by hope,” as in Hope Bay, the Hope Bay Nature Reserve, Hope Bay Forest, and Hope Ness itself? That’s a rhetorical question, of course. But, in case you’re a first-time reader, the answer is lots of times; too many, as if saying it often enough, taking advantage of the coincidence of location, makes it real.
There is nothing more precious and yet so hard to find than hope. And nothing more sentimentalized.