On this day, in 1994, I met my husband. Bowling. At a singles club.
I'd seen an ad for The Single Gourmet in the paper. A singles club? Ugh! Knowing that thinking about it would stop me, I shut that part of my brain off and called. I paid $60 for the first three months' trial membership and $19.95 for the bowling evening. I didn't have a car, so the club owner picked me up.
Rick looked like a tweedy history professor. Long hair, jeans, tweed jacket, cotton shirt, beard, glasses. He was on my bowling team. He and one of the other guys spent much of the evening showing off. I wasn't impressed. After bowling they were all heading off to a singles bar. Really? I shut my brain off. "Just go," I told myself. I knew I had to get a ride quick. He was the first person I saw.
His Bonneville had all kinds of bells and lights and whistles. Still not impressed. The bar was a few miles away, to the west. He turned east out of the parking lot towards the outskirts of the city.... I kept an eye on the doors and mentally figured out the best way out of the car should a problem arise. We got talking about cycling and things turned out, well, fine.
When I asked him to marry me, four and a half weeks later, he said, "Sure. Why not?"
I started moving boxes in at the end of March.
Between then and July of 1995 life went a little like this:
I was teaching full-time in the city and at the end of June, I was heading into a full year's leave. I had already booked my summer holidays in British Columbia and had rented a friend's house on Cortes Island for two months starting in September. Plus, there was Music Camp in August. Neither of us suggested that I give this up.
The Farmer (Farmer Rick)... well, he had to plant in the spring and harvest in the fall. Neither of us suggest he give that up either.
Between the end of June and the beginning of November, I was on the Gravel Road for about three weeks. My boxes remained strewn about the house; however, as the house was in such a state of elegant unfinishedness there wasn't anywhere to put much.
We took our honeymoon in February in Jamaica. (no, you haven't missed anything: we did the honeymoon first when flights were cheap)
Through the winter, Farmer Rick became Builder Rick and he toiled away on the house. We had no kitchen to speak of. All the pots, pans and dishes languished on my old steel storage shelves in the vestibule. We ate every conceivably remotely healthy microwaveable dinner. I remember the excitement the day my 500 sq ft studio/office was officially ready! The renos? A whole other story.
Spring came, I planted a garden and Farmer Rick planted the farm and kept on with the house.
The wedding was set for July 22. The water in the kitchen taps came on on July 19.
We went all out for the wedding, which wasn't a 'real' wedding. We're not 'really' married. We wanted to have great food and great photography. We ditched all the pricey doodads and party favours, the showers and a host of other traditional stuff, because we thought they were a colossal waste.
Farmer Rick wore shorts and a brand new short sleeved white shirt from Mark's. I re-dyed my favourite white sandals, had my hair up and a summer dress, sewn by a friend. Guests brought their own lawn chair and sat in a circle on the front lawn. We were in the middle of a major heat wave, but we'd planned things so the sun would be behind some tall trees.
We had pastas and salads catered, guests boiled their own corn on the cob in a black pot over a fire, and a couple of friends offered to barbeque the chicken. I knew the Chocolate Mousse wedding cake with butter cream icing and raspberries (thanks Canadian Living) would be excellent because Doreen and I had baked a trial cake a few weeks earlier. Dad went out that morning to collect the fresh raspberries.
Friends tell us it was the most unique wedding they'd been to.
Eighteen years later, this is still pretty much how we roll. Things are pretty casual and easy going. A little atypical in many ways.
The renos on the house continue. We haven't been bowling.
Showing posts with label gravel road. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gravel road. Show all posts
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Friday, April 3, 2009
5 Reasons I Love Gravel Road Country
1. It's close and it's far.
We live about 10 minutes from the highway. I consider those 10 minutes, (turn right out of driveway, follow curve, take second left, right at the STOP sign onto the county highway, take ramp, increase speed) like a very long driveway. When I come home, once I get on the tar chip it feels like 'I'm home.' For city friends, it feels like they're heading into nowhere land. And yet, it takes 15 minutes to get to the villages, 45-60 minutess to get to the city. Sometimes the drive drives me crazy.
2. It's quiet and it's noisy.
We can hear the highway from our house, though it's white noise, and when the wind is very still or slightly from the north- almost nothing. Nighttime is a special time, after the birds have calmed down and the crickets or peepers step up. No matter how many birds and critters there are, and there are hundreds and hundreds of birds around, it feels very still and quiet. We might see a dozen vehicles pass by, unless it's planting or harvesting time. A traffice jam is when two cars pass each other going in opposite directions.
3. It's simple and it's complex.
A friend just spent 30 minutes or more trying to decide which lawn care service he wanted for this season. He had information from 4 or 5, all with just enough difference in their service to render the decision somewhat crazy-making. We don't do lawn services in the country. We roll, and then cut and cut and cut. Also crazy-making.
4. It's natural and it's... not
City friends have received quite the education on country living over the past 15 years that I've lived on the Gravel Road. Yes, it's a natural setting. No, country people aren't in better shape, by definition just because they inhale all the fresh air. Yes, we can grow a lot of our own food. No, many don't. They eat pizza and packaged food at least as much as 'normal' people. Yes, we live in farmland. No, we don't all know how all our food is grown. Yes, we live in the fresh air of the 'green' country. No, we're not all rabid environmentalists. Yes, we are close to the ground. No, we can't name all the weeds that grow in our environment, and no, farmers generally DON'T want to eat all the edible weeds they spend a lot of time trying to get rid of.
5. It's easy and it's hard.
Because the population is small ( 5,000 in our 'municipality', which includes two villages of about 1 000 people each, and the surrounding country), it's easy to get to know people and to get involved in the community. One of the first volunteer activities I did was to help with some craft setup at the local fall fair. I joined the community band and have been directing it for 12 years. I started a women's choir, have worked on a Cultural Arts Roundtable to create an online cultural map of the area. The Chambe of Commerce is a great way to work... it's so easy to get involved. It's easy to start something. You don't need to have an advanced degree, or 25 years' experience. You can experiment.
Because the population is small and because it's always the same group of people doing everything, we get a little overdone at times. Things can only get so big. You can only ask so many people so many times. Because the population is small, it's hard to be anonymous unless you do nothing at all. Sometimes it's just hard to get things going.
We live about 10 minutes from the highway. I consider those 10 minutes, (turn right out of driveway, follow curve, take second left, right at the STOP sign onto the county highway, take ramp, increase speed) like a very long driveway. When I come home, once I get on the tar chip it feels like 'I'm home.' For city friends, it feels like they're heading into nowhere land. And yet, it takes 15 minutes to get to the villages, 45-60 minutess to get to the city. Sometimes the drive drives me crazy.
2. It's quiet and it's noisy.
We can hear the highway from our house, though it's white noise, and when the wind is very still or slightly from the north- almost nothing. Nighttime is a special time, after the birds have calmed down and the crickets or peepers step up. No matter how many birds and critters there are, and there are hundreds and hundreds of birds around, it feels very still and quiet. We might see a dozen vehicles pass by, unless it's planting or harvesting time. A traffice jam is when two cars pass each other going in opposite directions.
3. It's simple and it's complex.
A friend just spent 30 minutes or more trying to decide which lawn care service he wanted for this season. He had information from 4 or 5, all with just enough difference in their service to render the decision somewhat crazy-making. We don't do lawn services in the country. We roll, and then cut and cut and cut. Also crazy-making.
4. It's natural and it's... not
City friends have received quite the education on country living over the past 15 years that I've lived on the Gravel Road. Yes, it's a natural setting. No, country people aren't in better shape, by definition just because they inhale all the fresh air. Yes, we can grow a lot of our own food. No, many don't. They eat pizza and packaged food at least as much as 'normal' people. Yes, we live in farmland. No, we don't all know how all our food is grown. Yes, we live in the fresh air of the 'green' country. No, we're not all rabid environmentalists. Yes, we are close to the ground. No, we can't name all the weeds that grow in our environment, and no, farmers generally DON'T want to eat all the edible weeds they spend a lot of time trying to get rid of.
5. It's easy and it's hard.
Because the population is small ( 5,000 in our 'municipality', which includes two villages of about 1 000 people each, and the surrounding country), it's easy to get to know people and to get involved in the community. One of the first volunteer activities I did was to help with some craft setup at the local fall fair. I joined the community band and have been directing it for 12 years. I started a women's choir, have worked on a Cultural Arts Roundtable to create an online cultural map of the area. The Chambe of Commerce is a great way to work... it's so easy to get involved. It's easy to start something. You don't need to have an advanced degree, or 25 years' experience. You can experiment.
Because the population is small and because it's always the same group of people doing everything, we get a little overdone at times. Things can only get so big. You can only ask so many people so many times. Because the population is small, it's hard to be anonymous unless you do nothing at all. Sometimes it's just hard to get things going.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Walking along a gravel road early in the morning has to be one of the greatest simple pleasures there is. This morning the sun was translucently veiled by the rising mist from an early morning frost. When the the air is still, the white noise from the highway is a distant presence. A couple of planes in the air. Typical.
Just after 8, the school bus goes by. One student gets picked up across the road from us. Other than that, there are few vehicles. Yet, it is noisy. The traffic of thousands of birds sounds forth from the trees at the edges of the fields. In one wood, a gaggle of geese are kicking up a ruckus. In the other one, I can hear a wild turkey.
The air is particularly extraordinary. It's still waking up. It hasn't the feeling of being used yet. Fresh, it seeps deep into my lungs. I'm free from the staleness of the winter house air. Air that I'm refreshing, like a web page gone awry, daily, through a small open window or a cracked open door.
I could walk forever in this light and space. It's different at night and it's now warm enough to enjoy nighttime walks. With tonight being Earth Hour and the sky predicted to be clear, I may well be able to enjoy yet another simple gravel road joy.
Just after 8, the school bus goes by. One student gets picked up across the road from us. Other than that, there are few vehicles. Yet, it is noisy. The traffic of thousands of birds sounds forth from the trees at the edges of the fields. In one wood, a gaggle of geese are kicking up a ruckus. In the other one, I can hear a wild turkey.
The air is particularly extraordinary. It's still waking up. It hasn't the feeling of being used yet. Fresh, it seeps deep into my lungs. I'm free from the staleness of the winter house air. Air that I'm refreshing, like a web page gone awry, daily, through a small open window or a cracked open door.
I could walk forever in this light and space. It's different at night and it's now warm enough to enjoy nighttime walks. With tonight being Earth Hour and the sky predicted to be clear, I may well be able to enjoy yet another simple gravel road joy.
Friday, March 20, 2009
First Day of Spring on a Gravel Road
Around the corner from us is the Thorny Acres Arboretum. It is a huge tract of land owned by a retired doctor couple. They have lovingly cared for the land, planting trees, cultivating environmentally sensitive areas, repairing the fence, providing a relatively safe place for deer, raccoons, wild turkeys, birds, critters and native plant species. They wouldn't let anyone in to walk at all- I asked some years ago- and I've always respected that, though the existence of a fence, a huge piece of land and a NO TRESPASSING sign on the gate have been tempting.
This morning it was frosty cold and the north wind was biting, but the sun was out and the sky was that magical, spotless, clear blue. The sun was just up over the horizon and the air was filled with the spring calls and sounds of thousands of birds. The Gravel Road is a noisy place!
The night world of animals is quite hidden, unless you're out and about at night. Raccoons, I'm assuming, had tipped over the plastic garbage can on wheels, opened the lid and gotten their midnight snack (lock the lid) and all the sunflower seeds were neatly cleaned up from the pieces of wood I'd spread them out from. If it were birds, the shells would still be there. These surfaces were lickety split clean.
At the Arboretum, there are more tell tale critter signs. A winding, narrow swath of dirt brown grass is flattened leading from the 'inside' of the fence to the outside. Dozens of raccoon tracks are frozen in the roadside gravel. Along the road, in the areas that get squishy on spring days, deer tracks. Very lightly impressed into the mud... wild turkey footprints. Places in the fence where the deer can jump over the barbs safely, the wire bent down. A hole through matted grass where the raccoons can get in and out of the arboretum.
I have neither camera nor plaster of Paris with which to record these. But I find it a simple wondrous joy to be aware of these things.
This morning it was frosty cold and the north wind was biting, but the sun was out and the sky was that magical, spotless, clear blue. The sun was just up over the horizon and the air was filled with the spring calls and sounds of thousands of birds. The Gravel Road is a noisy place!
The night world of animals is quite hidden, unless you're out and about at night. Raccoons, I'm assuming, had tipped over the plastic garbage can on wheels, opened the lid and gotten their midnight snack (lock the lid) and all the sunflower seeds were neatly cleaned up from the pieces of wood I'd spread them out from. If it were birds, the shells would still be there. These surfaces were lickety split clean.
At the Arboretum, there are more tell tale critter signs. A winding, narrow swath of dirt brown grass is flattened leading from the 'inside' of the fence to the outside. Dozens of raccoon tracks are frozen in the roadside gravel. Along the road, in the areas that get squishy on spring days, deer tracks. Very lightly impressed into the mud... wild turkey footprints. Places in the fence where the deer can jump over the barbs safely, the wire bent down. A hole through matted grass where the raccoons can get in and out of the arboretum.
I have neither camera nor plaster of Paris with which to record these. But I find it a simple wondrous joy to be aware of these things.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
In the early mornings, the gravel road is rock hard, frozen, solid. There's still some frost in the ground and at nighttime, it freezes, just enough. The early morning is the best time to get out for a walk at this time of year. Although the edges of the road are squishy, the centre, where everyone drives and the two tracks have been driven over time and time again, it feels like pavement.
I love the feeling of the road under my feet. It's quiet, too, although the bird sounds are really loud. I can barely hear the white noise from the 401 a few miles south of us.
The killdeer are back, looking for suitable puddles of gravel and leaves to make their nests, so we know spring is really here. They're a curious bird. Of the sandpiper family, they don't perch. They fly and they walk on the ground. Their nests are highly camouflaged, but on the ground. The eggs blend in with the stones and dirt around and it takes a very keen eye and lots of passing by to detect them. When the eggs hatch, the babies are up and walking. There's no time for them to learn to fly.
I have a choice of going left or right out of the laneway. Sometimes it depends on the wind direction. Otherwise, it's by whimsy. There are miles and miles of roads to walk, but they aren't all open and free for walkers. There are dogs, and not all of them are used to pedestrian traffic. It makes my walk ciruitous, an around the block kind of walk. Around the block on the gravel road is a 6 km walk, an hour and a bit if I hoof it, 90 minutes at a good pace.
Yesterday I broke out the bike! The road was still solid and I took it out for a spin. No helmet, no bike gloves, no bike pants. Just my gardening gloves. It was a glorious 2 km ride, up to the "corner" and back. Made all the difference in the world. Just that first ride. If I get the bike rack out, I can take the bike into the city and hit the trails. But for today, just knowing that I could ride was all I needed.
I love the feeling of the road under my feet. It's quiet, too, although the bird sounds are really loud. I can barely hear the white noise from the 401 a few miles south of us.
The killdeer are back, looking for suitable puddles of gravel and leaves to make their nests, so we know spring is really here. They're a curious bird. Of the sandpiper family, they don't perch. They fly and they walk on the ground. Their nests are highly camouflaged, but on the ground. The eggs blend in with the stones and dirt around and it takes a very keen eye and lots of passing by to detect them. When the eggs hatch, the babies are up and walking. There's no time for them to learn to fly.
I have a choice of going left or right out of the laneway. Sometimes it depends on the wind direction. Otherwise, it's by whimsy. There are miles and miles of roads to walk, but they aren't all open and free for walkers. There are dogs, and not all of them are used to pedestrian traffic. It makes my walk ciruitous, an around the block kind of walk. Around the block on the gravel road is a 6 km walk, an hour and a bit if I hoof it, 90 minutes at a good pace.
Yesterday I broke out the bike! The road was still solid and I took it out for a spin. No helmet, no bike gloves, no bike pants. Just my gardening gloves. It was a glorious 2 km ride, up to the "corner" and back. Made all the difference in the world. Just that first ride. If I get the bike rack out, I can take the bike into the city and hit the trails. But for today, just knowing that I could ride was all I needed.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Ah, Spring.. the Sounds of the Birds, the Sight of ... a Skunk
Nothing serious- went looking for a rake in the barn across the road and heard the telltale scuffle of M. Mouffette. Such an innocent, delightful sounding word in French. Mouffette, pantoufle, petite boule de fluff. The English word is so strong and stinky... S..K..U..N..K. Not a delicate vowel to be heard. It hisses and clunks and ends with a thunk.
The rake wasn't there. It must be in the parallel universe reserved for errant garden tools that the Farmer claims not to have seen. It's the same universe that wayward newly washed socks inhabit- the ones that left the bedroom IN the laundry hamper, went into the machine and were never seen again.
I left M. Mouffette alone.
I had been wondering just what had happened to the skunks that used to live under the garden shed that used to be the dog house that used to be the chicken coop where the Farmer's father lived for a short while as he waited for this house to become vacant, some 50+ years ago. They would come and visit my tent in the backyard in summer if I had any food inside.
The backyard has been flooded, twice, this year, connecting to the river that ran from the back field that connected to the pond created by the overflow at the catch basin that was being filled by the overflow from the small field near where the new barn is going to go ( that I'd hoped would be a tennis court or a swimming pool) that made our tar paper house a metaphorical castle surrounded by a moat. Me, its royal inhabitant, a princess in her palace, and Prince Charming... but I digress.
When the backyard flooded, the water was up to the floor of the garden shed, so any skunks there would have been flushed out.
Which brings us to this evening. It has been a long sunny spring yard cleanup day. The cats have been out, the windows and doors open, just a crack and just for a few moments. The shop door has been open, and therein lay a problem.
Diego spends the nights in the shop ( and THAT is a whole other story). He comes when he's called, demands his cuddles, bats my shins if we don't cuddle enough, then settles down for the evening. We've got the routine down.
I called Diego. He came. We went to the shop. I turned the light on and we made our way to his food and water bowl.
We came upon M. Mouffette, sipping from the water bowl.
The good news is that the sound and sight of the skunk did NOT lead to the smell. M. Mouffette remains in the shop, Diego will have to deal with the outside for a night- and we'll start over again tomorrow.
Sometimes on the Gravel Road, you just let well enough alone. Nothing serious. It's just a parallel universe.
The rake wasn't there. It must be in the parallel universe reserved for errant garden tools that the Farmer claims not to have seen. It's the same universe that wayward newly washed socks inhabit- the ones that left the bedroom IN the laundry hamper, went into the machine and were never seen again.
I left M. Mouffette alone.
I had been wondering just what had happened to the skunks that used to live under the garden shed that used to be the dog house that used to be the chicken coop where the Farmer's father lived for a short while as he waited for this house to become vacant, some 50+ years ago. They would come and visit my tent in the backyard in summer if I had any food inside.
The backyard has been flooded, twice, this year, connecting to the river that ran from the back field that connected to the pond created by the overflow at the catch basin that was being filled by the overflow from the small field near where the new barn is going to go ( that I'd hoped would be a tennis court or a swimming pool) that made our tar paper house a metaphorical castle surrounded by a moat. Me, its royal inhabitant, a princess in her palace, and Prince Charming... but I digress.
When the backyard flooded, the water was up to the floor of the garden shed, so any skunks there would have been flushed out.
Which brings us to this evening. It has been a long sunny spring yard cleanup day. The cats have been out, the windows and doors open, just a crack and just for a few moments. The shop door has been open, and therein lay a problem.
Diego spends the nights in the shop ( and THAT is a whole other story). He comes when he's called, demands his cuddles, bats my shins if we don't cuddle enough, then settles down for the evening. We've got the routine down.
I called Diego. He came. We went to the shop. I turned the light on and we made our way to his food and water bowl.
We came upon M. Mouffette, sipping from the water bowl.
The good news is that the sound and sight of the skunk did NOT lead to the smell. M. Mouffette remains in the shop, Diego will have to deal with the outside for a night- and we'll start over again tomorrow.
Sometimes on the Gravel Road, you just let well enough alone. Nothing serious. It's just a parallel universe.
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