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Winter coming

4 September 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

It is only August, and yet the nights seem to be drawing in and getting colder. There is so much to do with the building that the need to plan and prepare for winter is like a horizon I cannot distinguish yet; but I know it is there.  It plays on my mind and will until the cabin is at least wind/water tight.

A phantom that will have to become a driving force to make sure I am in in time; the alternative, back to Mitchell road.

...[Read More]

Wild raspberries

3 September 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

The juicy, sweet, tastiness of wild raspberries seems to be drawing to a close; maybe cut-short by the relentless sun that has beaten the Valley.

For a couple days Breagha was content to sit in a heap in the middle of a raspberry bush and harvest the berries by nosing around the leaves and licking them to death. ...[Read More]

Savage squirrels

3 September 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

For some reason right now the squirrels are busy in the trees; perhaps they are storing food for the winter.  I was wandering up to the site last week and was whacked on the head by a falling pine cone.  I was quite affronted, and glared up at the guilty party. ...[Read More]

Flutter-bys and water boatmen

10 August 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

Breagha’s new favourite pass-time is to chase flying things.  Given she is only a little over 3 months old and knee high to a human, that mostly means butterflies and insects; anything large enough to grab her attention.

The odd hummingbird has flown low enough to inspire her, though she is still too bumbling to do more than offer a confused pursuit of those feisty wee guys.   ...[Read More]

Birds from another age

9 August 2009 | Category: Stories | Author: Clare

I have heard that herons are a good omen.

I see them now every couple of days, either on the wetland out front of the cabin, or around the edges of Breagha’s beaver pond; so big and slow, I cannot decide if they are graceful or ungainly.

They look as if they were stolen from another era and cruelly abandoned in our time. ...[Read More]