Patience, birds!

When we arrived home on Friday after a two-week journey to visit family and friends in the BC lower mainland and on Vancouver Island, it quickly became apparent that if I didn't act quickly, this year's Saskatoon berry crop would be history. We have an abundance of juvenile magpies, blue jays and robins once again this year, and on Saturday morning, a bold bird with a red breast raided our berry patch with me not five feet away.

Suzanna and I pulled out what scraps of green netting I had (after using most of it for a sweet pea trellis) and did our best to wrap the tree, but not an hour later, the robin had found his way under the netting for another sweet feast. 

So this morning, catching a blue jay sitting on top of the netting with a saucy look in her eye, as if she was daring me to do something about her raiding of the berries, I took drastic action. Even though it would be better to wait another week and let them ripen further, I got a pail and started picking the biggest, ripest ones. 

Several robins and at least three blue jays came by to scold me. Telling them to be patient, that I just wanted my share, and that I would leave plenty for them, I picked enough for a pie (two if I add rhubarb) or maybe I'll just put them in my smoothies for a week or two. At any rate, I pulled down the netting as I went, so the birds have free reign now.

There are still many berries, but they're not as ripe as the ones I picked. My flying friends will have to be patient for a few days if they want sweet black ones again. I learned, after a year when the birds got them all, that if I take my half first, there's still enough for everyone to enjoy.

Our hearts must break

Today we remembered 

one hundred and fifty-six people 

who died in our city 

only since last June 

just because they 

had 

nowhere to go.

Our hearts 

should break.

There were honour songs and bagpipes, 

tears and hugs. 

Two hundred carnations 

found rest at the feet of 

the statue

across from City Hall,

a statue that reminds us 

that until all are cared for

we are not "whole."

Our hearts 

should break.

Painted lady butterflies 

were released 

in honour 

of one hundred and fifty-six lives 

cut short 

because of lack of "home" --

compassion,

family,

forgiveness,

kindness,

light,

love,

protection,

room,

safety,

shelter,

warmth, 

and everything else

that "home"

means.

Our hearts

should break.

The ones remembered were 

siblings, 

friends, 

children, 

parents, 

grandparents, 

relations, 

all 

genuinely beloved people. 

They are gone too soon.

Our hearts

should break.

What do their deaths mean to us?

What would their deaths mean to you

if they were your

siblings, 

friends, 

children, 

parents, 

grandparents, 

relations, 

all 

genuinely beloved people?

 

More compassion fatigue?

Or a deeper desire to work 

so that everyone

has 

somewhere to go?

We are all one family.

Our hearts

must break

and we 

must act.

Change must come.

Monday Music Appreciation #10 -- A rose for Oscar Peterson

Oscar Peterson roses

Oscar Peterson is blooming in my yard. Or rather, the rose named after him is.

One of my rosebushes didn't overwinter, so when we bought the shrubs for our front yard at the garden centre last month, I gravitated toward the Rose House... and was having a hard time deciding on which rosebush to choose as a replacement. Until I noticed Oscar Peterson...

The real Oscar Peterson was an incredible Canadian jazz musician. After my best friend, Cathy, learned to play his Hymn to Freedom for her dad's 80th birthday, she played it for me too. It was love at first listen.

Last fall, I got to hear the piece played live at a jazz evening at the Winspear, and that performance was the highlight of the night for me. It actually made me quite emotional, which is what often happens when I hear good music. 

I came home to read all about Oscar Peterson according to the Canadian Encyclopedia, learning more about him and his music, and spending time listening to other online recordings of an amazing musician. But Hymn to Freedom remains my favourite.

So it was a no-brainer to bring home a hardy Canadian rosebush named after him. 

If you've never heard Hymn to Freedom or seen Oscar play, here's a treat! Enjoy!

Sidewalk stories

In April I discovered 
a box of unused sidewalk chalk in a cupboard, 
and decided it needed to be used. 

So I put some pieces 
into a pretty chocolate tin marked CHALK, 
and went out to encourage people to draw on my sidewalk.

The first artist 
to participate
drew her own flower, 
wrote that she liked my garden,
and signed her work
Julianne.

Someone else

(a good neighbour, I think)

wrote "Hello Friends!"

in beautiful flowing cursive.

I didn't see all this happen,

and it rained before I took a picture.

A few days later,

a couple stopped

and left me 

a shamrock

and a smiling cat.

Last week,

I caught my first glimpse 

of Julianne when she and three friends

drew moon cakes and happy faces.

Again, 

Julianne signed her work.

I like that she does that.

Of course,

rain washed everything away.

On Tuesday I went out

and chalked

CHALK 

with an arrow pointing to the box

like I always do.

Then I thanked

Julianne and friends

for their efforts.

I happened to be sitting in our front room

with my windows open

when Julianne and a friend came by 

and she read my message.

"Thanks for the art,

JuliANNE AND FRIENDS!" 

she squealed with delight.

They left more art for me.

I'll be sad when school ends

and Julianne 

doesn't walk past 

as often.

But there might be

a few more

willing participants,

like the couple last night

who gave me 

this garden scene

and high-fived as they walked on.

Thanks, 

neighbours,

for sharing your art

with me!

Garden goings-on

Hardworking family on May 22nd

For the record, my family is really wonderful. After I broke the bone in my foot on May 10th, they came to help me put in my garden 12 days later. 

I sat in a chair with my boot up, giving instructions and marking boxes with a checkmark when they were planted. I loved watching my dad and Lee plant the tomatoes, Mom and Jeanine working on carrots and snow peas, Lynnell poking the fava beans into the earth exactly as I would have done, and Suzanna whipping the herb bed into shape.

It probably would have taken me until today to do what they did in two hours. My "air boot" isn't exactly easy to maneuver in certain places in our yard, and it was a lot worse with crutches (I got permission to ditch them on May 26th). The challenge now is to not overdo weeding efforts and give my foot enough rest and healing time.

We've been having good heat, and lately, some wonderful rain, and things are popping out of the ground at an amazing rate. This video I took yesterday doesn't show nearly as much growth as if I had made it today, but it's raining, and I'm sitting with my achy foot up, happy to watch the moisture come down.

So this is my May 31st, 2023 garden report, one day later. Slightly wonky as I limp around in my boot! Thanks to my parents, sisters, and live-in family members for planting it all. Thanks be to God for the rain, and the green and growing things!

P.S. Momma sparrow's babies are in the birdhouse, not the greenhouse!