Yesterday I was in shock. Today I’m just sad. I’m sad that so many people in the States voted for a egomaniacal narcissist, who wears hate and racism on a hat that says, “Make America great again.” I’m sure his supporters are happy today because so many of them share his beliefs. Prior to the election I heard many people say, “yeah, I may not like the man but I like his policies.”
Well, I hope they like the mass tariffs he’s about to place on incoming products from other countries and the higher prices they will have to pay for them. Oh and how about the Project 2025 program, which has been called the “woke Propaganda.” His administration will waste no time implementing it. If you want a small glimpse of what’s coming, check out the series, “The Handmaid’s Tale,” based on Canadian writer Margaret Atwood’s novel. This is no joke! What were the women who voted for him thinking!!!
I also hope the Americans who voted for their new supreme leader like authoritarianism because they are about to lose so many freedoms generations before them fought with blood and tears for, but my guess is most of his supporters lack critical thinking abilities and have been brain-washed after years of listening to their fake news media and their religious leaders. They think he’s the greatest ’cause he keeps telling them he is. Pathetically, they also lack any reflective ability on what’s happening in the world and their place in it. (I’m glad we took our kids to Disneyland when Biden was in office ’cause we won’t be visiting this protectionist country anytime soon) I wonder how many other world travellers will feel the same. Let them be isolated if they want it so badly!
And so, today I’m sad.
After listening to Kamala Harris’s concession speech yesterday, (something T***p wasn’t man enough to do four years ago) I was deeply moved. This morning I decided to get up, shaking off these post election blues and let it all go. There is nothing I can do about it and continuing to hold a low vibration of anger and sadness will not help the world.
I’m moving on with hope and looking at history as my guiding light. After all, the world survived even Nero and the fall of Rome and more recently Hitler and Germany. I think Tr**p has it totally wrong. What makes any country or people great is upholding the strong morals of; honesty, respect, compassion, cooperation, generosity, and courgage. I’m grateful my parents instilled these in me as my north star.
(Above, my parents Marvynne and Ethel (nee Herrling) Clark in our home in the early 60’s. (My dad died in 1965) They married after the second world war, a time many people thought was a golden era. They worked so hard to put bread and butter on our table. I suppose the golden part referred to the fact they were living in the post war era when so many people had died fighting for freedom from hatred and tyranny. They were the lucky ones who could live in peace afterwards but make no mistake, it was not an easy time. They taught me to work hard, be honest and respectful, be grateful and count my blessings)
In addition, to love my neighbour…even when I don’t agree with the choices they make in life. Speaking of neighbours, so many of us are forgetting our real life ones in our navel gazing day to day life. I was heartened when I drove my kids home from school yesterday and Victoria said, “hey mom, drop me off at the top of the drive way so I can take our neighbour’s garbage can back to their house. (Last year our neighbour had a heart attack and the kids know these little kindnesses send a message of love and care.) Fills my heart with pride to know they are learning to be kind and considerate, a legacy from my parents)
Okay, I’m done. I’ve said my piece. Does it feel good? No, but it’s part of history. My history that my grandchildren need to know I lived through. Yes, I plan to live through this. For now though, it’s time to get on with life. Deep breath, moving forward. When I sign off I’ll be heading out into my yard to rake some leaves, prune some bushes, and clean up my perennials. The sun is shining and it looks like it will be a blue sky, lovely fall day in my part of the world.
Our earth is an incredible healer. If you are feeling sad today, I urge you to head out for a walk, touch a tree, feel the earth and join me in mutual appreciation.
Life is good! We will get through this time and all shall be well.
Join me in holding a hopeful heart with strong morals being a light upon our path.
Until we meet again, may you be well, happy and peaceful.
Welcome friends, family and blog readers. With National Truth and Reconciliation day happening tomorrow, I thought I would write a piece for my blog. At Hope’s homestead I’m not just wanting to chat about the environment and becoming more sustainable, or even sharing one of our family’s latest recipes, lately I’m finding this blog is evolving beyond just those topics.
Today I wanted to share a piece of my heart and something my family is feeling strongly about in the event of the discovery of the 215 unmarked graves at the Kamloops Indian Residential School last May. Since then, there have been even more at other schools across Canada. I hope you are feeling as outraged as I am and my story resonates with you. Come walk the path with me towards Truth and Reconciliation
~Blessings from Lee~aka Hope
The Path
Even though it was just after nine in the morning and our campsite was surrounded by the cooling forest, I knew the day was going to be another scorcher. On our first day at the Mabel Lake Provincial campground, after setting up our tents, we jumped in the frigid mountain lake and were refreshingly restored. In all the years we’ve been coming here, never have we swam in this lake so early in the season. Then half way through the week, another first, a campfire ban was declared. Temperatures were racing well over 35 Celsius. making the threat of forest fires imminent.
On this July 1st, 2021, I was stirring the bubbling oatmeal over the cook stove when my twelve year old son William opened the tent flap and emerged with porcupine like hair and a pillow creased face. He plunked down into one of the black, folding chairs, circling the empty firepit and asked, “what’s for breakfast?”
“How about some cinnamon spiced oatmeal?” I asked and then added, “or can you make some toast with jam and peanut butter.” “I’ll start with the oatmeal,” replied Will, as he dug around in our camp kitchen box, looking for his turquoise bowl and spoon.
As Will hungrily ate his oatmeal I pulled out our large Canada flag and some rope. I strung it from one fir tree to another at the back of our campsite. “I thought you weren’t going to put up the flag this year mom,” he said. I stood back appreciating the placement of the flag, admiring the bright red maple leaf amongst the deep green of the trees. I remembered the conversation we had had after the 215 unmarked graves had been discovered at the former Kamloops Indian Residential School a month back. I had been so sad and then so flipping angry that I went on a bit of a rampage in our kitchen, the day we heard the news. The day I questioned the country I called home.
That day a discussion ensued around our kitchen table. Our ten year old twin daughters were sitting on the window seat and Will and his older sister Grace were in their respective seats. My husband David came quietly into the kitchen, his eyes opening wide as he questioned what I was so upset about. As we started to eat I shared the story I had just heard on the National News and everyone listened intently.
Kamloops Indian Residential School where the remains of 215 children were found in unmarked graves in May 2021
We had home-schooled the kids for the first year of the pandemic and I had encouraged them to learn the history of Canada’s indigenous people. It worked into the curriculum beautifully as we were studying the European explorers who had come to Canada. To get to the truth of the matter though we had to dig deep and reflect on that time in history to discover the ugly fact that settlers invaded this Country and basically took the land from the Aboriginal people. Will was learning about the various levels of Government and how Canada was established. Our Indigenous people’s history was woven throughout these stories but we were always questioning the truth and trying to understand the climate at various times throughout history.
When the news of the discovered unmarked graves in Kamloops was broadcast, it was one more story layered over what my children were learning. At the dinner table that evening, our daughter Grace shared her remembered experience while touring that school, a few years earlier. She said it felt like a tragically sad place that was deeply haunted. It was a field trip that taught her more than any reading on the subject could do, since she was there feeling the heavy energy at the site. Why hadn’t I been taught this 40 years before when I was in school? I knew why, because I was living in the thick of society’s darkest secrets and our Country wanted to bury the truth so they didn’t have to be accountable. Even my own family was burying something.
All these things poured, like a raging river over my mind’s jagged thoughts. Scant memories about my great grandmother, Mary Caroline Ling, also flooded in. She had been my maternal Grandfather’s mom; a First Nations woman. Our family’s skeleton in the closet if you will. An ancestor that was not talked about. I knew so little about her, except she was the second wife to Charles Herrling, and they had had two children together; August (my grandfather) and his brother, Joseph. Charles Herrling had emigrated from Austria and settled on the Island near Hope, which today carries his name, and is called, “Herrling’s Island.” I don’t recall any stories of Mary Caroline, but the impression my mom gave me of her dad, was that he was a man of few words. A picture I have of him shows a man with glistening dark hair and shining eyes. But what of his mother, Mary Caroline? I may never know, as my family seemed to gladly bury her memory.
August Victor Herrling (January 10, 1882- August 1946)` My maternal Grandfather (He died after being kicked by a horse but my older sister B says that it wasn’t an immediate death but he apparently lingered for a bit but finally succumbed to his injuries…probably brain injury)
I was thinking about all these things when Will asked me why I was hanging up the flag. I sat with a sigh on one of the folding chairs and looked at Will. “You know I have mixed emotions about Canada day this year. It’s not a simple thing. I love our country. I used to be proud to be Canadian but it’s hard to be proud of a country formed on stolen land and I can’t imagine how I would feel if society said I wasn’t fit to raise my children, and took you all away from me. What if I never saw you again?”
Will had stuck some bread to his marshmallow roasting stick and was toasting it over the propane stove while solemnly listening to my thoughts. Then he said, “I want to camp every July 1st ‘cause being in the forest and at the lake is the best. I like paddling in my kayak. I like learning to fish, even if I never catch anything. Even making toast on a stick makes me happy. “
Above…Will (12 years old)on his kayak, learning to fish. July 2021
Victoria and Kathryn in Mable Lake during our camping week…notice the Canada Flag floatie that Will received for his birthday in JuneVictoria, Will and Kate on their bikes during our camping week at Mable Lake, the first week of July 2021
“Yeah,” I said, and smiled at how the simplest things make us happy and wondered why we always want more. It was time to give back the land and long past time to apologize for missing children, lives destroyed, lost languages and culture.
But what could I do?
Just then we heard a siren and with that piercing sound my twin daughters excitedly popped out from their tent. We all ran to stand at the entrance to our campsite and looked up and down the road, trying to see where the noise was coming from. Around the bend in the road we spied the Green Fish and Game truck coming towards us at a snail’s pace. It’s lights were flashing and it’s siren was blaring. What the heck I thought! Then as it got closer it dawned on me that we were about to see a parade.
Here we were far from the city and people still came together to remember this Canada day. Riding behind the truck, were kids of all ages on their bikes or scooters decorated with red and white balloons. Canada flag stickers were pressed on their sweaty cheeks, people with dogs, bouncing along on leashes bedecked with red and white ribbons, smiled and waved their tiny Canada flags. Parents pulled little kids in decorated wagons or pushed them in strollers. Everyone was singing our country’s National anthem. “Oh Canada,” At the end of the parade was the camp attendant’s golf cart. On the back of the cart was a large sheet cake and the attendants were busy cutting and passing out cake to the campers along the parade route. My kids were were jumping up and down once they saw the cake.
Moments later, we all sat around our fireless pit, eating the yummy cake. All was quiet once again, only the crows were cawing as they looked down at my kids’ faces, smeared with white icing. I was thinking, “that was nice.” Maybe being part of a larger community of people who are working together to make Canada a good place for everyone to live is the beginning towards Truth and Reconciliation.
Any path with cake is a good place to start.
The End
Thank you for reading the above story which I wrote in honour of our first National Truth and Reconciliation day tomorrow. As I was writing, I was wondering what I could do next and I found this helpful link. If you want to join me on the path where we can make a difference, click on the link below to learn more.
I missed writing my minimalist Monday post yesterday. Partly, due to the fact that our three youngest children were playing with their youth orchestra at a music festival out of town, and partly due to the fact that I’m oh so very sad.
Victoria, William and Kathryn, on our way to the Kelowna music festival
The little girls warming up….I can hear them CLEARLY, even though everyone was warming up…that’s a funny thing about being a mom….you can always pick our your child’s voice in the crowd, or in this case…their violin.
William warms up intently….he really enjoys playing cello and during the actual performance his head and facial expressions were expressive….way to go Will….you guys got GOLD!
You have heard me say this before; “we are all connected.” And never do we feel it more than when there is a tragedy. When I heard the news about the Humboldt, Saskatchewan, Bronco’s hockey team’s bus crash last Friday, my heart broke; so many lives lost, and so many families changed forever. What I keep thinking about over and over is why. The accident was so bizarre and out of the blue. I mean, if there had been a terrible blizzard, maybe one could wrap their head around it, but there doesn’t seem to be any other reason, other than the bus was at the intersection at the wrong time. As my son Clark said, “what makes these events tragic, is how random they are.”
The YouTube video below by Lorri Brewer illustrates how connected we truly are….
Having been changed forever when my father was killed in a truck accident when I was a young child, I have a clear sense of the magnitude of a family’s loss. And being a parent, whose worst nightmare would be to lose a child, this accident hits me deeply.
And as if that wasn’t enough horror in our world, there was yet another chemical weapon attack in Syria, where once again, crimes against humanity have occurred. I’ve been crying deep inside for the victims of this most recent poisoning and all the families effected in the bus/truck accident. How do we go on amidst constant tragedies in the world? How do we support one another?
Here is one way another grieving person (Sylvie Kellington) chose to help the Bronco’s families with; “A Go Fund Me, :page. We can all help to make a difference.
It felt, so flippant writing about another way to become more minimal and environmentally proactive this week. While those things are important, at least to me, stopping and feeling the pain from loss seemed more appropriate right now. Some would say, “oh Lee, stop watching the news shows, or stop reading the news on line.” But if I did that, I’d feel like I was turning my back on people’s pain and grief. As hard as this is on my heart, I want to be impacted by their darkest days. I want to be reminded, that in a blink of an eye, our lives can change. We are all living on this large, spinning planet; gravity holding us to the earth, but in more ways than one are we truly one family. And we need being reminded of that. Because, although we may not be able to avoid horrific, random accidents, we can make a change with regards to how we treat each other, and make a stand on how dictators around the world are acting.
How can we move forward with hope in our hearts and allow healing to occur. How can we change what is happening in our world to our fellow humans?
I ask these questions and seek the answers and thought I would share an article with links that I came across on the net. Since I’m not a psychologist, or a grief counselor, I needed to find ways to process the most recent events and the following article and links inside of it have been beneficial to me. Maybe, you too, would find them helpful. Check out: We humans~How to be More Hopeful, written on Apr 3, 2018 by Kara Cutruzzula
It was a timely article for me and highlights eight Ted talk speakers, who are inspiring. I particularly appreciated the writer, Andrew Solomon, who said:
“You need to take the traumas and make them part of who you’ve come to be, and you need to fold the worst events of your life into a narrative of triumph, evincing a better self in response to things that hurt.”
“Grief is like the ocean;
it comes in waves,
ebbing and flowing.
Sometimes the water is
calm, and sometimes it
is overwhelming. All we
can do is learn to swim.”
Vicki Harrison
While I would love to crawl under the covers today or to sink deep into a fiction novel, that flies me far away from real life issues, I am choosing instead to stay connected with others and “listen deeply and intentionally,” as Dave Isay, founder of the NYC-based nonprofit StoryCorps suggests, allowing others to share their story of love, wisdom and courage, to fill me up, instead of depleting me. As he says, “it can sometimes feel like you’re walking on holy ground,” when you listen to these stories.
And if there was ever a time I need that, we ALL need that on this earth, it’s now. It’s when we break open and allow grief to change us, that we return to the NOW, and remember what’s truly important.
“Simply Loving each other”….and maybe that is my minimalist post after all…because nothing is more simple and yet powerful than that!
Until we meet again, may you be well, happy and peaceful.
Have you been joining Deepak, Oprah and me in the 21 day, “Hope in Uncertain Times.” meditation series? If so, I’m so HAPPY! You are probably heightened to how the feelings of hope sustains you in your life. I can’t imagine life without it. Doing this meditation series has inspired me to write a little piece on “Hope and Me.” (And then share my banana bread recipe with you)
Maybe it will get you thinking about times in your life when hope kept you going.
I grew up in the 60’s and 70’s; a time when peace marches were common, and a book called, “Silent Spring,” by Rachel Carson, ignited the environmental movement like nothing since , “Henry David Thoreau’s book “Walden’s Pond,” which had been published over 100 years earlier. Suddenly, like a tidal wave changing an idyllic landscape after World War two, protests erupted all over the world regarding social issues, environmental concerns and race equality. What lay grounded beneath us all, was a thread of hope that if we all pulled together, we could evoke change.
“Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will ensure as long as life lasts. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature – the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter.” ~Rachel Carson, “Silent Spring”
John Lennon’s song, “Imagine,” was a powerful song for that era, “I hope someday you join us and the world will live as one.”
Has a lot changed since then?
Is there still hope in the world?
If you asked my son who has a degree in Environmental Science, you would think all hope is lost. I think David Suzuki shares his opinion and yet, without hope, what remains? We need to keep believing that what we do makes a difference on this earth.
Is there any other way to live?
“We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost‘s familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster. The other fork of the road — the one less traveled by — offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.” ~Rachel Carson, “Silent Spring.”
There was a time in my life that felt hopeless but as long as there is life, there is hope. At least we can keep moving in the direction of being conscious of our choices and deciding how we want to live our life. With hope, or without.
So, without further ado, here is my piece called, “Hope and Me.” It’s a jig saw memoir piece and if you linger afterwards, what goes really well with a little bit of hope? well of course a steaming cup of hot tea and a slice of banana bread still warm from the oven!.
Using a well- known quote of Oprah’s, “what I know for sure,” is that, hope sustains us. Somehow, lying, quietly under the surface of my childhood, the seeds of hope survived. A childhood filled with neglect and loneliness. After my father was killed in an Esso truck accident in 1965, when I was five years old, my mother, also left this earth. Oh sure, she was present physically. But my memory of her is as an empty shell, moving gently with the tide of our days. After Dad died, I also lost my safe and comfortable life.
Adding to the grief, a year later we left the only hometown I had known, ironically called, Hope. We also left two of my older sisters; one who was finishing high school and the other who had just started her banking career. My mom, older sister J and I moved to a nearby city called Chilliwack, which was named for the indigenous tribe who originally settled there and in their language it meant, “quieter waters.” I’m sure mom wanted us to make a fresh start in a city that didn’t know our sorrow, on the shores of a bubbling brook, instead of a river flooded with pain and pity. But a black cloud followed us wherever we went, always threatening to rain tears.
The dark oppressive worry of money hovered overhead as well, and when most children are ignorant of the weight of money, I was acutely aware of its lack. I will never forget when our hot water tank burst and we desperately needed to have it replaced but there was no money for that. My mother’s worried brow covered me in a heavy coat of anxiety. I can remember going to school wondering if others could smell poverty on my skin. Then one night my mom left my sister J and I, to go to bingo with my Auntie Geordie, who was also a struggling single mom. The next morning I found mom humming in the kitchen. She had won the exact amount needed to replace the hot water tank at bingo.
Mom used all her energy to keep the roof over our head, working hard at her hotel front desk clerk position. She often worked the shift that started at 4 pm so she wasn’t there for long when I came home from school and I didn’t see her in the mornings either, since she was sleeping after working the night shift. When she was home, not knowing any other way to engage with her, I would act out or be whiny. It must have been like fingernails on a mother’s chalkboard back. She would put up with it to a point and then suddenly without warning, she’d fly out of her carefully, controlled shell and yell, “Debbie, go to your room and don’t come out until you’re going to be happy.”
As a result, I spent most of my childhood in my bedroom. I would draw pictures of perfect families; starting with a tall Dad and then a bit smaller mom and finally, I would draw children, lots of children; boys and girls and babies, lots of babies. In many of my drawings, looking back at them years later, for my mom saved just about everything, I noticed there was often an angel floating above the families. Was I even conscious of drawing one hovering above at the time?
I remember on several occasions, being sent to my room rather violently, my mom grabbing a piece of my hair and hurtling me towards my bedroom door, which prompted intense feelings of anger and sadness. Feeling unwanted, I would write long, drawn out goodbye letters, hoping my mom would feel remorseful about pulling my hair once she discovered me gone. Then I would stuff my pillowcase with books, my favourite Suzy Q doll and a small, shabby pink blanket. I would escape through my open window and crawl over to the hydrangea bush in our front yard.
It was there, in the shelter and shade of that large shrub, that I would sit on my blanket, with Suzy Q by my side and we would be swept away to other worlds reading books. The ground smelled earthy and comforting and when the hydrangea was in bloom, with its large blue lacy like blossoms, I could spend hours under such graceful beauty. Eventually though, hunger would win out and I would crawl back through my window and notice my goodbye note undisturbed.
No one has missed me at all.
And such was my childhood. Books helped me escape my loneliness. Sara from, “The Little Princess,” Mary from “The Secret Garden,” and my all- time favourite, “Anne with an e, from Green Gables,” became my closest confidants. Anne said, “Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.” And reading outside in the garden restored my soul, so I could endure life. I hoped that like the delicate hydrangea bush that sheltered me, that my life would one day blossom beautifully.
As I pen this childhood memory, a lifetime has elapsed allowing me to draw on many experiences. In hindsight yes, my childhood was sad and lonely but it’s always been during the darkest moments in my life that I have grown the most. Losing my dad, taught me more about life than a lifetime with him in it. And spending my darkest days under the hydrangea bush inspired a love of gardening. When I’m sad all I have to do is go out into nature and I can find my way home again.
If I had one of those childhood drawings to show you today, you would see that I am the smiling mom in the picture and beside me is a strong and tall man. My husband David is my oak tree, his branches reach out wide, sheltering me from life’s wind and rain. Above his deep roots, I blossom and thrive and together we provide a safe home for our family to grow. He is dad to our 8 incredible, deeply loved children.
They were with me when I was small, little seeds of hope just waiting underground, lying dormant until the sun warmed the earth. They sustained me.
And my mom you ask, who knew, she was with me always, in the only way that she could be and hope sustained her too. And since she has been gone for 5 years now, I’d like to believe she is the angel watching over me.
What I know for sure is that hope sustains us and I wouldn’t want to live any other way.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..The End
Well, that is one of my life pieces and someday, who knows, maybe I can put the whole picture together. Writing this blog has been not just a way to inspire others to look at ways they can live their life more mindfully, but I hope when I share intimate stories like the one above, it also gets others thinking about the dark days in their life and despite it all their roots burrowed deeper, looking for the nourishment of hope, allowing them to blossom into the person they are today…. beautifully.
And what else sustains us? Good comfort food. For me, banana bread has always been right up there on that comfort list. How about you? And recently I made loaf after loaf of it and it was consumed as fast as it was on the cooling racks, so I think I’m not alone in my feelings about it.
The base recipe I use is from my, “Pillsbury Complete Book of Baking.” Although I have tried many banana bread recipes, I keep coming back to this one. It always gives me THE PERFECT TEXTURE, that I love in banana bread. A good tip for making great bread is to wait until you have REALLY ripe bananas for great texture and taste. Not always easy in our house as we eat our bananas as fast as they come in but occasionally they do get a few brown speckles on them.
Banana Bread (Note: I double the recipe below and make two loafs as it goes FAST!!!)
Ingredients
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup margarine or butter (or sometimes I use coconut oil)
2 eggs
1 cup (2 ripe bananas) mashed bananas
1/3 cup milk (I use almond milk but coconut milk would be great too)
1 tsp vanilla (since I double the recipe, I use 1 tsp vanilla and 1 tsp coconut extract)
2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 cup chopped nuts if desired…I use walnuts and you can throw a handful of coconut in as well
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
Directions
Heat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease bottom only of 9×5 or 8×4 inch loaf pans. In large bowl, beat sugar and margarine/butter or coconut oil until light an fluffy. Beat in eggs. Add bananas, milk and vanilla. Blend well. In small bowl, combine flour, nuts baking soda, and salt. Mix well. Add to banana mixture; stir just until dry ingredients are moistened. Pour into greased pan.
Bake at 350 F for 50 to 60 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool for 5 minutes then remove from pan. Cool completely, then wrap tightly and store in refrigerator.
Yields 1 loaf…16 slices.
(For a variation you can add 1 cup applesauce instead of bananas,and add 3/4 tsp cinnamon with the flour)
These were the first loaves I made recently
I can deal with anything when I have a cup of tea and a slice of banana bread, how ’bout you?
I made so many loaves that when I made the loaves in this picture, I hardly had any flour left. I only had enough for 2 cups but since I was doubling my recipe, I put 2 cups of oatmeal in the food processor and made 2 cups of oat flour and although it was still delicious…the loaf didn’t rise as high.
And for a peak into the homestead;
What’s been happening around here lately?
Lots of juicing
Lots of drinking said juice…almost forgot to snap a picture of this drink…it was so good and almost gone when I remembered to share it with you…the ginger, apples and carrots make it ZING!
The little kids have been building bridges with spaghetti at the Science Centre…I know, William Einstein!
More bridges..this time with marshmallows…Victoria Einstein!
A future structural engineer for sure…less marshmallows, more angles for strength, Kathryn Einstein!
And then the real work of late:
David starting to chain saw our 25 year old plants. If you are wanting to know what the best chain saw is for your homestead, check out this article from Mother Earth News
We are ripping out 25 year old plants from the beds above our pool since the landscape tie wall has deteriorated. Last week, David was chain sawing all the plants and those who were able, (the older boys and I) were hauling them down to our lower lawn area. Since then, we had a wonderful company in to chip the whole works and now this week it’s been all about digging up the roots and monster stumps.
Even though our son Harrison had started working at Home Depot part time, he also came out to help every chance he had. The weather has been cloudy, cold and rainy for much of April (In the picture above you can see the wall collapsing.)
Wish I couldn’t have kept all chippings from this pile…it would make great mulch for our new beds
Every thing is up, except the stumps…now the real work begins
Our oldest son Clark has been an amazing helper with regards to this project. (I’m thankful he’s been going to the gym and lifting weights all winter long!) The next step is taking down the old wall and rebuilding a new one. Then comes the fun part….replanting. This time though we will be planting herbs, some flowers and LOTS of food. I’m probably the only one planting edibles around my pool in our subdivision but it just makes sense if we are going to water anything, that it will be food. Since this area gets hot, hot sun all summer long, I think we will try to grow watermelon, cantalopes and maybe some grapes up the deck support posts.
My sister J came for a visit today, (waving Hi J…you always make my day) and asked what I will use to amend the soil since it’s currently not great. I’m going to use the “Back to Eden” gardening method and plan to mulch it heavily with wood chips, amending the soil only around each hole I dig for my plants. The cedar will eventually decompose and thereby improving the soil. Click on the hyperlink above if you want to watch the Back to Eden film.
The next project is also building some raised garden beds in our lower lawn area. The goal is to lose the grass and increase the garden space.We plan to also build 4×4 raised bed for each of the little people. One of our twin daughters, 5 year old Victoria, recently told us that when she grows up she wants to be a farmer so she can feed children all over the world. She heard that children go hungry all over the world and she doesn’t understand how that is possible. The solution seems so simple to her; just grow more food. Seems simple to me too. If we all did our part, even in our small backyards, no one would go hungry again.
What are you growing in your back forty this year?
Thanks for coming to visit. I hope something you have read here lifts you up, brightens your day and keeps you focused on your dreams. I told my sister J that I would REALLY like to write happier, more light filled posts and my next one will be that. In my next post, check out the amazing coconut cake I made recently in honour of my sister J’s birthday.
Now that is something to be happy about! Sisters and cake. Oh, there is so much good in the world!
Until we meet again, may hope sustain you, and may you be well, happy and peaceful.
I’d like to share a story I wrote several years ago. This is the 50th Christmas since my Dad left the earth and it seems like a fitting tribute. This is for you Dad, my shining star and for my mother, who has now joined him and also guides me on my journey.
Hope is a Star
The Christmas I remember most poignantly, was wrapped in deep sorrow and sadness. It was December 1965 and I had just turned 6 years old. My family and I lived in the small town of Hope, B.C., on the west coast of Canada. My three older sisters had been heard to say our little town was, “beyond hope, as there wasn’t a lot for children and teenagers to do. Still, I loved our quaint little town, nestled next to tall, forested mountains and I felt safe and happy in the white clapboard house that my father, (and mother) had built for us, adding on piece by piece over the years as our family grew. It glowed with the happy hum of a loving family. But that Christmas lay quiet and dark.
My father, Marvyn Clark, had been killed in an Esso company, truck accident on the Hope Princeton highway the September before. He had left my mother alone, struggling to care for myself and my three older sisters. Since I was young, I didn’t comprehend the depths of despair or grief but I felt it. It lay heavy on me, like when I would burrow under a pile of fake fur and wool coats thrown on my parent’s bed when company arrived. I couldn’t breathe.
Wonderful smells of cinnamon and ginger didn’t waft from the kitchen and there weren’t sounds of tissue rustling or my mother’s sewing machine creating magic into the wee hours of the night. There was no trip to the mountains to choose the most perfectly shaped and fragrant fir tree, nor was there any adult laughter or music coming from our living room after I had been tucked away for the night. When my dad was alive, I would often fall asleep listening to him tapping away on his typewriter, or playing his violin and oh, the deep comforting smell of his presence; rich pungent with a hint of pipe tobacco and gasoline, I missed that the most.
A friend of my mother’s took my sister, J and I, to the big city to see Santa. While it was an adventure to leave our small town, and the sweet peppermint candy cane I received after sitting on Santa’s lap was delicious, a piece of me had been shattered and knew, not even Santa could bring what I longed for most. My Dad.
J and I visiting Santa the Christmas after Dad was killed, 1965
That Christmas Eve stands out as a pivotal shift among the stillness of the season. I wore a red, hand me down dress with scratchy crinoline and white tights, that annoyingly needed to be pulled up every few moments. We attended our family’s United Church candlelight service and listened to the story of how God’s love illuminated the world with a star and a baby.
As we walked home in the crisp, cold evening, our boots crunched on the newly fallen snow. I looked up into the black velvet sky to see the brightest star. It seemed to follow us on our path home and no matter which way we turned, it hovered over head. Finally, we arrived at our darkened home and my mother and sisters stepped into our little front porch, stamping the snow off of their boots but I hung back. I hesitated to look up for fear the star had vanished but then, a sense of peace poured through me as I scanned the sky once more, only to find it still shimmering with brilliant light right above my head. I was sure it was glowing, just for me.
At last, I could bear the bone chilling air no longer, I took one last look and joined my family. Warm light was spilling out our front door and I could hear the hum of voices within.
~The End~
Merry Christmas!
I have held HOPE in my heart ever since that Christmas and like that special star, it never wavers. I KNOW we are loved and cared for. We may not understand why life has to be so hard at times but we need to just trust and let go, knowing, all shall be well.
Please join me in going down memory lane with some photos from Christmases in Hope
MY Dad, Marvyn and my mom Ethel Clark
Here, I am as a little one, Debra Lee…aka Hope
A typical Christmas morning while my dad was still alive…Dad, my sister J and myself in the kerchief…pin curls in my hair
While we were not well off, we were wealthy in so many ways…rich in hard work, integrity, honesty and love
My sister C was a teenager when Dad passed away…this was from a happier Christmas
The Four Clark girls, that’s me on the left, then my oldest sister B, then J and finally my second oldest sister, C
My family…the Clark’s
I love this picture of my parents…Dad looks so happy and notice my mom touching his hand…they loved each other so much
My Dad and my sisters and I with the snowman we made in front of our house…I think this was the last winter before Dad died
Well dearest blog family, I hope you enjoyed going down memory lane with me and I hope that you remember, the real Christmas magic, is holding hope in your heart. It lights us up, allowing us to live a richer life full of meaning and most important of all, and what God gave us so many Christmases ago,…………………………………………………………. LOVE
Before I go and get my family ready for our family pictures today, I wanted to share with you my own fruitcake recipe. After we come home from our candlelight service on Christmas eve, we light a single white candle on the cake and we sing “Happy Birthday” to Jesus. It helps to keep the true meaning of Christmas foremost in our minds before the gift giving portion the following morning. Maybe, if you share the same sort of belief as I, you can add it as one of your family traditions. There is something about mixing a big bowl of fruitcake that takes me right back to Christmases with my mom….and my Dad and helps me keep our house humming.
Hope’s Baby Jesus Fruitcake
Ingredients
1/4 lb of sliced almonds 1/2 lb (about 11/2 cups) of dark raisins 1/2 lb mixed peel or glazed fruit 1/4 cups glazed or well drained maraschino cherries..sliced 2-1/2 cups pre-sifted all purpose flour 1 tsp baking powder 1-1/4 cups sugar 1 tsp vanilla 1 tsp almond extract 1 tsp grated lemon rind 1- 1/2 tbsp lemon juice 4 eggs (cooking oil to grease pans)
Directions
Grease and line cake tins with 3 layers of heavy waxed paper or 2 layers of brown paper. Grease each piece of paper with cooking oil. Blanche and halve the almonds; then toast in moderate oven. Combine in large bowl with raisins, peel and sliced cherries
Measure 1/2 cup flour without sifting and add to fruit, stirring until fruit is well coated. Measure remaining 2 cups flour without sifting, add baking powder and salt and stir thoroughly to blend Cream butter until fluffy, gradually add sugar, mixing until creamy. Add flavouring and then the eggs; one at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in dry ingredients until well combined. Blend in fruit and nuts. Fill Cake tins 2/3. Bake at 325 F for 1 1/2 to 2 hours….when toothpick comes out clean. Happy Birthday Jesus!
Yummy!….but then I’m kind of old fashioned.
As I leave you, I am singing the lovely hymn our United church sings every Christmas eve. If you can’t see the YouTube link below…click on the hyper link to hear, “Hope is a Star.” (it’s really catchy and you may find yourself humming it over the holidays)
1. Hope is a star that shines in the night,
leading us on till the morning is bright.
Refrain:
When God is a child there’s joy in our song.
The last shall be first and the weak shall be strong,
and none shall be afraid.
2. Peace is a ribbon that circles the earth,
giving a promise of safety and worth.
3. Joy is a song that welcomes the dawn,
telling the world that the Saviour is born.
4. Love is a flame that burns in our heart.
Jesus has come and will never depart. I hope your holiday is filled with the magic of the season and you hold the true meaning of Christmas in your heart for the whole year through.
The little reindeer on our mantle is a treasure from my childhood…as long as I can remember it was in our home
Until we meet again, may you be well, happy and peaceful. Blessings from Hope
