A Good Home, Bowmanville, Heritage Trees, Trees

Wondrous Wednesday

This tree, which I ambitiously tried to hug — in my own special lop-sided way — is a mighty oak indeed. It stands tall and wide in the front-yard of a beautiful brick home, and though the home is old, the oak is older.

I recently met the owners of house and tree at their home in the gorgeous heritage district of one of Canada’s nicest small towns: Bowmanville, Ontario. They’ve lived here for decades and have learned much about their home, the town, and of course, the tree.

“It’s more than 300 years old,” the husband told me. “Many people stop to take photos.” 

As did my husband and I.  I’ve even told friends about this tree, and directed them to it!

It is, indeed, a wondrous tree. 

blog-photo-trees-three-trunks-in-autumn-e14165477151391

There are other large trees on this beautiful street. Maples, magnificent beeches and others. But none as massive and wondrous as the oak.  Which is ironic as the street is called Beech.

Here’s to the mighty oak!

 

A Good Home

I’m Berry Blessed, I am….

I love blueberries, I do.

Blog Photo Blueberries by H Grange

On Sunday, as we drove to Wilmot Orchards Blueberry Farm in Newcastle, Ontario, I told my good man: “I want to go blueberry picking. How hard can that be?’

Blog Photo Blueberry Picking

To which he promptly said: “Not a good idea.” Or some other such very sensible reply.

Blog Photo Girl Picks Blueberries by H Grange

I gave him a mean look. Because he’s always right….

Perhaps to give me time to reconsider, he drove around to other nearby farms and we stopped as he took these photos.

Blog Photo Sunflower CU by H Grange

Blog Photo Sunflowers by H Grange

Blog Photo Apples by H Grange

Blog Photo Apples CU by H Grange

By then I’d regained my senses. I went and BOUGHT a container of blueberries at Wilmot.

Came home, shared it with neighbours and still had enough for a feast.

And now I have been eating so many of these delicious berries that, any day now, I shall be entirely blue!  (But very thankful.)

Blog Photo CR and Berries by H Grange

All photos by Hamlin Grange.

A Good Home, Canadian Homes, Canadian life, Family Moments, Family Stories

What Did You Do With My Mother?

I sat on the rug in the family room, concentrating on the needle in my hand.

Without turning, I could tell that my daughter was standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Mum?” she asked.

“I’m darning the rug. It’s got a few holes and I’m trying to mend them.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

Unasked, but loud nonetheless, was her follow-up question: “And what did you do with my mother?”

Some of you know this rug. It’s the one that was on our verandah. We suspect it’s about 100 years old. But how many things do you know that have retained their gorgeous colour (despite the threadbare spots and holes) after 100 years?

blog-photo-verandah-chairs

But I digress.

I’m not a do-it-yourselfer. I have ten thumbs and no talent.

But it was a great day in my world:  pain no worse than usual; speech clear; best of all, my daughter was here. It was like winning the lottery.

Plus, the lady in the yarn store was sure I could mend the rug.

“I even lost the two sets of yarn I’d bought here”, I confessed. 

She smiled and reassured me yet again.

Back at home, I threaded the huge needle and pulled the wool over the hole, criss-cross. It looked awful. My mother’s voice popped into my head: “You need a patch of fabric.”

Of course.

I asked my husband: “Have you a thick old sock? Something I can cut up?”

We found one. Its colour almost perfectly matched that section of the rug. I cut out a chunk, put it under the hole and started mending.

And that’s what I was doing when my daughter spied me.

But when she came closer to inspect, even she was impressed.

If a bit speechless.

**

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A Good Home, Canadian life, Couples, Family, Family Moments, Humour

To Make You Smile – A Bit of Foolishness

I’m not talking to my husband.

The problem  is that I can’t remember why.

“How can you be mad at a person and not remember why?” he asks in disbelief.

“I don’t know. I just know.”

Which makes about as much sense as holding a grudge for something you can’t remember.

“Did you have another dream?”

~~

There was the time, long ago, when I dreamed that a woman flirted with my husband.

I woke up the next morning and was very upset with him.

“Was she pretty, at least?” he asked.

“This is not a joking matter,” I replied huffily.

“But why are you blaming me? SHE was the one who flirted!”

“Well, you were probably encouraging her!”

“So you’re blaming ME because some woman flirted with me — in a  dream?” He asked.

“Yes!”

“But it wasn’t even MY dream!” he protested.

“That’s no excuse,” I pouted.

~~

Now, what the heck had he done this time? I couldn’t remember.

It wasn’t because of The Case of the Missing Ski Sock. 

Although, I was pretty mad at the time.

“Are you sure you didn’t put my sock somewhere?” he kept asking. “That’s my expensive ski sock.”

So of course I went looking.  Hours later, I’d completely re-organized his very messy closet – but still no sock.

He had learned early on that if he accused me of removing his keys, pen, wallet, cell phone, socks — you name it — I’d go searching till I found the darned thing, right where he had misplaced it. But it took me decades to catch on. Decades. Yes, I’m really that daft.

Now, if only I could recall why I’m mad at him this time.

How can I forgive and forget if I can’t remember?

~~

Dedicated to all loving partners who con their spouses into finding things they’ve lost — and to the loving, crazy people they live with.