“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger — something better, pushing right back.” – Albert Camu
This is one of my best-loved quotes. Small wonder the author won the Nobel prize in Literature in 1957.
While it is February, one can taste the full joys of anticipation. Spring stands at the gate with her finger on the latch. ~ Patience Strong
Winifred Emma May (1907 – 1990) was a poet from the United Kingdom, best known for her work under the pen name Patience Strong. Her poems were usually short, simple and imbued with sentimentality, the beauty of nature and inner strength. – Wikipedia
When I found the above quote to accompany today’s photo, I couldn’t help but smile at the author’s pen name. “Patience Strong” is what some of us need to get through the cold and icy month of February. 🙂
These photos of root cellars are from one of my November posts five years ago. I’ve been thinking about them lately because in the speculative novel I’m writing, an abandoned root cellar figures largely in certain plot points of the story.
More than 130 root cellars have been documented in the Elliston area, dating back as far as 1839, and some are stillused todayto store homegrownvegetables.
According to Elliston folklore, the older folks told the children that babies came from root cellars. For more photos and info, click on the link below:
TheVirginia rose, also known as a common wild rose or prairie rose, is a woody perennial in the rose family native to eastern North America, where it is the most common wildrose. ~ Wikipedia
The pollen on the wild rose’s yellow anthers are an important food source for many beneficial insects, including bees. The rose hips they produce are a winter food for birds and mammals such as waxwings, grouse, pine grosbeaks, rabbits, and even coyotes.
I took these pics in July. They grow everywhere in our province, but these are from my daughter’s garden at her summer home in Lead Cove, NL.
Can you tell I miss summer already?
What’s your favourite wild flower?
I recently discovered Wandering Canadians travel and adventure blog and am now a follower.
Who are the Wandering Canadians?
“We’re a couple of Canadians who enjoy hiking, camping, cross-country skiing, diving, and spending as much time outdoors as we can. We hope our stories can help as you plan for your adventures. Thanks for reading.” –L & K
I was thrilled to come across their post from July where they describe their 10-day trip to the island portion of my own province, Newfoundland and Labrador.
The photography is stunning too. But please don’t take my word for it, click on the highlighted post below and see for yourself.
On our trip to the west coast of Newfoundland this past weekend, we took a drive to see one of the best-loved sites in the area, the Tablelands.
The Tablelands, found between the towns of Trout River and Woody Point south-west of Gros Morne National Park, look more like a barren desert than traditional Newfoundland.
This is due to the ultramafic rock (high in minerals), peridotite, which makes up the Tablelands. It originated in the Earth’s mantle and was forced up from the depths during a plate collision several hundred million years ago. Peridotite lacks the usual nutrients required to sustain most plant life, hence its barren appearance. Peridotite is high in iron, which accounts for its brownish rust colour.
Sometimes we sit lamenting as memory traces back The old familiar landmarks that we miss from off our track. They’ve built the railway stations where our feet were wont to skate, They motor over footpaths where our lovers used to wait. But there’s one left still – dear old Signal Hill.*
I’ve always loved Signal Hill. That’s probably why I incorporated into a couple of scenes in my debut novel, Calmer Girls.
Overlooking St. John’s Harbour and the Atlantic Ocean, it is the capital city’s most popular tourist attraction.
I take the time every summer to pay a visit, and this past July was no exception. Here are a few shots from that gorgeously sunny and breezy day – then again, as any tourist can attest, it’s always quite breezy atop this hill!
In the distant past, Signal Hill has been the setting for victorious battle, the location for Marconi’s monumental establishment of wireless telegraph communication, and a signalling station for approaching ships.
Today it is a National Historic Site under Parks Canada.
The best thing I like about Signal Hill?
The views, of course!
If you look closely at some of my pics, you can see the trail around the hill.
This is not a hiking trail for the faint of heart.
Thanks for taking a look at my throwback to July and one of the best-loved sites my province has to offer.
*Poem by Lydia Chancey, Book of Newfoundland, 1937
I wrote the following in September of 1994. It was a time of great transition for me.
I wanted to express my readiness for the next chapter, and my anticipation of what good things might come my way. When I wrote it, I had no way of knowing I would be meeting my future (and now present) husband later in that same month.
To me, these heartfelt words of my younger self are still fresh and very much alive. They have no expiry date.
The September sun falls warm upon my face
as I blink back a lonely tear.
But to be alone isn’t so bad.
A decade of fragile dreams, dashed,
had prepared me for this season of solitude.
Hadn’t you known it was inevitable,
poor battered heart?
The gulf I see ahead is blue, unknown,
and strangely comforting.
I knew I would face it someday.
As surely as I had faced the impossible gulf
of a love that could no longer support us,
like a ropework bridge – frayed, rotted,
stretching into a sadder tomorrow.
No, it couldn’t be trusted to help us across.
I finally accepted its condition and turned away.
The summer of change has passed,
and an autumn of new beginnings beckons.
A crisp welcome breeze blows
the last stray doubts from my mind.
I watch a dry russet leaf skitter and dance
to a uniquely different song, of a September that holds
the inviting promise of a life not ending,