21 April 2014

first expedition: a tale in pictures

pollenating the pussy willows

spring cleaning

water fowl [and a lost feather]

mating water striders

soggy doggies

first butterfly of the year: Fire Rim Tortoise Shell

the "bee bunker" K and I set up in the autumn [meant to act as a winter home for stray bees]

rose gall

rose hip

sandpiper feather

new green

first scratches

last year's thistles

snow remnant


new swamp

Last night was the first of the frog song. The even, shrill voice of the Boreal Chorus and the hoarse clucks of the Wood lifted up together to declare they were awake again. Their song has always been my sign that spring has actually come at last. Anyone would sing who had finally thawed out after a long winter freeze. What enduring, beloved little beasts.

After an interrupted period of warmth involving cold wind and a thin layer of snow, it has finally been proper warm these last few days. Warm enough that all the snow--except for the sections under heavy shade--has melted. And, just like every year after the snow melts, our field has turned into a swamp. A new swamp for a new spring. It mostly dries up by the time the farmers cultivate and plant their crops, but stays just long enough to produce a large population of frogs, allowing for what I like to call "frogging season." It's my favourite time of year.

So, yesterday, after seeing all this upon returning home from the day's Easter festivities, going out into it was obviously irresistible. I waded into the marsh as far as my cracked rubber boots would allow me, and as they filled up with water, I listened to the frog symphony and watched the sunset. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and the spicy, rotted-grass-smell of swamp. The dogs played in the water and tried to chase the ducks.

Summer is coming. The frogs and the sun seem to say so. There will be insects and storms and a garden to plant soon. I am so thankful to live out here; so thankful for the changing of the seasons.

"Have no place to go, mmmmm./Have no place to go, darling." -C2C

16 April 2014


honey and bumble

wolf and orb



ant architects

summer dragons

Hello! Howabout further forgotten photographs from last year? These hail from an especially hot day in July. There were dragonflies absolutely everywhere.



ponderosa needles




studio roof

09 April 2014

I've been listening to "Famous Blue Raincoat" on loop

I found these photos from last year in a folder entitled, "sun storm." I never posted them apparantly, but finding them has made me so, so excited for the rest of the snow to melt. They reminded me of the smell of rain; the sound of singing frogs; the freedom of wearing less than four items of clothing at a time; the colour green.

And sun storms are the best thing. I can't wait.

Nothing is more exciting after 6-odd months of winter than the Great Melt. A new spring. A new crop. A fresh beginning. These photos are a reminder of lovely afternoons ahead.

Yesterday, I sighted my first butterfly of the year (Fire-Rim Tortoise Shell); a lonely honey bee, a magpie nest, the first Canada geese, and a raven. Eeeee! Such glorious signs of spring!

An interesting note concerning the raven: we've always had an old hawk up at the forest, but the raven seems to have chased him away along with every other bird, save for the occasional chickadee. He must like to croak and muse in privacy.


There are other spring developments, too. I've put my winter coat in storage. I've taken my bicycle, Charlotte, out of storage. I've dug out the running shorts and cycling gear. I've starting shaving my legs almost daily. I've started wearing capri pants. I've started wearing TOMS again.

Today is very windy, but also sunny. It's 6°. There's still a fair amount of snow on the ground, but another week or two of this sun, and it will soon be gone. For now, we wait.