There is nothing like home. I have had a long tradition of making a rug for myself in December. I had just finished making a rug for my kitchen.
The other night I walked into my home just after dark and gasped at the comfort it offered. It surprised me. I walk in this house every evening but somehow the light surprised me, it was the glow from the fire in the wood stove. The rug in the corner, the twenty year old couches, the plant on the coffee table were waiting for me. I felt so certain I was in the right place. That is home.
It waits for us.
The house feels fuller because we are there.
We belong, feel situated.
It takes very little to turn a house into home.
It is the light, the people, the fire.
It is the bits of me memory in the little things.
A painting, a rock picked on a beach somewhere.
The books that you love.
Something soft underfoot.
And the thankfulness that it is there upon your return.
Waiting for you like you never left.
Yesterday a little boy visited our house because he had asked Santa to see inside some old houses. It made me look at our house from a different perspective and I appreciated that.
The things we are used to we look at from the same perspective all the time. It takes another pair of eyes to help us see again sometimes.
Whether it is your home, your business, your art, you rug hooking. Sometimes we need to step away and let someone else show it to us from their point of view.
As I get ready to teach this winters online class I try to think from the perspective of the people who will be learning with me. Every little video we make is about the learner. When I do this I see my rug hooking from a new perspective. I can see what I am doing rather than just doing it. I learn a lot myself from this. It slows me down and makes me examine the process more carefully.
It is a kind of self examination, watching your shadow, or thinking about the way you think.
Today as I look around the studio and the women’s store I feel the season of Christmas fast approaching. Remembrance Day has passed and we are busy prepping for the holidays. Windows are glittering with white lights and shiny balls.
At night at home I have little lights on timers that come on at five until ten and when I come home in the evening they are waiting for me. I try to think of winter as a festival of light. I miss the early morning and evening light that came naturally in my window so I reinvent it with a little sparkle. I put small white lights on shelves to lighten up the long hours of darkness in my house studio. They make me feel cozy and warm.
Our windows in both shops are simple but they too focus on the warm white light that we need in winter. Georgina, Susan (30 Church Women’s Clothing) and Denise put the windows together today. Watching them really got me in the mood for this long season of celebration.
I just do not engage in all the negative hype we hear about Christmas. I think it is a miracle season. It is a time when we look outside of ourselves to help, or cherish others. I still see the beauty in giving and receiving gifts and love the symbolism of it. The wisemen brought frankincense and myrrh to the baby and it turns out, he too , already had everything. Gifts can be simple, joyous, and useful. We do not have to overburden anyone. I love to give gifts.
I look forward to the little celebrations that people have.
The joy and comfort. The hope, peace, and charity that prevail at this time of year. It still makes me believe in possibility. It reminds me of the importance of faith.
It is our season. It is my season. Time to spread a little joy. Time to remember others’ kindness.
There is no way that I am going to diminish the beauty of this season. It is a celebration of birth. I want it. I want to share it. I want to celebrate it.
These months of darkness need a blessing.
And Christmas is just that, a chance to celebrate what we have, what we had, and what we hope for.
So the season starts, not with endless shopping, though I will do some of that.
Not with endless plans for fancy evenings and complicated foods.
It starts with a little white light in the window.
Lip Service, Diane Krys
It’s been a number of years since I first tried my hand at felting and it’s taken my work in all sorts of unexpected directions. l make a point to take a felting workshop every year or two to try new things and build my skills. This fall I made a road trip to Penticton, British Columbia for Felt :: Feutre Canada’s biannual symposium which featured an International gathering of instructors, as well as, many other inspiring events including an exhibition, fashion show, artist’s talks and a Saturday night banquet.
It was a rich experience full of camaraderie. I registered for Charlotte Sehmisch’s workshop. She was traveling all the way from Germany and I was excited to gain an understanding of her fascinating architectural structures and surfaces. I also had work accepted for the Migration exhibition and was delighted to participate in a morning art chat- although I never expected to be standing in front of large group of felters talking about rug hooking! An even bigger surprise came Saturday night at the banquet. You could have knocked me over with a feather when my name was announced for the sculptural felt award. I was extremely honoured and thrilled but along with joy unexpected emotions cropped up the next day in class.
As others kindly offered their congratulations I started to feel self conscious about the wonky work I was doing in class. Charlotte’s techniques were amazing but challenging and they sure didn’t roll off of my fingertips with grace. The class projects were methodical, precise and took me right out of my comfort zone.
In the wake of recognition I was having skittering feelings of discomfort as I realized everyone was seeing my lumpy, bumpy, learning curve. I thought my obvious fumbles would surely leave them questioning how the heck I ever received an award. Oh the mind games we play with ourselves about perceptions and worthiness.
Long ago I let go of any expectation of producing perfection in workshop situations and liberated myself to experiment without inhibition even if it meant a crash and burn. Experience has taught me the real prize is the new idea or technique and that you can bring into your work down the road and it can surface from the good, the bad and the ugly. I reminded myself of all this as I made peace with this odd convergence of feelings.
In retrospect it was an unusual juxtaposition to receive recognition for an accomplishment and in the very next breath be back in the trenches faltering and fumbling- all with the same group. Yet the more I think about it it seems a perfect manifestation of artistic growth where practice, skill and achievement form a perfect circle to connect right back to a new beginning.
Aside from a great learning experience with Charlotte I also learned something about myself. I’m okay to let others see my imperfect growth and missteps, which is something I realized you may need to contend with as you move further into the world as a professional. I think it’s part of the humanity embedded in every piece of work and while it may not show when you’re putting your best foot forward for an exhibition or something, we all have imperfect beginnings and they too are beautiful things.
Ok, it’s stewing time here in Amherst Nova Scotia
yup, in November I often simmer
on a back burner and I get a little bored waiting for the next idea
that could possibly become a reality.
Some of my ideas are bad, like this morning when I looked at the empty stone bank building and thought I should do something with that.
It would be a good idea if I needed a building but all I really need is a project.
That is why I simmer. I am not waiting for someone to give me an idea of what I should do next.
I just need to wait and see what I can do next. What motivates me and what I am inspired to do.
That is the simmer.
If you don’t simmer you never really get a well cooked , delicious stew. I know that.
So I came in to my office, unsure, thinking, if only I had an idea.
Then a little package came in the mail from a woman I met at 30 Church, my clothing store.
She said after coming to 30 Church and the studio she went home and read my blog from start to finish and that she was inspired. That inspired me.
Then I got a little thank you note from a lovely woman else for an event we hosted.
Then I thought, “Hey, maybe you just need to keep doing what you are doing.”
Two nice notes on one day. I posted them above my desk to remind me to keep doing, thinking and writing. To remind me of the kindness of others.
To remind me to do the same for other people who are good to me, or whom I enjoy.
Then I walked down to the bowling alley by myself and had a piece of pan fried cod. It was really good.
I got very little done today, and that’s okay.
Cause I’m on simmer.
There is no need to be on full boil all the time.
You cannot be everything all at once.
You are what you are.
Beauty is on the inside.
We know all of this . We have heard it a hundred times. Yet we wonder.
Am I enough?
We would not be saying, “I need to lose ten pounds.”
We would not be comparing ourselves to others if we were sure we were enough.
Recently I was surprised when a few of my friends and myself all agreed that sometimes we felt not enough.
We talked about it. It was our own thing, we owned it. It was not that people made us feel that way. We were just that way.
A few years ago there was a photography trend on the internet where people wrote “I am enough.” on themselves a had their picture taken. You have probably seen them.
I liked them. It is good to reinforce the idea that you are enough.
Then I started to feel that gnawing feeling. If she is enough, how come sometimes I don’t feel enough.
My friends and I were honest with each other. Sometimes we compare ourselves with others. Sometimes we feel that we are not enough. Not enough, not good enough, not loving enough, not kind enough, not thin enough.
Lately I have been hearing many women say…”Oh I am past all that.” Some are. I am sure.
But some I am sure, are not.
Some are past it some of the time.
Many struggle with it occasionally.
It is only human to wonder if you are enough.
Some days I am enough.
Some days I am more than enough.
But frankly, some days I could do better.
Some days I could be kinder, more generous.
Maybe I returned home with kitchen envy.
Maybe I ate a big pistachio square at the local deli.
Maybe I snapped at my husband.
Maybe I looked at the beautiful people across the room and felt frumpy..
Maybe I did not do any of those things in the last week but I know I am fsusceptible and know they might happen again. Cause sometimes I am good and sometimes I feel I’m a bit …well you know… a bit “not good enough”.
I just want to say that this struggle seems real to a lot of us.
“Comparison is the thief of joy” said Theodore Roosevelt, and that was before instagram, Facebook and photographic filters.
That was before we were all faced everyday with the marvels of social media where no one ever posts that they picked their nose. Warning: If you are thinking of doing that just to even things out a little, don’t. It is not a good idea. It is just something we don’t need to know.
The thing is comparing ourselves to others might be the thief of joy, unless it makes you strive to be a little more, a little kinder, a little healthier, a little better.
Only a few of us have been blessed with the kind of self possession that keeps us from looking around at what the other fella is doing. If you have it, good for you. Honestly, that is great.
For the rest of us, we are only human.
Sometimes we might forget our blessings.
We have been given hearts to love and minds to think so it is natural to wonder.
And sometimes we might even wonder about ourselves.
Every year I start preparing for my fall workshop a year in advance.
Every year I am afraid. You might not know that about me. That I am scared.
Scared I won’t know enough. Scared it will not be good. Scared. Anxious. Worried.
I prepare for it for months. I work hard at it. I am ready. I know I am ready but still I am never sure. I never take it for granted.
One woman told me she taught six classes a year at university and she was always nervous before every class. Thank you for telling me. I feel less alone.
I want it to be beautiful. The first day is always so hard because there is so much to cover. There is so much to say, to do, to learn.
Hard but good. You can feel that people are taking things in st the end of the first day.
By the second day you can see eyes lighting up with idea. You see hearts open. You see rugs on their way, but mostly you see people on their way. You see their art spirits emerging.
The morning of the third day I walk on and I am not scared anymore. I am in good company. We have talked and reassured each other. I have made friendships. I know names. I see the soulfulness in each person instead of their name tag. That is why I love the third day. There is a magic in the air that comes with knowing there is only so much time left for the work that has to be done.
Best of all, I am not scared anymore. I believe again. I know that people have learned and that I have more to give.
The day ends with a beautiful feeling. A kind of elation. Joy. Purpose. All in the pursuit of art. It is good.
And then everyone goes home and I say a little prayer that they will carry the ideas and the spirit of the workshop with them as they make their mats. I pray that they will find the artist inside themselves.
Then I look to my own work. I think about next year and I am not scared. I am sure. And I relish that feeling because I know it will go away and I will be scared again. Because that is how it is.
And that unsureness will insure that I will work hard and make and create. It will make me make. And that is a good thing. Not to be too sure of oneself. To question, to study, to learn.
It is the artist in you stewing.
It is the teacher in you wanting to teach.
It is the student in you learning.
It is your little soul stirring.
But you do it even if you are afraid.
People weigh in all the time on what you should or shouldn’t do. I have found as I have gotten older I know that you cannot know what is good for another person. It is hard enough to know what is good for ourselves. When I started 30 Church Women’s Clothing store across the street I wondered if I was taking on too much. It is like that when you start anything new I suppose. You wonder how far you can push yourself. What I discovered though is that creatively, it opened me up because it made me step away from my artistic work. It made me take full breaks where I was not thinking at all about what to hook next. Instead of just plodding through I took a time out, and the results have shown themselves this year in my work. The 49 squares that I completed this summer makes me happy every time I see it. The house show , The Very Mention of Home has helped me explore my own very personal relationships with both Nova Scotia and Newfoundland. I think essentially we spend our time doing what we want to be doing. I never feel as if there is no time to hook rugs because when I want to hook rugs, I make the time. When I need to step away from it I go across the street and help women pick out clothes and follow my values about what is beautiful. Beauty is everywhere. I seek it and I strive for it. There are many different ways of finding it. Trusting yourself about what you should be doing is the first step, then committing yourself to doing it is the next step. I love to make rugs. I believe rugs are art. Art is a way of being, one of of seeing the beauty around you. When I say it is a way of being, that also means it is about action, about making, about the practical act of creation. In making we can become more ourselves. I have learned this as made these last two series of rugs. I identify with them because they are part of me. I see the 49 rugs as 49 walks or 49 stories or 49 days or 49 places. They are my history and my present.
Last weekend on a visit to Newfoundland I thought a lot about the house rugs I made last winter. I thought a lot about growing up and where I live now. It is in the making of these rugs that I came to terms with my own notions about home. The act of making art is a process of discovery. You learn things about yourself that you never knew existed. I am always amazed to discover what comes out of it.
You go back to the hill you grew up on,
And visit friends from years ago.
There is not much to say.
You take a walk.
You take it all in.
You go back in the house to get your jacket and you hear your friend singing an old Kris Kristofferson tune.
The same one he sang when you were twelve. The sound of the voice wraps around you like a comfort.
You know you are in the right place.
And you remember there was never much to say, and that was the pleasure of it.
That you are friends and not much needs to be said.
We go out for a fish dinner.
The restaurant has the same lemon squares and dates squares your mother made when company came.
The light has to be just so and your viewing angle must be perfect to see it. The labour of a spider, the web of entrapment is a mesmerizing piece of detail and finery that humans cannot reproduce.
Today two friends from childhood visited me in my studio. It was a sudden unexpected visit. My favourite kind.
Shirley Pomroy and her sister Moe lived three doors up the hill on the other side of the road. After school Shirley would come to my house for French fries. We would play.
On quiet grey Sunday afternoons I would go to her house and we would eat thick slices of homemade bread smothered in cabbage water. She was one of about eleven kids who were all still at home.
I was the youngest of seven, six who had moved away. I remember her mother with her dark Irish hair and fair skin leaned over a Singer treadle machine, sewing. She made tailored suits for my sister who would bring out grey pin striped wool cloth from St Johns where she worked in a bank.
We grew up on a hill in clapboard houses that shook and lifted in the wind. Our windows rattled and we ate porridge and corned beef and cabbage and salt fish. We were soaked in culture but absent in the knowledge of it. We had everything we needed but we had nothing at all. Forget me nots grew in the ditches outside our houses and our yards flowed down to the sea. We walked across gravel paths, and threw rocks, and caught Caplin in white buckets.
Our lives were so simple. Today as we talked, things we had not thought about in years came flooding back. The things we never knew or understood. The beauty that surrounded us, that we loved and took for granted, at the same time.
My show of hooked rugs called The Very Mention of Home was hanging on the wall when they came. As I look at it now every rug is connected to our stories. They are the symbols of what we left behind and of what we found.
Neither of us think daily of what we had there as a lament. But as we said good bye, our eyes filled up, and I think it is because when ever you find something new there is so much lost in the old. There is so much lost in what you left behind. So much so that you cannot remember unless you see the others who were there and knew what you knew, and heard what you heard and saw what you saw. We know each other’s stories.
So our eyes filled as they left, not so much for each other but for some kind of beauty and innocence that has been lost and forsaken for what we now have and what we know to be blessings. For none of us would go back there to that place and time but neither would we forsake those long afternoons of not knowing about the big world outside of the bay we lived upon. Of sitting on Sunday afternoon with nothing to do but look out upon that bay and wonder what was beyond it.
Visiting cousins and nieces and sisters.
And bicycling and swimming and walking.
A summer of writing down everything you can remember about what you are thankful for.
And then writing down everything you know about making rugs so you can teach another how to do the same.
It is a summer of harvests from others’gardens. Little farm stands on the roadside and big greenhouses on back roads.
It is the summer of friendship. Long evening walks with our faces pointed toward the marsh as the sun goes down upon it.
It is a summer of bounty, family and friendship.
Swimming with and against the tide. Walking half a mile just to get wet.
A summer of letting your hair down,
of walking into the wind,
And getting messy.
A summer of waking up and thanking God for the pleasure of the day,
For the beauty of the wooden beams above my head and the shiny boards under my feet.
This morning I marvelled that the winter could actually come as I filled my table with fresh eggs and tomatoes.
I could hardly believe the truth in the seasons.
That there would be snow and ice when now summer is just so strong and precious.
Simple suppers eaten outside.
Full moons and meteor showers.
The smell of roses in the air and dragon flies all around.
Summer, every year we fall in love again.
When the light hits the queen Anne’s Lace that way,
the way you know is sudden and special,
it is time to stop and breathe and just look.
When beauty lays itself before you,
simply and quietly,
it means to be taken in.
The walk might be the same every day,
but the light is never the same twice.
The sky does not have a way of being
that makes you accustomed to it.
I have never said, “oh there it is again, the sky.”
The sun rises every morning and transforms the same
road sides, fields, and shores that I passed yesterday,
making me feels as if I have never gone done the same road twice.
That is the power of light
as it shifts and paints
and makes me believe what I might have thought impossible.
The other day a woman peeked her head into my tiny studio and said “Thank you for making beauty in our world.” I smiled and thanked her . She said, “No, I really mean it, the world needs beauty. ” I nodded to her that I understood.
And I really did. I knew she valued what I did. I knew that she was intentional about creating beauty herself.
It is important. More important than ever perhaps or just as important as ever. There has always been turmoil. We need the simple, the lovely, the kind in the face of all we hear in the news.
When she left I thought about her comment and for just a minute I let it sink in. Creating beauty is important work. It is needed work. It is good and valueable work and the world needs more of it.
As makers, crafters, artists , we have a responsibility to make the world a better place. Perhaps it is only a stitch at a time. Maybe a few brushstrokes every day. It is cumulative. One hand over another, making, creating. Anyone who has ever made things knows that when you are making you are a better listener. When you are making a warmth flows through you. When you are making you are kinder.
So , you out there, if you are finding a way to create beauty everyday you are making the world a little gentler for yourself and maybe even those around you. You are doing something worthwhile. Don’t forget it!
There are lots of weddings today around here. I know these things now because we dress people for them at 30 Church Women’s Clothing across the street. It is a lovely thing to help people get ready for big important days in their lives. Who knew I ‘d like it but I do.
I am midway through a project of 51 small squares that combine landscape and abstract. It has been so lovely. 51 because I am 51. I take small square pictures on my walks and then hook versions of them. Sometimes I still think I am 50, When I hang them I might make myself 49 because that would be 7 by 7. I am one of seven sisters and I like symmetry, so I’ll be 49 when I hang them if hang them 7 by 7. I think I will actually have to make 60 or so to get the right combination, but I’ll not be sixty for nine years. It is fun to talk nonsense isn’t it? A little foolishness is good for ya.
Yesterday Tanis from Tanis Fibre Arts , a beautiful knitwear designer and dyer came by the studio. If you are a knitter you should visit her site to see some great designs and colour ways. While she was there she gave me some great tips on doing My instagram is….
I think Instagram is a great way to get inspired. I use it like a magazine with a cup of tea, and scroll through it following people who post beautiful images. Tania also showed me how to edit my images. I thought you could just do filters but you can also highlight, lighten etc. She showed me quickly and now I am instagram happy. You can see some of the squares on my instagram. I encourage you get the ap and follow Deanne Fitzpatrick Studio and Tanis Fibre Arts.
I think what I loved about Tanis visit is her willingness to teach and to share. I also loved that someone who surrounds herself with colour on a daily basis was inspired by the colour we create in the studio. She really got me thinking about pallettes, about making things even more beautiful than they might already be. You see beauty has no limits, it is like love. The more we share with each other the more we become aware of our own possibilities and those of others.
Summer shots below, and my rugs of the Pugwash estuary…..
Mary who works with me on Tuesdays laughs because it is sometimes a day that I hardly work! Well I work but I don’t hook that much on Tuesdays. My work, honestly, is a pleasure. I heard her once refer to my office and say, “If you can find her there.” Somedays I am there , hook in hand , all day. Other days I am on the floor at the women’s clothing store we have across the street. Either is a pleasure, just a different pleasure.
Today at 30 Church Women’s Clothing we did a makeover on Lisa, a customer and that was so much fun. So I was in and out of the studio like a cuckoo clock. I loved that she was so willing and open to whatever we had in store for her. She just let the morning unravel. You can see pictures soon on our 30 Church Facebook page.
I love how the women’s clothing store and the rug hooking studio balance each other out. They are two different kinds of work but yet they require many of the same skills. You need to be good with colour and composition whether you are dressing a woman or designing a hooked rug.
I sometimes wonder myself how I ended up doing both. The only answer I can tell you is that they both happened because I open to the mystery of what is next. Like Lisa, I was open to the process. It is easy to let what you have always done define you. But the truth is we should always be open to a makeover.This carries through in my rug making as well as personally.
If you want to be good at making rugs you have to open up to the mystery of what might happen if you use that wool, or throw that dye in. In life I try to be open to the opportunities that surround me so that life will remain interesting and creative. The more I hook, write, and bring ideas to life the more I see that art is a constant metaphor for life. I believe that to live well I need to live artfully, and this just means opening up to the goodness and wisdom that is around you.
As you hook this summer, try to be open to the process. Allow new ideas to refresh you. Change your habits. Invest in yourself. Strengthen your intuition. Take charge of the rug in front of you and make it beautiful, and remember that this is just a metaphor for life.
As I worked this week on some abstracts with some of the retreat participants I also worked on two other things at the same time. I created a rug for myself and thought a lot about the October workshops in the fall. Everytime I help some one create an abstract or work on one myself I think about teaching others the same.9
That is how my work is. One thing is always blending with another. Ideas meld and merge .
What influences one thing effects another. It is like a chemistry experiment in some ways. Though the ingredients are different.
My ingredients are wool and people and linen and nature and the simple everyday things around me that make me stop and listen and look.
When I hung the rugs I made this week I thought about the people in the retreat. How far they came in a few days. The work I saw them make is just one element. What was exciting for me was the work I could see that they could make in the coming months and years. I could see their discoveries, watch their confidence grow. I was able to assure them of their ability simply by showing them their progress.
Years ago, Ed Colqhoun a local educator was on the board of a community organization that I worked for. He told me that there was no teaching self esteem or self confidence. He said, people naturally gain it by doing things and being successful. You do not teach self confidence in art or rug hooking. You just have to enable people so that they can prove to themselves all they are capable of.
This week I saw that in everyone who came to the retreat. They already had lots of it but I like to think they left with a little more. I saw them grow in their artistic confidence.
I know that I did. Every time I make a rug that creates a little sense of wonder in me I am grateful. Everytime I grow a little as an artist I am thankful for the ingredients I have to work with… The landscape, the people, the wool, the linen, and so many things of which I might not even be aware.
For every rug I make, every time I work honestly with a group of people to teach them what I know , it is a prayer. It is carried out in hope and faith, with love, and sometimes it is answered.
This week it was answered for me. Thank you to those of you who came to this weeks retreat for allowing me to work along side you.
Just so fresh and delicious , an easy meal
I pack linguini cooked
2tbsp olive oil
1 clove garlic
1 small white onion
2 thinly sliced chicken breasts
2 cups baby spinach
1 cup water
2 tbsp sour cream
1/2 cup grape tomatoes
1 tsp basil
Parmesan freshly grated.
Pan fry garlic and onion in oil. Add chicken and cook. Add basil over chicken just before it finishes.
Toss with hot cooked pasta.
In the pan you fried chicken throw in one cup of water and bring to boil to get pan juices and flavour.
Mix in sour cream to form sauce. Toss spinach in with pasta.
Take the sauce and throw it over pasta. The spinach will wilt a little.
Recently a neighbour thanks us for something that in most cases would go unnoticed. She said she liked to let people know when they had done something good.
Imagine if we took that approach with each other all the time. Picking apart the good in each other. Spending time thinking about the littlest things someone had done for you. It is so easy to fall into the other side, picking apart our faults.
Staying positive takes a community. We need to boost each other up . Mend things, create things, inspire each other to be better, stronger.
In a good marriage, we become more ourselves because we have the other person to give us some extra buoyancy. We stay afloat because someone is giving us that extra push. We sail because they give us room. A community is much the same. We live in community because we need each other. We thrive in that community because we are good to each other.
This week I will try to remember to pick apart the good in people.
One day a friend was listening to one community member complain about another. He said to the person complaining that the other person was ok. In fact he said, “I like them. I find them alright.”
The person complaining said, “You love everybody.” My friend responded, “Maybe but it isn’t easy.”
I loved this response. Just like I loved my neighbour’s desire to pick apart the good in people.
Nurture. Sow. Mend. Make.
Whether it is a garden, a rug, a relationship or a community, let ‘s make it beautiful.
Great day last Saturday when Georgina and I went to the Rug Hooking Museum of North America in Hubbards. We had a great lunch and book signing all under the direction Suzanne. She had done a besutiful job on the museum, especially in collecting antique mats and aquiring the tools of The Garretts patterns.
We had a beautiful day with about sixty rug hookers.
As I sit quietly with my morning coffee, sunlight is streaming through the kitchen window. It’s summer sunshine and the first full day of the season in which we place so many hopes.
We make plans for places we’ll go, day trips we’ll take, visits we’ll make to friends and their cottages, books we’ll read, deck barbeques we’ll plan, beaches we’ll walk, hikes we’ll take…. And the list could go on.
How much can one squeeze into one short season? How much time will we give ourselves to be at home or at the cottage and just BE in that space, in that place, and allow ourselves to enjoy the greenery of the yard, the flowers on the deck?
So while my mental to-do list is long, it is made of similar plans that I made last year and the year previous. My season will be a success if I accomplish time, time to be, to relax at home and enjoy the greens and the breezes provided by the beautiful Bay of Fundy.
No matter where you live, may your summer be good for you.
Thanks to Georgina who painted all our dark wood cupboards to make them more studio like. Now they are lime and yellow.
This spring we spruced up the place. The walls get tired from rugs being put up and taken down and a place, much like a person needs nurturing.
I am always conscious of thespace around me. A room can be cool or cozy. I treat the studio like my home because I spend so much time there.
For some it might not matter but I am keenly aware of my surroundings. Occassionally something remains unrepaired…like the books holding up a couch at home. But truthfully I even chose what books I would use to hold up the couch. Silly. Yup. But if I have to look it I want to like it.
On Saturday morning my friend Katherine and I headed across the Eddy Road, an old road that goes across the marsh, from downtown Amherst. Once we got to Fort Lawrence, we turned right and then a left on the Mount Whatley Road which took across to the New Brunswick side of the marsh. It was a great ride, challenging at time as it was a dirt road and the Mount Whatley hill is quite steep. We made it, turned around and came back the same way, it was so beautiful. It was a gorgeous ride.
I captured a picture of our bikes across the river that divides Nova Scotia and New Brunswick. I also got one of Katherine with her camera…as she really is. She loves her camera and posting her pictures on Facebook. Our ride has already been posted there no doubt.
It is quite nice to think you rode across to provinces, even if that is not exactly the truth. It sounds so good! The dirt roads are a little rough but there was hardly any traffic so you could ride really comfortably. Mostly all we saw was cows, flowers and fields. Along the Fort Lawrence road you could smell the lilacs in the breeze as you rode by people’s gardens.
Overtime I go down on the Tantramar Marsh, I am amazed by the simple beauty. On the way back Katherine pointed out a hawk in the sky that was flying over and watching us. The sunlight was filtering through the tips of his wings. It was a great way to end the trip, a reminder of what waits for you so close to town.
I just pretended I was writing for Fodors Travel Guide
I still like to pretend the way I used to when I was a kid. I used to pretend I had a little newspaper sometimes. Sometimes I would play house or store or post office. So last week I pretended I was a writer for Fodor’s about this area. I created a little travel guide.
It is a work in progress but I created a little travel page about our area….Cumberland Westmoreland. It is a work in progress and I am just getting it going. Katherine from California just came to our Spa Retreat in May and she said she had a hard time finding out about things to do in our community. I know there is lots to do because I am out and about lots. I decided to create my own little guide to the area. It is just things I like to do, or things I think other people might enjoy ( for example the golf course…the only reason I go there is to get one of Janie’s cinnamon buns).
I will add more things. In fact I just remembered another. If you have someone come to visit the area give them the link to this page. I think it is worth reading. If you are planning to visit yourself then yippee! ….you’ll find lots to do!