In my garden this spring, a large orange poppy releases its petals to the soil below.
A little bit of what I’ve been up to while in salmon Arm ~
Last week Zana and I went into town for groceries, parked the truck and went in to shop. When we came back there was a little pile of snail shells on the concrete in front of the truck.
Random act, magic spells, or a child unloading her pocket ? Doesn’t matter. But I tell you, the snails in Salmon Arm are spectacular!
I find endless inspiration in the early morning light that falls across my garden. Especially the poppies. Their translucence, like a piece of stained glass held up to the light.
I was overwhelmed with a plethora of wild poppies in my front garden this spring, and lucky me. They proved a fascinating photo study. Capturing the clear slant of the morning sun as it rose over my cedar hedge gave me gorgeous opportunities to explore the poppies crepe like translucence.
I have a large portfolio of these beauties that I will share over the next few weeks~
I use only my iPhone 8. No filters.
We got out on our first little sail of the summer the other day, the winds were light but steady and the sun had finally burned away most of the clouds. We didn’t venture far, just around Snake Island four miles out due to the light air. We were kept company by a couple of these big fellas waiting at anchor to get into Vancouver’s port across the Strait.
They are a bane to some of the residents here, hearing the rumbling as they let out their chain rode to drop heavy anchors, complaining of their noisy generators running during the night, and their sometimes bright lights, especially if they anchor particularly close to our island, but I’m fascinated by their scale, the engineering of their structure, and the historical connection they carry.
Moving cargo by sea is ancient, the world’s economy has hinged on floating vessels up and down great river and ocean systems for millennia. I don’t want to comment necessarily on the cargo they now transport other than to say besides the many loads of sneakers, import cars, stuff for the Wal-Mart’s, or raw log exports – lets face it we buy all this stuff, no right to judge what is necessary goods; there is perhaps much more that is down right dangerous like the diluted toxic Bitumen that will be coming through the pipeline from the Alberta tar sand’s channeled through B.C.’s mountain range and pristine wilderness for freighter export out of Vancouver’s busy harbour. Odds are certain this big red ship from Majuro will have such cargo.
It’s the paradox of human ingenuity, we can create incredible feats of engineering that by the same token can harm or destroy. The double edge sword that’s hidden in our many revered works. The Pyramids or the great wall of China can inspire and we marvel and congratulate our innovations, but the lives of thousands of slaves that severely toiled and perished seem to escape us.
And while these ships are striking to see up close, their tenuous journey out to the open pacific before first threading through our narrow passages and skirting our active gulf islands causes some amount of disdain. But what can we do? We are hypocrites all.
Coming out of the woods from a walk with the dogs I glanced up and saw this. Stopped me in my tracks, I thought- Hmm that’s impressive. Googling them I learn on a BBC iwonder site that these are called Mammatus (for obvious reasons) and says that these clouds are not clouds in their own right but an after effect of other clouds, are made up mostly of ice, and come on the back edge of a retreating storm. I just say WOW.
I have a fascination with clouds, especially when chem trails are involved. While yes there is the sinister controversy around them, graphically they inspire me artistically. Abstracts in air kind of thing, the soft amorphous forms in juxtaposition with the precise clear linear aspects.
A tanker sits at anchor in front of Gabriola Island on a March morning. Some don’t appreciate them here, sometimes there have been several waiting here to get into Vancouver. I don’t mind them. It adds some interest to the sea scape. We can hear and even feel them drop their anchors in the channel. There will be this deep rumbling / scrapping sound and sometimes a little boom when it hits the sea bed.
Bob though is a bit sensitive to the sound of their generators running, a low hum, especially at night.
Unfortunately I don’t hear it – or it doesn’t disturb me enough.
“Can’t you hear that? What you mean you can’t hear that? !”
Why is that one Monday delegated as Blue in the middle of the month? Is it assuming that those of us in this hemisphere (northwest coast) dragging our depressed, beleaguered sorry asses through yet another blah day of malaise and dreary existence? Yanking up our drooping heads to remind us that- Ha see? There are STILL sixteen days left in this freakishly long dark month!
Thanks but no thanks.
I am the glass half full girl. I shall reappoint that Monday to Yay Monday. Hey, there’s only sixteen days left till January is over! And like magic…
I admit January is not my favorite winter month. We have left behind those lovely but unusually clear, cold, sunny days we had in the past weeks, and although we have gained one half hour of daylight, since we have entered into our normal Vancouver January weather blanket of soggy, wet, and grey it’s hard to tell. Upside, I am on the West coast so I don’t have to wait till spring thaw three months down the road.
I have come to obsessing about the weather, a Canadian past time-or requirement still not sure, and I have confirmed that I prefer dry, clear, cold winters to grey, damp wet ones.
Optimism prevails here though and yesterday there was a beautiful break in the sky with a bluster of balmy wind that broke the clouds apart, revealing a rainbow that stretched over the Strait of Georgia like an encouraging nod that spring is only weeks away. Weeks away my friend ~
A thousand words. His story is in the central placement of the cracked hearth, the brick and mortar, the rectangle opening on the one side of the hearth, the space between the hearths’ lamps, the blue sphere above, the ladder against the wall, the small yellow halo near his forehead, the free-form black paint strokes in the painting before him, the broom handle, the light filled open door, the placement of his face.
I was taking some Insurance pictures of the little house my good friend here is renovating to sell, and what surprised me later when I looked at this photo was an immediate realization that the array of random objects convey so much about this man. That it’s rife with symbology. Now, I understand that a home will of course contain items that represent the individual who abides within, and because I know his story well from a 20 year friendship, in this image it’s not only the objects but also their placement within the framing that jumped out at me.
He stays in this house only occasionally once or twice for short periods in a given year when he is not traveling elsewhere – which is most of the time- so it is sparse, containing just the basics.
The fog is back! Well, I suppose it’s a small price to pay living on the Wet, I mean West Coast; those poor East Coasters still digging themselves out from under the ice and snow. Here’s my world this morning on my commute to work. Have to admit fog brings its own beauty to the table, but oh can hardly wait for the sunny days to come!
Thought I’d share this photo my husband took on his way home January14th. This beauty was sitting in our neighbors tree on a trail that follows behind our house.