Me. Eleven years ago.

Yep. I’m on a postcard. Petting a cow. An Australian cow and an Australian postcard.

Did you know that I loved living in the outback so much that the man who is now my husband had to come to Australia to get me? It’s true. Umm…well…what I’ve just told you is actually the Disney version. Think of the real story of The Little Mermaid. And now picture the Disney version. Exactly. No way you’re getting the actual story out of me. All water under the bridge, right?

(Click on the photo above to be taken to Jacqueline Curley’s postcard website. If you wanted any of her postcards as an actual print, I’m pretty sure she’d be amenable to that. For a gander at the Curley’s Gipsy Plains stud website, click here. )

And this next one is the first postcard I bought when I was in Australia, never realising I’d actually live with and become friends with the lady, herself. (I’m talking about Jacqueline, people, not the cow.)

And see this last one? I’m on the horse in the middle. His name was Jim. I say ‘was’ because…well…he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken when I knew him eleven years ago.

Can you tell I don’t have a frickin’ clue what I’m doing? That’s me trying to get out of the way of the stampeding calves. Of course, by the time I left three months later, I was a dab hand. Those calves wouldn’t have had a chance if they’d tried that three months later. Me and Jim: we were like this.

 

My favourite cow photos.

 

 

 

 

 

Water in the well – updated

In the past 24 hours, we have lost 1 1/2 feet of snow from the ground through warm (5-7C) temperatures and sublimation (the wind really is quite strong). Our pipes are no longer frozen, but one of the copper pipes has burst, so we are still drawing water from the well. Yesterday, the water level was at its normal 2 1/2 meters below ground level. Today, I had to lower the bucket only one (ONE!) meter. Crazy.

Update: the pipe has not burst. (Yay!) However, the solder seal no longer seals. Fantastic hubby has looked at it and replaced bits and bought a blow-torch and solder and other accoutrements, and has replaced and soldered, and he thinks it hasn’t worked. To be checked tomorrow. Watch this space.

Update: It didn’t work.  One week later and we’re still sans water and sans plumber.  Plumbers are being run off their feet, and, now that the world is a snow globe again, there’s little chance they’ll take the driving risk to come out to ours.  *sigh*

 

Anatomy of a Northern Ontario Roadtrip (Summer)

Start: Lake A.  Your own after a morning swim.  Stupid o’clock in the morning — unless drinking with buddies the night before.

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On the Road.  Trans-Canada Highway.  10 a.m.  (because was drinking with buddies the night before)

Cruising speed: 105km/hr

Speed limit: 90 km/hr

Speed at which the cops will pull you over: 106 km/hr

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Coffee break, pee break, and toasted everything-bagel with herb cream cheese

 

Timmy’s parking lot (summer)

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End: Lake B. Your friend’s.  11:30 a.m.

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22:00.  Reverse order.

(P.S.  That last picture is supposed to say large fluffy clouds, but I’ve already flattened it and I can’t be bothered starting over again.  I’m sure you understand.)

 

Snapshots of an afternoon at camp on Big Basswood Lake

 

Ahhhmogla

This place has been a part of my life since I was 14, thanks to my friend Mar.

14 was a long time ago.

More than half my life, actually. Well-more than half of my life. So much past half my life that the term checking out a boy’s bum holds a whole new meaning.

* * * * *

I arrive at Amogla and the tension seeps out of me and dissipates into the sweet smelling air.

Until, that is, on this latest trip when Mar ever so casually mentions on our walk next to the woods that not only was a mama bear and her cubs spotted nearby the other day, but so was a cougar.

Timing is everything.

By the way, Mar, this next picture is entitled Ode to a frog.

 

The Barn – Part III

Implements from the past.  In the walls, waiting.

The granary. I remember burying myself in the bins of grain during hide-and-seek.  I remember being fascinated watching the grain being sucked into the auger as the bins were filled.  I remember being told stories of farmers’ children losing hands and having to wear a hook for life.  In the mind of a very small child, I’m not sure that’s a deterrent, mind you.

The Milkers.

 

The Barn – Part II

Remember where I mentioned jumping from the beams of the barn in the hayloft when I was young and stupid lacking in judgment?   Well, here’s a picture from up on top of the beam I jumped off of.  That’s my sister, in the pink, below.  She’s 5’3″ — which is a tiny bit taller than one of those bales of hay.

And here’s a picture of the beam from the ground.

Just to let y’all know, my mother had a long and difficult labour with me.

 

The Barn – Part I

This is my parents’ barn (and their tractor).  It used to be my grandparents’ barn (and tractor).  Sadly, it’s unlikely to become my parents’ children’s barn.  (Diaspora, y’all.)

This is my parents’ barn up close.  How gorgeous is that texture?

(Now close your eyes if you don’t want to read the next part.)

See this next picture?  This next picture shows where my second earliest traumatic memory was created.

Picture a small child — say five years old.  Picture a large board, just a bit shorter than the child, leaning against the north side of the new milkhouse (which is actually old, but newer than the old one).  Picture said small, curious child peaking behind the board.  See the little girl in her black rubber boots recoiling in horror because she’s just seen one of the barn’s cats (orange tabby) eating the brains of one of the (ex-) kittens.

You’re welcome.

 

I was here, but now I’m not…New posts to begin in two weeks. (Yep, it’s going to take me that long to get organised.)