Little Adventures

All my life I have loved walking in the woods and fields. Often I felt like I could never get enough- I always needed to see what was beyond the next curve or over the next hill. 

I am thrilled to see this adventuring spirit alive and thriving in my son Henry. During our hike last Sunday morning, he continuously pushed us onward, wanting to see what came next, and to find something new and exciting. I love this. 

The woods and fields surrounding our house are a playground and classroom when we walk, and I’m so happy to be able to watch my kids blossom out in nature. 

I hope Henry never loses his sense of adventure and curiousity and that we can continue to learn important lessons in the best classroom - outdoors. 

Happy Anniversary

We moved to Maple Lake on Easter weekend in 2011. Seven years. So much has changed since then. Henry is, well...7! And Clare has completed our family.  I no longer stand in the driveway and cry (yes, I did that a lot) wondering if I should just pack it all up again and go back. While I will always have a strong connection to what I left behind, here is my home now. 

I’m not sure exactly when it became that, but over the years I’ve gradually let go. I have always known suburban life wasn’t for me, but it’s hard to leave behind the familiar. 

If nothing else, my children have grounded me here. I want this life for them. For them to know the seasons intimately. To experience nature. To never have “nothing to do”.  

And of course I still never tire of my morning view. 

A day

A day doesn't go by that I don't think about you. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about what my children are missing. A day doesn't go by that I don't think about how you would react to the new milestones my children reach every day. A day doesn't go by that I don't think that maybe I could have let some things go and just enjoy the things we did have in common. These are the things on my mind two years after you were taken from us. 

It's Coming

Spring, that is. 

It seems we are being blessed with an early Spring and I couldn't be happier. The last two winter previous to this one have been so long and so brutal, that I wasn't ready to face it again. 

This morning I ran up to Swords, and paused by the marsh. Even though it's still locked in ice, it is alive with sounds. Red winged blackbirds,  geese,  and the sound of the ice breaking and cracking filled the air. 

Soon, with a rise in temperature, that same air will be filled with the sound of spring peepers. 

I love early spring. Hope, anticipation and so many beautiful things to come.

 

The Cashew

So, you think you're doing pretty good. You think, wow. So lucky am I to have perfectly average kids with no issues. 

And then your world gets turned on its head. 

Both of my kids have had peanuts and almonds and granola bars and Thai food and mixed nuts.

But. 

I suppose Henry had never actually consumed a cashew. 

Both kids had a small bowl of trail mix (raisins, cranberries, peanuts and cashews) after dinner on Tuesday.  I was watching Clare eat. She held up a cashew and said, "wat dat?"  

At that moment, I thought, wait. She's never had a cashew ...is this okay?

Simultaneously, in the kitchen, Henry had also ingested a cashew. Told Rick something was wrong and immediately started to throw up everything he has ever eaten.   His face started swelling. Red cheeks. Blisters on his lips. 

Into the car for the fastest drive to town I've ever piloted.  

When we arrived at emergency we were ushered in immediately. Two shots of epinephrine, IV of two antihistamines and an oral steroid finally got Henry back to being Henry. 

I never thought I'd be a parent of a child with anaphylaxis, but here we are. The ER nurses kept commenting on how calm I was. 

There are two reasons for that. 

One: it is what it is. I knew what it was as soon as he started throwing up. It's manageable. I've worked with many kids with it. It's fine. 

Two: as I was driving in, I felt frantic. I asked my mom to be with me. I said, "mom, I need you here now". As a nurse, she was the ultimate calm in medical emergencies. She was with me. 

So. Henry is anaphylactic to some nuts. We go on. 

Tomorrow

Tomorrow is a day I will never forget. 

January 29. 

I will never forget where I was and what I was doing when my sister called me to tell me that my mom had died in a car accident. I heard the news sitting on Henry's bed. 

I remember strange details vividly. What boots I wore outside to tell Rick. I could not find my winter boots and threw on my rain boots, walking out in the snow with no coat. Nothing. 

After, other calls were made and received in absolute shock. I didn't crash until the day after. Spending the day in my pajamas, sobbing, and taking phone calls and visitors. I am so grateful to those who visited me and called me that day. 

So. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will remember, as I do every day. But tomorrow especially. Tomorrow I will visit my mom, and spend time with two of my three siblings. 

Tomorrow I have also planned some enjoyable things to do for myself. My mom would not want me wallowing. She would want me to enjoy my life, and do things that she would also enjoy. 

Tomorrow is a day to remember. 

Green and Brown

The woods felt exactly like late March today.  Damp and mild, the air was thick with mist in some spots.  Rocks and fallen logs were slick and the moss and ferns were still vibrant green.  The creeks and streams were high, full of run off from all of the rain we have been getting lately.

I walked through the marsh, and up through the woods and rocks, to the top of the rocky hill that overlooks the marsh.   I saw plenty of evidence of animal activity, paths through the leaves, and places where logs had been rubbed bar and branches broken.

As I made my way back down the hillside, I could hear the water from the stream rushing.  I came to it and made my way along it, moving toward the first beaver pond.  The beaver pond is not a pond any more, since the dam is no longer there.  It`s a small valley, surrounded on all sides by steep high banks with a stream running through it.

It`s quiet here and one of my favourite places to visit - probably the place I escape to most.  As I walked back out through the trees and across the fields the fog came in heavier.  I could feel water droplets settling on my eyelashes.  I needed the walk today - a quiet time before the flurry of activity and excitement that Christmas brings.

Making Ice

As I mentioned in a previous post, this time last year the ice was in and here to stay.  The season has been so mild that we are still pretty far away from "ice in".  The lake is cold, though, and ready.  All it takes is a few hours of below zero temperatures for the ice to start forming.  Below is a picture of a calmer area near the shore where you can see thin patches of ice forming on top of the water.  This thin ice moves with the water, wind and currents and if the lake gets too rough, it will dissipate once again.  

Smaller ponds and marshes were frozen this morning.  The photo below is of the marsh below Swords.  Winter is trying to take hold, and may this weekend with snow and colder temperatures in the forecast.  Come Monday, it will all go away again, there are more mild, rainy days on the way.

Just a Little Bit Easier

A few weeks ago we had some lovely snow and I thought it was the beginning of a white Christmas season.  It has however, been raining ever since.  I love snow for Christmas, but I just can't complain about this.  The last two winters were so brutal, so cold and snowy, that I really feel like I can't handle another winter just yet.

It has been raining most days, with temperatures ranging from just above zero to ten degrees Celsius.  One again, I'm not complaining.  I am enjoying this extended fall weather.  It is easier to do things outside, go places and to keep the house warm.

This time last year we had a frozen lake and two feet of snow,  We did experience a thaw right around Christmas, but winter came back with a vengeance in January.

While I have grown to love snow since moving here, and will miss a sparking white Christmas morning, the mystery and loveliness snow adds to Christmas Eve, and all the winter activities that we enjoy so much, if the trade off is an easier winter season...well, I'll take it, but just for this year.

A Beautiful Life

This time of year I continually find what I call filigree leaves. 

They fall from our birches, and are the work of caterpillars munching away high in the branches. I think they are beautiful. 

I love the idea of a creature creating something so lovely just by living out its days. 

If we could all be so lucky. 

Rainy Days

We've had a string of rainy, cool days. I'm missing my mom. Rainy days are hard, and I'm sure snowy days will be harder. 

Time marches on as it always does and mom isn't coming back. That thing that happened isn't a bad dream. I am not immune to tragedy. 

Mom, being the Scot that she was, always loved a misty, rainy day. I do, too - that Scottish blood, you know. But it was always best when I had her here, sharing a book and a deep conversation, a cup of tea or a glass of wine. 

Mom. Where are you. We had such plans for this summer. 

Turning Corners

The weather has definitely turned a corner in the past week. The air is drier, crisper and so are the plants. Potted plants are starting to get overgrown and straggly, waiting for the time I will trim them back, or replace them in early fall.  Some of my ferns and bleeding hearts have given up entirely. 

The sun is rising later and it's just beginning to get light out when I rise at 5:45 most mornings. It puts me in mind of one thing - school. 

School starts in four weeks and that means a couple of things. Henry starts junior kindergarten this year, and I'll be spending another year supply teaching. Unlike what's around the corner of the weather turning, I don't know what's around this particular corner. I have hopes and dreams for both Henry and myself. It's going to be an interesting fall. 

Forty

Today I kayaked up the river joining Maple and Martin lakes.  I crossed two beaver dams, portaged around a waterfall and eventually turned back when I came to a set of small rapids.  My goal had been to make those rapids - which I had seen while snowshoeing through the woods.  Next time, I'll cross them and go farther. 

The Greening

The air is full of just budded, misty green leaves.  

Spring peepers fill the marshy spots with their incessant ringing.

Scents come alive and drift into memories. First loves and lost loves. Places we've left behind.

The smell of my toddler's neck slicked with humid curls. 

The sight of my four-year old's excitement over a newly sprouted plant.

Spring holds all of these things.

ICE OUT!

And just like that, the ice is out.  

It went out yesterday while the rain lashed and the wind howled. When I woke up, there was about a third of the ice left. The wind had jammed it hard up against our shore. 

It was completely gone when I got home at 3:30. When Henry noticed, he shouted, jumped, danced, and hugged with joy. "We have WATER, mommy!"

I am equally thrilled. After a long, difficult winter, it's good to see warmer, easier days coming. 

Tough Going

I hadn't snowshoed since my mom died until today. 

My sister in law, Leanne and I went out earlier today for a hike, and it was tough going. I've never worked so hard at snowshoeing. Since I haven't  been out, there were no trails and no base. We tried to walk on snowmobile tracks, but even that didn't help so much.  

We went across the field, and through the  swamp. It was deep. So deep. We made it to the place where I usually enter the woods to go up to the first beaver pond, but the snow was just too deep. Absolutely impassable. We turned back, hiking along our path through the swamp. I wasn't done, though. I NEEDED more time alone, more time in the woods. 

I set off for a short hike through the woods, and down to the lower field. 

Sometimes the hardest things we do are the most important. The hardest things to say, feel or do physically. Sometimes we need to push through to the other side. Today I needed physical exertion and silence. I needed to get back outside, where I haven't been since my mom died. I feel everything when I'm alone. I needed to face this today.  I'm glad I stuck it out, but it was tough going. 

Bittersweet

Dear Mom, 

Tomorrow Henry turns four. FOUR. I can't believe how quickly the time has passed. 

I am really struggling today. Tomorrow is the first "event" I've had to go through without you. I've planned just a small party- but it's still plenty of organizing and baking that I need to do, and to be honest, I'm having a hard time putting my whole heart in to it. 

I am hurting terribly thinking of how much Henry adores you and how his memories of you are soon going to start to fade. He talks about you, and he knows you are dead, but I don't know that he really understands it yet.  He asked me yesterday when we were in the spare bedroom if we were getting it ready for Granny to come and visit.  We actually have many moments like this, and they are sad, but not devastating.  I like that you are still close in his mind.

Well-intentioned people will tell me that "it's okay, you will keep your mom's memory alive through your stories", and yes, of course we will do that, but these words are not comforting to me. 

I want to scream, "IT'S NOT THE SAME". It's not the same, and it never will be. You will never have a living, breathing relationship with Henry ever again, and that hurts me. I know it hurts you, too. I can feel it and I will carry that with me forever. 

Mom, today, tomorrow and for the rest of my life I hold you close to my heart and I will miss you every second of every day. 

Love, 

Kristine  

How to Make Friends and Influence....Birds

When I was younger, I spent a lot of time visiting my grandparents at their home on Ahmic Lake. They had many different bird feeders for many different kinds of birds, and bird watching in the winter was particularly interesting. 

Now, we definitely don't have the extensive bird feeders that they did (and still do now that they've moved into Parry Sound), I did learn a thing or two about feeding birds from those days, like how Blue Jays are very social, even friendly birds, and absolutely love peanuts. 

If you want Blue Jays to flock to your house, go out and grab a bag of peanuts in the shell. Toss a handful out every so often, and call out to the birds - I have my kids yell out,  "hey, Jays!".   Pretty soon, you'll have Blue Jays flitting about, and they will come and call to YOU, eventually. They are bold birds. 

On these bitterly cold, but brilliantly sunny days, making new bird friends has been an activity my little kids have loved, even if their yelling at the birds through the windows makes it near impossible to get a decent photo. 

The Hardest Part

Dear Mom, 

I want to tell you about the hardest part. The hardest part wasn't finding out you had died. It isn't going through your things, and it wasn't even turning my back and walking away from your casket in the cemetery. The hardest part was at the end of your service, when we followed your casket out into the cold and snow. 

A piper was playing Amazing Grace. Michael, Matthew, Mel, Duncan, Mark and Luke were your pallbearers. I held tight to Henry's hand (Rick had taken Clare to another room), and we walked up the aisle out of the chapel. I couldn't look up- I didn't want to look at everyone looking at me.  Holding Henry's hand was the only thing that kept my feet moving and me upright. 

When we got outside, they placed you in the hearse. We were all sobbing. Deep, soul wrenching sobs. Your boys, Katie and me. I tried so hard to not completely break down because Henry was with me and I didn't want him to be scared. 

I remember Matt standing with his head down, hand on your casket, sobbing. It was cold, but we didn't feel it. Snow fell lightly all around. 

And then that was that. They closed the door to the hearse. 

They

Closed

The

Door 

And that was the hardest part. 

I miss you so much. 

Love,  

Kristine 

Three Weeks Ago Today

I don't know how it's already been three weeks since my mom died. It's been three weeks, and most of the time it doesn't feel real. 

I don't really know what else to say except: three weeks and I've barely scratched the surface of the emotional iceberg that I'm carrying around with me.