Baby Steps

I like gardening, but I don't consider myself a gardener...yet.  I enjoy the results and I think I know a decent amount about plants and they way they grow, but I haven't had enough experience to claim the title of gardener.
Truth be told, I'm rather intimidated by my expanse of land on which I have to plant things.  I had gardens back in Tottenham - a small vegetable patch and a few perennial beds.  In comparison, my beds here are massive, and I certainly have the space to grow pretty much anything my heart desires.

The neglected vegatable garden

Last year we did nothing, and I mean nothing with the garden.  I was still feeling somewhat shell-shocked and with the baby it was difficult to get out and work in the yard.  It was also a brutal  year for bugs. This year my focus is the vegetable garden.  I will let the ornamental beds do what they want, and will keep them tidy and maybe plant a thing or two, but I have no real plans for them this season.

I have to take it one step at a time, and seeing as the vegetable garden will be the most productive, I'm starting there first.  This year will bring it's own trials, I'm sure, but I can't make excuses anymore.  Henry is older now, but he is also just learning to walk, and while amazing to watch, gives us a whole new set of challenges.  I embrace them though, because how else can I move forward?

And so, just as my young son is learning how to walk on his own two small feet, so will I tackle the vegetable garden.  I believe what I will yield will go far beyond simple tomatoes, carrots and peas.  I hope to find something of myself out there among the plants and soil that will sustain us through many seasons to come.

Going Around the Mountain

Spring has a way of showing us things that we hadn't noticed before.  After the snow melts, but before anything starts growing, we are presented with a landscape that is laid bare.  The fields and forest floors are flat and sodden with last fall's grasses and leaves.  The lay of the land is clear.  The canopies are open, illuminating previously dark corners of the woods.

Yesterday we went out for a walk in the field and forest edge across the road.  Part of our trek included a section that my husband's family called "going around the mountain".

I enjoy doing these hikes with Rick.  I like hearing tales from his childhood and feeling connected to a piece of land in a way that I never have before.  It's on these walks that my faith in our choice to move here is reaffirmed.  This connection to land, water, rock, and deep rooted family history is what I want.  

The Lyricism of Ice

Even in the stillness of winter, a frozen lake is very loud.  This morning I stepped outside to snap some photos of the spectacular morning sky, and as it always does, the unearthly noise coming from the lake took me by surprise.  It's fascinating to listen to.  Unpredictable.

A frozen lake makes noise in this way because the ice is elastic and dynamic.  Constantly changing due to currents underneath and ranging temperatures.  Certainly, our lake is the noisiest on very cold mornings or when there has been a dramatic temperature change.

We are nearing our one year mark of living here - we moved last Easter weekend, and I am looking forward to coming full circle, as it were.  When we arrived last year, the ice was already out and there were only patches of snow left.  I want to see the lake ice melt.  Having only visited here in the past, and never staying long enough to notice anything significant, I am constantly surprised by how dynamic and lyrical winter is.  I would have never guessed that the most interesting season on a lake would be winter, but it is.

Finding Myself on Maple Lake

In April of 2011, just 7 weeks after the birth of our son, we moved to Maple Lake.  Purchasing this house and property had been a dream of my husband's for many years.  His grandparents had decided it was time to move into a smaller home, but also wanted to keep the property in the family.  So, we bought the farm, so to speak.

I completely understood his drive to be here.  My own grandparents moved to Parry Sound from Ahmic Lake, Magnetewan.  If I had been in a position to buy that property, I would have.  My best childhood memories are from Ahmic Lake.  I knew where my husband was coming from and how important it was to him.

How could I say no?

We decided to move after the baby was born, and put the house on the market.  It sold within three days.  Everything was falling in to place and it all seemed perfect.

I had my reservations about the move and about the house, and I spoke up about them.  We talked them through, or so I thought.  To be honest I think I ignored my gut instinct throughout the whole process.  My gut instinct usually tells me everything I need to know. 

Yes, I wanted it.  But more, I wanted to be able to do this for my husband.  To do it for my 25 year old self who hadn't been able to do the same.

We moved Easter weekend.  I am going to leave out all the nitty-gritty details, but in short, I wasn't happy.  I sucked it all up and powered through the day with the help of my grandparents who arrived like a cavalry, bringing cookies and shoulders to cry on.  In their usual fashion, they got straight down to business, cleaning cupboards and unpacking boxes. I am forever grateful to them for shining some light on my situation that day.

The next morning my reality slammed into me like a brick wall.  Hard.  I felt alone, overwhelmed and unbearably sad.  MISTAKE screamed and echoed in my head.

I felt that we'd left our first home without much thought because we were so enthusiastic about the move.

I felt so incredibly stupid.  I can't express that strongly enough.  I'd visited this house for ten years.  I knew the issues.  I understood where I was moving to.  I had been on board every step of the way.  I'd been open about my hesitations.  Worked through them.

But still.  I was not happy.  Many, many tears were shed.  I felt like I was crushing my husband.  It killed me to see the disappointment and pain in his eyes.  More than anything, he wanted to make me happy, too.

I spent the spring, summer and fall guarding against and pushing away loneliness and sadness that crept up and struck with no warning.  I would find myself standing in my driveway overcome with tears, feeling pulled in a myriad of directions.  I was homesick and missed so much about a place that I really did want to leave.  It was perplexing.

Slowly, slowly my days started to improve.  Bad days became fewer and less intense.  I talked.  I shared all of my negative thoughts and feelings with my husband who was ever patient.  Make jokes about my situation.  Started to like some things about being here.  The quiet, the space, the beauty just outside my door.  The scales were tipping.

Now winter has arrived and I can honestly say that there are things about living here that I love.  The tress covered in new snow.  Perfect sunrises over the lake.  Privacy.  Wide open spaces. 

I spent three seasons feeling un-anchored, having a house but no home.  I  know now that home is wherever my love is.  My son.  My husband.  And really, that's what brought me around.  I still have days where I stop and think "How on earth did this happen?", but in my gut I know my home is here.  Maple Lake.