Intrusion by Non-verbal Artist

Evidence of his astounding artistry was right there in front of me . . . but he left without saying a word!

I knew full well who he was, even his nickname . . . and had no notion of calling 911.

Childhood memories instantly thrilled me! I grabbed the camera.

On the windowpane of our front door, Jack Frost had etched exquisite palm fronds and ferns—just like he did when I was a kid on the farm! Me and my younger sister shared an upper bedroom and were enchanted by similar winter artistry on windowpane ‘canvases.’

Photo taken January 17, 2024

(Frames by Verne, Kitchener, Ontario, made the acrylic face-mount of my photo, printing it on the back of optically clear acrylic which is completely washable and fade resistant, and, I might add, inexpensive.)

Whatever is this?

This week, while watering a palm that had been part of a potted arrangement several years ago, I was astonished and delighted to see amongst the fronds a sprig with tiny balls on it!

Having lived for eleven years on a semi-tropical island, the sight of palms transmits a sense of peace.

But what kind of palm was this—a date palm?

I called Sheridan’s Nursery. The clerk suggested it might be a Bella palm. Looking up photos of Bella palms on Google, I read that the Bella palm is native to the rainforests of Guatemala and southern Mexico. It thrives in bright, indirect light and produces tiny yellow flowers! The west window by the countertop in our kitchen supplies just the right light for this graceful little palm.

And speaking of palms, our son, John, who winters on Bonaire, enjoys the sight of huge palm trees around his complex—and most everywhere else—other than in the mondi (wasteland of cacti).

Many of us have recently seen large palm trees on Christmas cards which depict the magi’s visit to Bethlehem. Following a star, they had travelled from the East to worship Israel’s newborn King—the Christ child—Immanuel—God with us.

As 2023 draws to a close, I’ll be searching through my files of photos for more than the identity of little palms. Whatever is chosen will be painted in oil. I find this medium totally relaxing because any flaws can be painted over—and needed improvements are easily made. You would never guess what lies below some of my paintings—and my husband is sworn to absolute secrecy!

The CAREGIVER’S Cookbook is now available

amazon.ca/dp/B0C4X131PK

If you have suddenly been thrust into the role of caregiver

— or if you are a student on a budget —

let Eleanor help you prepare inexpensive meals from scratch!

When Eleanor was diagnosed with breast cancer in the fall of 2021, her husband, Lloyd, couldn’t boil water without burning it! Eleanor began writing out simple recipes for him. As Lloyd tried to cook, the need for HOW-TO instructions became clear.

Take heart! If you can read—you can COOK—thanks to this book!

Check out The Author page:

amazon.ca/Eleanor-Joy-McDonald/e/B0C59HN7FM

Getting To and From

During our on-again, off-again winter, a little red squirrel used the top of our backyard fence as a runway.

I wasn’t fortunate enough to catch him jumping along the rail but shot the snow-scalloped top rail through the screened studio window sometime afterwards. (Unfortunately, its screen is the type that cannot be moved aside.)

The red squirrel visits our front yard every day, eager to gobble up any sunflower seeds the birds happen to bump out of the feeder tray.

He takes off like lightning if I happen to let our little dog, Sparkle, out, and, believe me, gentle Sparkle explodes with speed—but the red squirrel always manages to zip to safety through the wire fence at the base of the cedars.

Come fall, the red squirrel guards the nuts in the black walnut tree at the edge of the forest adjacent to our back fence. He will NOT tolerate any black or grey squirrels coming near it! What a noisy scolding they get as he fiercely chases them off!

BTW, I fell in love with red squirrels years ago and painted one of them. https://mcdonaldart.com/product/misty-retreat-print-7×9-acrylic/

From my fireside to yours!

I hope you found the images on my website delightful . . . and that the time spent was an uplifting part of your day.

Many thanks for forwarding mcdonaldart.com to your acquaintances.

May you enjoy the healthy reward of seeking out “whatever is lovely” in 2023!

Eleanor Joy McDonald

Exciting Hues

This fall, everyone said the same thing: “I’ve never seen such vivid colours!”

Some claimed that we had more colour here in southern Ontario than folks had further up north. They theorized that it was caused by a spell of dry weather. It certainly wasn’t frost. Frost was almost non-existent. The temperature barely ever dipped to more than one measly degree below zero.

While painting Frolicsome Filly, I didn’t have to drive very far for reference material. In fact, one maple viewed from our side kitchen window cranked up its glow on a daily basis!

I photographed other maples during our walks with Sparkle.  

My husband, Lloyd, with Sparkle on the Windrush Trail near Doon Public School
Trail off of River Road, Kitchener, October 17, 2022

Hopefully, some of these exciting hues made it onto the canvas.

Entrance of trail to Wilson Avenue off of Mill Park Drive, squirrel condo and all! October 12, 2022
Lookout over the Grand River at end of Wilson Avenue, Kitchener. October 11, 2022

The breathtaking dazzle of this year’s autumn glory can only be hinted at on the canvas of Frolicsome Filly!

Windmills There and Windmills Here

Back in 1947, something life-changing happened in Grade Three.

A very blonde-haired girl began attending our two-room school in Hickson, having emigrated from Holland. At recess, she would juggle several balls at a time against the rug brick wall! I liked her.

To help us learn about our classmate’s recently war-ravaged country, our teacher began social study lessons on Holland. I FELL IN LOVE with its windmills, red balls of Edam cheese, wooden shoes, and the lacy white-winged bonnets ladies wore whenever they donned the official Dutch costume. And Holland grew and exported tulips, tulips of all kinds! Every year, in gratitude for the Canadian soldiers who helped free their country during the Second World War, Holland sends an abundance of tulips to Ottawa.

Years later, married and with three children, my husband Lloyd and I served on the Island of Bonaire with the Christian station of Trans World Radio from 1973-1984. Bonaire is a Dutch island in the southern Caribbean. I don’t believe we ever bought a red ball of cheese, but we often purchased a wheel of soft, young Gouda.

At that time, education on Bonaire went up to the equivalent of our Grade Eleven which meant that graduating TWR staff children returned to the home country of their parents to further their schooling. The staff went all out to make each graduation memorable. For two of the girls, the theme for the celebration was “Tulip Time in Holland.”   For a backdrop, 1one man on staff made a facsimile of a windmill. It was so large that its blades almost touched the ceiling as they swept around and around in the huge Activity Building.

His 2wife’s committee, which I was part of, made over 100 crepe-paper tulips. Some were placed along the banks of a paper river which flowed under a 3wooden rainbow bridge. Several groups of tulips bloomed behind a short picket fence. We still laugh whenever we remember the comical rendering of the skit, 4Tiptoe Through the Tulips.

Snazzy costumes were made for the 5waiters (younger staff children) who served a delicious Dutch menu at the banquet. They were often heard to say, Eet smakelijk! (Enjoy your meal!)

Such incredible send-offs for the graduates helped to somewhat ease the pain of the upcoming separations. There would be no quick, inexpensive connections with family back on the island. Email or What’s App had not yet been invented. Airmail took two weeks. Phone calls were beyond the missionary stipend.

A sister island, Aruba, dismantled an authentic windmill in Holland and reassembled it, turning it into Ye Olde Molen Restaurant.

I included a photo of this beautiful windmill on page 227 of my book “Little Dutch Isle” (available on Amazon).

Today, 12 tall, commercial, three-bladed windmills on Bonaire’s north-east coast near the Town of Rincon supply one-third of the island’s power.

Along with other treasured Delft pieces, a small replica of a windmill sits on the windowsill of one of our bathrooms.

You will often see me wearing tiny Dutch-shoe earrings with a windmill painted on their toe and two slightly larger Dutch shoes on a necklace.

This spring, Lloyd and I refinished a windmill that adorns a flowerbed in our backyard. We marvelled at its meticulous construction. Obviously, its creator was truly a lover of windmills.

When we walk our little dog, Sparkle, we often go to admire a large windmill in the heritage section of Upper Doon in Kitchener.

My Grade Three teacher had no idea how affected this little pig-tailed girl would be when she shared Holland with me and my classmates. 

__________  

  1. Don Beans
  2. Dianne Beans
  3. Bob Flaming
  4. Glenn Sink and Dan Canfield
  5. Left to right: John McDonald, Daniel McDonald, Rene Hogan, Sammy Montoya, Carol Lowell, Scott Hess, Carlos Montoya, Pam Hogan, Tommy Lowell

  

A Chipmunk’s Abode

It was time for Sparkle’s walk.

We drove to the Grand River Lookout located in the Homer Watson Woods at the dead-end of Wilson Avenue, Kitchener, some 10 minutes from our home.

Meandering through the woods, Lloyd’s curiosity was aroused by a hollow at the base of two conjoined trees.  We went over and observed a hole in the bottom of the hollow.

In a moment or two, now some 15 feet further along, Lloyd cried:

“Look over there! A chipmunk just popped out of that hole!”

She stood still for the longest while—uncharacteristic, as you know, of these tiny high-tailers.

You have probably seen the chipmunk in the middle panel of my triptych painting titled Woodland Wildflowers as well as the original portrait of a chipmunk titled Picnic in the Pines.

A beloved chipmunk is the main character in my bedtime story available on Amazon in both English and French entitled Mrs. Twigadoon or Mme Twigadoon.

Lloyd and I marvelled at the opportunity we had just experienced of photographing a non-moving chipmunk! As we continued on, coming upon a snowy-white trillium or a cluster of trilliums sparkling up the woodlands, the sense of delight was absolutely uplifting!

Yellow violets were also plentiful in the Homer Watson woods!

As one climbs the short knoll to Lookout, you actually walk through the chipmunk’s pantry . . . . . acorns plunked here and there along the pathways. No wonder. After all, hadn’t we just found a chipmunk’s abode?

Woodland Calligraphy

Have you ever sat down and tried to create a distinctive signature for yourself, one with some flare, some pizzaz? I don’t mean the kinky, straight-lined scrawl some professionals develop, but something artful, free-flowing, downright beautiful to behold!

Walking our dog, Sparkle, in the woods this week, I came upon this gorgeous signature:

When I took a recent oil painting into Frames by Verne, a local art gallery in Kitchener, for sale, the owner quickly scanned it for my signature before accepting it. The signature I have used over the years on the canvases is done in print style and placed where it won’t detract from the subject. It’s downright boring. See if you agree.

In search of Mrs. Twigadoon’s Home

On a near perfect day around the end of May, we headed toward Holiday Beach near New Hamburg where once upon a time we had a trailer. Mrs. Twigadoon (a chipmunk) set up housekeeping beneath the  stone ledge on our lot which bordered a flowered meadow rimmed by a big woods.

On our drive, I wanted to spend some time around bluebird houses we had seen bordering pastureland and try to photograph the gorgeous birds. My husband insisted that he had taken the right road, but this is the lone bluebird house we saw. . . and this is its imposter!

It was exciting to see a few beehives along the way and a herd of black angus cows grazing.

At the far corner of the pasture was a red cow which had recently given birth and was intently watching her calf licking itself.

Lloyd pulled some fragrant wild phlox for me from a ditch. Hopefully, it wouldn’t mind being transplanted into our citified garden.

Now, where were we? Lloyd checked the map on his Smart phone, and in just 5 minutes, we were driving up the shady laneway of Holiday Beach.

The neatly kept campgrounds had expanded a great deal since our stay in the late 90s and there were scarcely any natural areas left; no valleys covered in last year’s goldenrod, no. We remembered that we drove up an incline before turning left toward our trailer situated at the edge of a meadow.

It seemed our trailer would have been located about here with a view of the silver lake.

No, our trailer wasn’t at the end of this row either.

We did locate a small patch of woods, emphasis on ‘small.’

Ah, there was the willow tree at the far end of the lake! That’s the willow Mrs. Twigadoon had raced toward, trying to beat Grandma and Grandpa McDeedle there. They loved to sit on the bench beneath the old tree. Mrs. Twigadoon hid in a hollow of the willow, intent on doing some serious eavesdropping

Of course, we were disappointed that we could not locate the meadow or Mrs. Twigadoon’s home beneath the stone ledge. But you can find it on Amazon in the pages of Mrs. Twigadoon . . . or . . . Mme Twigadoon.

You can also find the words and music of a delightful lullaby which our children and granddaughter often drifted off to sleep with.

Around the Bend

Painting of Rocky Mountaineer Tree rounding a bend by Lake Shuswap, AB

Around the Bend – Latest Release!

My husband leaned out from the small platform between coaches to photograph the Rocky Mountaineer gliding around the bend beside Shuswap Lake, British Columbia.         

It was August of 2011. Our first trip out West was in celebration of our 50th wedding anniversary.

After visiting flower-bedecked Victoria on Vancouver Island and the unbelievable Butchart Gardens, we ferried back to the mainland to board the Rocky Mountaineer Train in Vancouver.

Looking it up later on, I found that the lake in this painting, Shuswap, is situated near Salmon Arm. Made up of long bodies of water, it is shaped like an addled letter H, and is one of the most popular recreational destinations in south-central BC.

Something we did not realize was that Canada has desert regions. As we journeyed through barren areas and sagebrush towards Kamloops for an overnight, we were astonished to see irrigation systems spraying out water in order to grow hay!

Aboard the Rocky Mountaineer once again, the mountain scenery we were rolling by—and sometimes tunnelling through—could only be described as SPECTACULAR!

Lake Louise was as lovely as the photos we had seen.

Banff, nestled at the foot of mountains, had a cowboy feeling. Bronze manhole covers were works of art with handsome caribou engraved realistically on them.

Believe it or not, the only large wildlife I saw while going through the mountains was a black bear painted on a road sign! After arriving home and chatting with someone at the St. Jacobs Market, he said that we could have seen all kinds of mountain sheep—the reason I wanted to go through the Rockies in the first place—if we had taken the route to Jasper. Ve git too soon oldt and too late schmart.

View painting on mcdonaldart.com here: https://m.mcdonaldart.com/product/around-a-bend/

Brand New Bedtime Story!

Wish you had a new bedtime story for your children . . . one they could escape into right now?

Although the bookstores have been shut down temporarily, you can go to Amazon.ca and look for . . . 

Mrs. Twigadoon is available in paperback and e-book. An audio version is in the works.

The setting of the story is a family campground where Grandma and Grandpa McDeedle become acquainted with the spunky chipmunk, Mrs. Twigadoon. Many lessons can be learned from her narrow escape.

Let your children sing along with the McDeedles’ granddaughter who serenades a bug in a bottle!

Mrs. Twigadoon! Thirty pages long, sparkling with coloured photos!

A Dream Come True

The timing of our walks with Sparkle is governed by the temperature and wind. The woodland’s hospitality ‘chair’ is a bit too cold to make use of today.

Our recently retired son, John, is spending six months on the island he grew up on, Bonaire, Caribbean Netherlands. At the moment, he is in Curacao, a guest aboard a catamaran owned by John and Marilyn Dale, Christians from Florida whom he met at church on Bonaire. His lifelong dream of sailing has come true! Prior to setting sail, John gave them a tour of Bonaire and also some PADI scuba diving courses.

Catamaran Lagoon-42 built in France in 2019

John and Marilyn Dale head across the pontoon bridge into Punda, Curacao

John enjoying the tourist gig!

In the meantime, I am working on a 30×24” oil painting of the Rocky Mountaineer Train as it rounds a curve beside Shuswap Lake in B.C. Stay tuned.

Sniff it out

Sparkle’s curiosity amazes and amuses us. When something new arrives, say, on the countertop, she sits and looks up towards it, pops up and down, until you take it and let her sniff it. A sniff is all she wants.

There is something Sparkle wants you to sniff out.  Hopefully, before Valentine’s Day, you will find a new painting put up titled–Around the Bend. My husband and I were aboard the Rocky Mountaineer train in 2011 as it rounded a bend by beautiful Shuswap Lake, Alberta.

Merry Christmas from our house to yours!

Aroma Therapy

 

Someone gave us a teensy sample of maple syrup in a glass jug not more than 3” high.  It now sits on the bathroom vanity.  One of our hostas near the side door produces white, lily-type flowers with a delicate fragrance.  Each morning I pick one of its lilies and deposit it in the little jug.  Throughout the day, I pause to pick it up by its round handle and inhale the lily’s refreshing scent.  A sniff resets one’s core gently, pleasantly―aroma therapy!

2016-08-10-Hosta Lily-Aroma Therapy

False prairie sunflowers are blooming along the backyard fence.  I’m 5’5”.  How tall do you think they are?  Goldfinches enjoy pulling seeds from their golden centres.

2016-08-08-Height of false prairie sunflowers

Too many fires have been in the news lately―Fort McMurray, California, barn fires, and even a local field of wheat―unheard of to us.  A sunset recently enflamed the pines behind us―thankfully only with fiery colour!

Day is done

Gone the sun

From the lake

From the hills

From the sky.

All is well.

God is nigh.

Sweetly rest.

2016-08-06-Sun setting on forest-cr

 

 

 

 

Computers Have Likes, Preferences. You Better Believe It!

After the painting of Shorty and Diesel was shipped to Utah, the studio became a temporary workshop of sorts. Tables were cluttered with drills, screwdrivers, levels, and tools of all sorts.  The bathroom next to the studio was being renovated.  It was about time.

In opposite corners of the studio, two easels patiently hold canvases, waiting to be worked on.

2016 got off on its second day to a frustrating start!  Non-stop computer problems.

Did you know that computers have personalities? likes?  preferences?

Knowing I had signed up to take the introduction to the InDesign course from Conestoga College online, John’s Christmas gift was the installation of 16 GB of RAM to increase the speed at which the office computer performed.  It promptly went into pouting fits, freezing up every few hours!  Forcing it to shut off by holding down the ON button until the screen darkened was a scary business, a procedure that was a last resort, and one that was hard on a computer.

Its next antic was to scare the wits out of me!  Red, quivering, horizontal lines shimmied up the monitors in menacing columns, freezing the computer again!  Yikes!

It could be that it needs a new video card.  That was the consensus this time.

Lloyd became a whiz kid at unhooking the tower and hauling it up to the repair shop, not to just one, but now to a second shop!

$100 later and a new video card, the computer is as rebellious as ever!

It must need a new hard drive, was the next conclusion.  How could the hard drive be worn out?  It was only 16 months old!  Give me a break.

A 2-tarabyte hard drive was installed.  The greenbacks are flowing.

Computer carries on with its usual tantrums, freezing up!

The receptionist at the shop lamely said, “Your computer just doesn’t like the RAM.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I replied, incredulously.

Whoever heard of a computer not liking something?  It’s mechanical, isn’t it?  Just a bunch of metal, wires, chips, screws . . . all that electronic stuff, geek stuff!

When I informed John that I was ready to heave it out the window, he initiated a three-way call with the technician.  Surprise!  The technician assured John that the RAM he had purchased was perfectly good, and that the first repair shop had installed it properly.

I dug out a trusty magnifying glass, and read the puny–sized company name on my old RAM of 6 GB:  Kingston Technology. 

“Kingston is reliable.  That’s what I have in my computer at home,” the technician said.

Wheeler-dealer John asked if the technician would swap out the RAM he had bought, and exchange it with his shop for KINGSTON RAM.

“Sure.”

Nimble Lloyd pulled out the wires for the umpteenth time, and up to the shop we went again.  How many trips was this?  Who’s counting?

“Leave it with us overnight so we can see if it still freezes up.  We’ll call you in the morning.”

Next morning, no call.  Doesn’t this generation ever keep their word and have the courtesy to call back?

I pick up the phone again.  “It’s fixed,” was the reply.

So . . . the receptionist’s comments about my computer not liking the RAM weren’t so dimwit after all!  Computers do have personalities, likes and dislikes.   The fact is that there are no absolute standards when it comes to the manufacture of computer parts.  What works in one computer might not work in another brand’s tower.  (Thought you’d like to know that comforting tidbit.)

Back home once again, the question quickly became, “Where is everything?  Where is One Drive?”

I had spent hours uploading things to One Drive after getting an upgrade with Rogers for unlimited bandwidth.

Where is the expensive InDesign software we put in that blew our budget, and that I couldn’t enrole in the course without?

Where is my email?  Where’s this?  Where’s that? Help!!!!!!

“Don’t worry,” John assured me.  “Let me come in on TeamViewer.”

Click.  Click.  Clickety click!  He pulled in things from who knows where, and old programs came alive once more!  What is he, a wizard?

“Call the technician and ask him where he put One Drive,” John instructed.

The technician had gone for the weekend, but he would call us Monday morning.

No such luck.

Three-way call once more.

Thank God for John’s Let’s get it done authoritative tone. I was no longer in a civil state of mind.  The tech agreed that if we brought up the old (ridiculous term) hard drive, he would put it in as a data disk, and at no extra fee.  Why hadn’t he done that in the first place?  Yes, we could come right up.

Yank.  Yank.  Yank.  You bet, Lloyd is a speed freak now at dismantling this box of junk.  My lack of a sense of direction can even tell you how to get to the repair shop without getting lost!  Why, we could get there blindfolded!

By this time, we’re no longer hauling the tower up the flight of stairs to the repair shop.  No, the receptionist can jolly well come out and carry it in, thank you very much.

When she began telling me about downloading everything into OneDrive, I must have looked like a veritable troll. (My oldest sister always told me she could read everything on my face!)  For once, it was an advantage. The receptionist quickly realized that I was not about to countenance any further delays, and trotted me back to the technician.  He agreed to download the 169 GB to OneDrive at no cost.

“Leave it with me, and I’ll start the download right now, and it will run overnight. It should be done sometime tomorrow.”

I’ve heard that line before.

Checking in the next morning, Friday, only a third had been downloaded, even though I was told the process ran all night. Yes, they are open on Saturday. . . . . .

By now, I am two weeks behind on the online course.  John leaves for his annual scuba diving vacation in one week. I had hoped to be well on the way in the course while he was still available to bail me out, should I get stuck.

When I was put together, I wasn’t wired with a sense of direction, and there is no way one can be installed.  The other wires that would equip me to be tech-savy didn’t get put in either.

I try to remind myself that at least my attempts to brush colour and shapes onto canvases – which those who view them often express a sense of wonder and joy at – is something to be thankful for . . . something not of my own doing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Question from Utah

Christine commissioned the painting of Diesel and Shorty in early February.  The carpenter installed it in the study of her new home on November 11th.

2015-11-11-Mounted_7501

“Thank you so much for this beautiful painting,” wrote Christine.  “It really means so much to me.  I cannot believe the content look in their eyes.  As I write this email, I am crying. How can an oil painting do this to me?”

When a friend in London saw Diesel and Shorty in the above photo, she emailed:

Can scarcely believe that in the short space of 8 months, the artwork moved from an “idea” to the “canvas,”  was “completed” by the Artist, “shipped” to the purchaser, and is now “gracing the fireplace” in their home!

And I’m still pinching myself that this whole experience really happened!

Are you a digger?

Spring, summer, fall . . . I checked them all, all of the local nurseries. I was hunting for the pink Obedient Plant, but they only had it in white.

Although it was November now, I couldn’t forget how lovely the spikes of pink flowers were that I photographed in one of Brantford’s public gardens two summers ago. Having never seen them before, I emailed the photo to a nursery, which identified them for me. Apparently the Obedient Plant is native to North America, where it is distributed from eastern Canada to northern Mexico, and blooms in late summer when most perennials are fading.  An amazing thing about these flowers, so they tell me, is that you can move or twist an individual floret(s) to whatever position you want them to be in, and they will stay put, which is why florists love them.

Obedient Perennial

(Pink Obedient Plant)

Brainwave!  I’ll contact the Master Gardeners and see if one of them has such a perennial.

Through the library’s helpful Info Link service, I obtained a phone number, and left a message–my plea for a piece of the pink Obedient Plant.

Gwyn phoned, a master gardener, and, yes, she had the pink Obedient plant, and I would be welcome to come get some!  She was going out for lunch, but we could come by at four.

The directions were unusual.  Two miles west of a small village on the opposite side of Kitchener, we were to look for a lane which cut through the middle of a woods on the left, its number posted on the roadside.  There were two other homes in the woods which we would pass, but we were to keep going until we reached their place at the top of the hill.

The weather was balmy, in fact, record-breaking with temperatures in the 20s.  We found the lane that cut through the woods all right, but as we continued to wend our way around the trees, we could hardly tell if we were on the lane or not because of the thick bronze carpet of fallen leaves.  Soon we saw a building through the trees up ahead.

There was no one at home in the large board-and-batten house.  Two white poodle-mixes barked valiantly behind a big window. Presently, the master gardener and her husband drove up. He invited Lloyd into the house while Gwyn took me on a tour of the spacious grounds. Before setting off, I gave her a clump of cala lily that originally came from Guatemala, and produced white, leather-like blooms often seen in wedding bouquets.  It was ready for its winter nap indoors.

Gwyn explained that she once had perennial beds galore, a large greenhouse, and a swimming pool.  As time went on, however, outdoor work had to be pared down, and the greenhouse was dismantled.  The swimming pool was changed into two individual, curved ponds looking so natural with some cattails and water lilies in them.  Someone still comes in to help her with the large vegetable garden.  Carrots and parsnips lay in a wheel barrel by the door.  From this hilltop perch one could see the surrounding farmlands stretching out to the horizon field by fence post, stream and woodlot.

As Gwyn identified the spent stalks of a clump of pink Obedient Plants in a flowerbed by the house, she asked sisterly-like, “Are you a digger?”

“Yes!” I replied without hesitating.  “I LOVE digging!!”

No one had ever asked me such a question.  Only a master gardener fully understands the energizing, creative surge one experiences when powering a garden shovel into the earth by means of one’s foot. Repeated pushes might create a curved flowerbed, or prepare a hole in which to plant some fragrant rose bush–some green wonder to bless the world for years to come!

In no time, the two of us had a large clump of the sought-after perennials bagged and stowed in the cargo area of the Smart car.

Entering the house for a cup of hot tea which she proffered, we found the men engrossed in conversation in the living room.  And what a room!  Designed by two architects 40 years ago, and built from timber on the property, it featured massive maple beams, a stone floor-to-ceiling fireplace, an end wall filled with books, a cherry-sided dining room with the largest harvest table I have ever seen, a balcony overlooking the great room where vibrant greenery hung from the high ceiling, and, off the kitchen, a cold room to store produce and jars of fruit. The tiled floor of the window-studded kitchen was heated by hot water pipes, as were the bathroom floors.

Sitting there, I verbalized the thought that because they had become so accustomed to these surroundings of mellowed wood and stone, they could not possibly realize how relaxing and beautiful the home truly was.

Our conversations covered the gamut of the recent federal elections, the exotic flowers and fungi of Australia, where one of their sons live, the challenge of aging (experienced by each of us), their two-year stint in Nigeria where he was sent to build a school of engineering under the auspices of the University of Waterloo, and the miracle of a recent kidney transplant which he was grateful for.

At last, Lloyd and I reluctantly took our leave, but not before getting their phone number. Time had flown, and supper  was long overdue,

As I gave Gwyn a hug and kiss good bye, her husband asked where his kiss was.

“Give him a kiss,” Gwyn coaxed.  This was also a first for me. No wife has ever asked me to kiss their husband before!  I planted a kiss on both of his friendly, bearded cheeks.

Thanking them again, we began our descent from the enchanted home in the woods and its hospitable owners.

As soon as the rains tapered off the next morning, I happily dug in the clump of pink Obedient Plants in the garden by the sidewalk.

P1260708

(Stalks of pink Obedient Plant safely dug in)

The weather forecast said that the record-breaking warm temperatures we had experienced would plunge, and in a few days would fall below zero, with possibly some snow.

Looking back, I marvel at the master gardener’s prompt reply to my late-in-the-season plea for the pink Obedient Plant. Just 48 hours later, and I wouldn’t have been able to dig the plants out of Gwyn’s flowerbed.  The ground would be frozen, unable to release the gorgeous plant I had fallen so in love with . . . but could not buy anywhere!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Safely Home

UPS picked up the crate containing the painting of the stallions, Diesel and Shorty, early in the afternoon of October 6th.  Their scheduled arrival time at the Grants’ home in Ogden, Utah, was one week later, October 13th.   From points 3000 kilometres apart, Christine Grant and I were regularly checking its progress on UPS’s online tracking system. I was relieved to note when it had cleared U.S. Customs, but why did it stall in Chicago for two days?  It wasn’t surprising then when the shipping company posted a notice that its arrival in Utah would be two days later than scheduled, October 15th.

Christine stayed home that day, eagerly awaiting its arrival, but instead received a notice that they had attempted delivery, and would try again on the 16th.

It turned out that for some inexplicable reason, the house number she gave us, which was clearly printed on the crate and on the affixed paperwork, was one digit out! She phoned UPS in Ogden, and fetched Diesel and Shorty home herself, letting us know by email.  The stallions were safely home, and we could relax!

Front view of Grant home

The Grants’ response on seeing their commissioned piece was a joy to read, and will be posted shortly on our website in the TESTIMONIAL pages under the HOME drop-downs .

The carpenter came out the following day to take measurements for making a large moulding to frame the painting in the panel above the fireplace.  It will take about two weeks to have the staining done and everything put in place.  Once the stallions are installed, and Christine sends me a photo of them in their new paddock, I’ll share that in another blog.

Ready for Pickup

Saturday afternoon, October 3rd, was set aside for readying Diesel and Shorty for the journey to their owners in Utah.  Not quite three weeks after his right knee replacement, Lloyd’s walker steadied him as he stood to spray four light coats of ultra-violet protection over the canvas. When the last coat was dry, John and I taped a protective sheet of paper over the painting’s surface.  I could see the stallions through the paper, and felt my first pangs of parting with the beloved horses that I had been striving to bring to life with light and dark pigments for the past seven months.

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Yesterday, a family visiting from church carried the crate up from the basement rec room for us.  Lloyd built it last spring before his knee surgery was postponed to the fall.  After John and I got the long wooden box onto the dining table, we placed the canvas inside the inner cardboard box, and secured its lid with cord.

Tying inner box shut

Lloyd had prepared sheets of bubble wrap to swaddle the cardboard box in and cushion it during shipment. 

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“This is how you do it, John,” coached Lloyd, setting the drill’s ratchet before he started screwing the top down on the crate with drywall screws.

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Our enabler and webmaster, John, puts in the last screw!  He made sure that none of the screw tops stuck above the surface where they would catch on things.

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The crate weighing 48.4 lb. stands on its end, waiting for pickup on Tuesday afternoon by UPS.

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A previous visitor from church calculated the weight for us by holding the canvas and standing on the scales, and then standing on the scales by himself . . .  teasing us that we just wanted to find out how much he weighed!  He then sat the crate on the scales and determined the total weight of the canvas and crate, essential information to have as we contacted courier companies for shipping rates.

I put my back out trying to get a slipper onto Lloyd’s swollen foot when he came home from the hospital, so neither of us were into a weight-lifting mode.  Although we can’t lift heavy objects right now, there is something we can exercise . . . and that is giving thanksthanksgiving for our son’s web-mastering skills that enabled Christine Grant to enlarge my painting of Secretariat, which is why she contacted me about painting stallions for her; thanksgiving that this lady possessed huge reserves of trust to commission a painting from thousands of miles away; thanksgiving for the honest (to be truthful, brave) critiquing from both my husband and son; and thanksgiving to my Heavenly Father for enabling me to complete the work before Lloyd’s mid-September surgery.

Diesel and Shorty should arrive in Utah around the time of our Canadian Thanksgiving, and be installed by the contractor above the library’s stone fireplace in the Grant’s new home before the American Thanksgiving!