The weekend Rohan and I ran away to Lutsen ...

on our way to dinner

I had no idea how important it would be, there was no plan - we had decided the night before, after weeks of tension and sadness, and booked our room on a whim. I've never even been down the road to the Lutsen Resort, I've only ever gone up the road to the ski hills. When we arrived I was certain I was in paradise.

The beginning of May is always going to be difficult, it will always remind me of loss. Every May from now until forever I am going to run away to this place, because what I found there was more healing than I could have ever imagined.

where the Poplar River
meets Lake Superior
and the Lutsen Resort beach

Back in our room Rohan slept.., he slept when we arrived, was early to bed, late to rise..., slept most of the next day after our hike; it was probably the first time since we lost Finn that he really slept. At home he's too busy distracting himself, fighting the sadness, and nearly killing himself in the process. He's worn out, skinny, and consumed by a very private grief. I hate seeing what it's doing to him. I didn't realise until we were there in paradise that maybe he needed this even more than I did.

If there was ever a time we needed help, a little hope, anything ... this was it. We're beat. Grief for our child is so much more powerful than us.

Our one full day away was reserved for a river walk along the Cascade River. Of all the trails in the area we could have chose, we found the one with protected White Pines, and for the first time in years I felt my father. Some might think that sounds ridiculous, but I don't.. I truly believe the people we lose stay with us. I used to sense my father around Hannah's crib - nowhere else, just at the foot of her crib. I can't explain the feeling, it's peaceful, and just ..there.. I felt him that day in the forest. As if he read my post from the week before missing our walks along the Current River counting the White Pines along the way. For the first time since we lost Finn I felt peaceful...the churning stopped - briefly, but it stopped. I didn't feel as weighted and the tightness in my chest released..., just enough.

While Rohan carefully chose subjects for his photos, I ran around the forest like a kid in a candy store grabbing shots of every step along the way. I tried a few times to get a full circle perspective of my camera on the ground, waterfall before me, and trees towering over, but it didn't really work. The sun kept hiding behind clouds and no matter how long I held my breath and waited it still screwed up the exposure - and of course my panos were wonky because I haven't mastered that down/up thing yet.
I have mastered the foot selfie. I'm not a selfie headshot kind of person. I prefer my face behind the lens, but my feet - they show where I'm standing, and to me that's all that matters.

although I didn't know it at the time
this is the first foot and "belly shot"
of my pregnancy
with Hannah and Finn's
new baby brother or sister

I photographed my feet in the forest, in Lake Superior, on the wood floors of the resort, and in the best bathtub I've ever floated in. I watched the moon rise and listened to the waves slosh up against the shore below our cabin. I felt calm, and I think Rohan did too (all the sleeping helped..) ..and maybe that's what was needed for a miracle. I was already pregnant - just, ...this baby started growing in peace among the giant pines and on the shore. This baby was with me when I wrote Finn's name with rocks.

We have a long way to go together, but with all this powerful energy brought to me on this trip I have faith in a way I'm sure wouldn't be had we not run away. With new visualisations for meditation, and the memories of this beautiful place now charged with new meaning it will always be a very special paradise.

Thanks Dad.

being frontyardovich 2014

Stopping to smell the tulips this morning, I took a photo using my iPhone's ProHDR app - which takes two photos using different exposures with a slight delay. The result is often kind of awesome.
Sometimes, I'll get ghosted images of things moving through the scene.

There's a small patch of tulips (and I think some lily of the valley?) popping up in the garden bed under the oak. Upon further inspection this morning and later again this afternoon with a measuring tape I am pretty sure I can fill all 17-18 feet of this space before we see another winter.

These tulips will stay. There's something about adopted tulips... Not sure who they are yet, but we're about to find out. I'm hoping to just work around them, leaving them as they are.

As for the rest... What the frack. No seriously..., those marigolds (upon further inspection) were planted in groups of three. Somebody actually put some effort into that. #headdesk Filler, I get it, but the lack of creativity in such an inspiring place sucks a little life outta me.

Yoga breathed it all back in and then some. Robin offers more than yoga; there's her background in massage therapy and understanding of anatomy, but it's more than that. I'm struggling for the words - too many things come to mind..., somehow today while trying to explain breathing and positions we ended up on ecosystems and the whole interactive within ones space and all the things within that space. The healing she offers encompasses not just now, my grief, my body and mind's desire to die, but all the things, everything from my very beginning: the sensitivities I have to chemicals (in food especially), illness and emotions that I thought would never matter, tragedies physical and emotions. Things I had put behind me: the c-section and difficult recovery from having H, the infection of 2009..., all of it revealing and relieving, finally feeling free to hope a little.
Last week, when I was as low as ever, feeling heavy and weighted by grief, Robin chose to weigh me down more with warm heavy blankets while in each position. The release was intense, I felt safe for the first time in days..., I fell into it and nearly fell asleep, crying, dreaming of my sweet baby Finn.
It's times like that I'm most grateful for my healers.

Today I think I can feel my rib cage for the first time in ... uh, years maybe..  I can breathe. Oh thank you thank you...
Taking my time to stroll up the hill, I stood in the playground at Hillcrest Park, on top of a jungle gym - joined briefly by a little girl who might have mistaken me for five. I twirled in my 360 panorama awkward way, pausing occasionally while clouds passed between me and the sun to maintain my exposure.

Up the hill with a view of the Lake, it's not the sanctuary that Waverley Park is, but it does the soul good for other reasons. When I got home I emailed the City to put in motion a memorial bench and tree for Finn in Waverley Park. 

I've thought about it for a while, and debated the parks. Waverley always wins, it's where my heart is, it's where Finn and I spent most of our time twirling around taking tiny planet panos. Hillcrest may be the view from his room, but I think if I was to find him in an urban forest it would be in Waverley. 

Back at home, I took what I hope will be the last photograph of this pitiful garden. Whatevertheheck weird weeping juniper thing trying to be something beside that nice rock it just got to get torn out. We're going to go for a more real look - none of these whackidoodle nursery experiments. It doesn't even understand what it's supposed to do: trained to go up and fall un-naturally, it's over grown and trying to grow upside down, rooting all around its "trunk." Why?

I did my best to photoshop out what's currently there, leaving the rock (I like that rock), and the tulips, with the oak anchoring one end, and the young blue spruce along the south side. The options are endless. I'm swimming with thoughts of sweeping spreads of spring bulbs - daffodils mostly, with tulips popping up from early to late season. Summer roses, butterfly flowers and soft colours, ending with a blast of autumn blooms in deep reds and oranges firing up the feet of the red oak.  

With 17 feet from the east to the blue spruce and 18 feet to the end of the bed under the oak branches, that's  lot of space. It won't take long though, and if I could absorb my entire wishlist from the catalogs spread all over my desk the dog ottoman it would be filled by the weekend. 

cedar grove

It was my birthday, and I had some time between appointments and had some time. With the 30x30 Challenge in mind, I found my way into an urban stream. Thankful for my boots and comfortable socks, I stood in the middle of McVicar Creek, sometimes slipping a little getting knocked over by the shallowest running water, suffering a little vertigo for some reason.. 

Suffering great confusion over my photographic demands, my iPhone spat out a few uh, interesting, panoramas. I haven't looked at them all yet. 

The sky was blue and the creek was a swirling mas of bubbles and life rumbling around me. Sometimes a camera just can't capture it, you have to be there.

Where would we be without urban forest escapes? We're fortunate in Thunder Bay to be within minutes of them in every direction. From science at the Tree Farm to Centennial with rivers running between. It ties into why I prefer to be a pedestrian, or on a bike - so that I can take advantage of these escapes. 

Irritated drivers paying the highest price for gas get crankier waiting in dual Tim Horton's line-up for the worst coffee in the world - if only they knew a better perk was right there in front of their eyes, hidden behind asphalt. 

spring without Finn

what's missing
of course
is my baby

Good Friday

Yesterday's slushy snow storm turned to ice over nice; it was like a layer of fondant over an earth cake this morning as I left for yoga. I love it when the sky is bright blue like this - there's always a window of time in the morning and again in the afternoon when the sky is like this, best when there are some clouds I can slowly capture swirling around in it. This morning it looked as if the blue was reflecting all around, off the shimmering layer of frozen snow, and Finn's bedroom window.

my shadow
and the Wild Thing tree shadow
on the April 18 snow

It's been seven months since he was born. He'd be crawling, getting licked by dogs, sharing toys with the dogs, ...I'd have him in little knit hats found on Etsy - bunny ones I had looked at but not bought yet. I probably would have him dressed like a carrot at some point. Photographed and over-shared.

Yoga was probably never better timed; in spite of the beautiful morning I needed some extra inner peace today, maybe a little extra inner strength. Robin's understanding of anatomy and recovery is making such a difference in the on-going healing from the infection of 2009 that played havoc on my nervous system, but she's also finding and fixing areas troubled by scar tissue - related even further back to the rough recovery from surgery after my c-section with Hannah's birth. She gives me hope that I could be looking at feeling, physically, a lot better - for the rest of my life. ...Which is so important - now more than ever.

There is a huge part of me that is forever broken, 
always in need of healing, therapy, help. 
I believe I will be fragile forever, 
so I have to work a little harder at being strong, 
and control what I can. 

Yoga makes me feel in control of a body that is wanting to fall apart. As I'm gently moving my breaths around, muscles stretching and contracting according to my mind's motions, I'm able to let go ...weep, but still breathe. Being able to feel both relaxed and strong at once in a posture is the perfect balance.

at the top of the Bay Street stairs
slush, snow, ice melting
in morning sun

The other day I said to Erinn, "Sometimes I think he gave me wings." I look at photos of Finn, utterly amazed at what I grew, who I made, how brave he was... Some people live a hundred years and do very little, he lived ten days and changed the world in so many ways - for so many people. I wish he was here, but he's not..., somehow I have to learn how to be grateful for the time I had, ...look for him in the sky, and feel him in the air around me. He's there.

one of my favourite books on yoga:

Yoga Anatomy

Leslie Kaminoff

ISBN-10: 0736062785

ISBN-13: 978-0736062787

photographs and found treasures

The last few boxes surrounding my desk in the basement are in the process of being unpacked. Finally.
Most of what's left are boxes of photos that need to be dealt with properly, organized, and put in albums - I've slowly been compiling everything for that project..., which I'm actually really looking forward to doing.
Family suddenly has a whole new context, and our photographed story from my father as a child in Holland, my mother as a kindergarten teacher, my sister and I growing up, our weddings, our children... is something worth telling properly.

This morning was spent sulking, feeling sorry for myself, emotional, unable to even look at Finn's photos. I miss him so much. Some times(days, hours, minutes, moments) I'm able to hold it together, others ..not so much. I think I'm learning when to take a step back... let the grief do what it has to do.

There are times I can't read other grief stories, I can't bear how much I relate to them.., other times I can't tear myself away. Today I found my way to Mitchell's Journey, unable to look away from his father's story.
He speaks and writes beautifully of his son, but most important to me is the photographic story - and what he says about the importance of being a "paparazzi" in your children's lives.

I felt terribly guilty for dangling my iPhone over Finn from the moment we were reunited after his birth. The convenience of being able to take decent photos with a gadget that fits in the palm of my hand was too easy, and even more easy to share instantly with family and friends. I kept telling myself to live in the moment and put the camera down, but I didn't.
How grateful am I now that I have dozens of photos of him - photos in every outfit, at every time of day - and night, in the sunshine, with the dogs, by the fire, outdoors, indoors..., I captured every minute I could. Without those photos now - where would I be? From his growth inside me, to his precious ten+ days, I have it all on digital files, saved forever.

(Due to the mother-daughter code photos shared of Hannah must be approved by her - and for the most part they haven't been since "teen" was added to her age. ...but that doesn't mean I don't take them, save them, and have them all at hand.)

Chris Jones' story is important for another reason - as a father's journey through grief. His words are poignant, thoughtful and not held back by any tough exterior. I think it's often hard for father's to express themselves; Rohan has said a number of times how difficult it is to 'be the man' in this situation, hold it all together.. (...in those early days I don't know how he did it, while I lay motionless). So much of child loss and parental grief is focussed on mothers and how mothers cope. A father's perspective isn't something we've come across much, and certainly not one this beautiful.

Among the photographs and boxes of important things I don't know what to do with, I found some odds and ends of my mother's, some she intentionally left for me with messages scribbled on the envelopes, others just random things I ended up with - notes, drafts, notebooks she kept records in (she kept records of everything).
In a faded grey folder I came across a photocopy of pages from Dinah Shields & Edwina von Baeyer's book A Beginner's Guide to Gardening in Canada.

(von Baeyer's Rhetoric and Roses and Garden Voices being among my favourite garden reads..)

My mother's handwriting (in red pen - she must have been grading papers at the time) dates it 1992 ...
I know in the early 2000's she took a course or two in personal landscaping, hoping to do something pretty with her new construction home & garden - the work for which was put in me as hard labourer. She still didn't have a clue, but her determination was expressed clearly through likes and dislikes over my work. I am still being punished for planting purple (her least favourite colour) delphiniums in her front garden. (I thought they were blue..)
Though her enthusiasm for outdoor gardening may have been underwhelming, her indoor garden was always something spectacular. Also in the faded grey folder, a little pencil written note pulled from one of her many notebooks - on sprouting and growing avocados. My childhood memories of windowsills are not without a small glass of water with an avocado seed balanced on toothpicks half way in water, half exposed. I can't possibly imagine how many avocado plants she grew. I don't think any of them ever grew an avocado, but her plants were gorgeous.

Isn't it something that my mother the reluctant gardener was the first inspiration in my plans for our new garden.

Her Hansa rose will be among the first additions, but I've also just ordered some David Austin roses, a little tender here, but worth it even if for only one season. In my first garden I planted Winchester Cathedral - simply because I loved the fragrance of the blooms, even in the pot at the nursery. It wasn't until it was planted and I introduced it to my mother that she told me of how her and my father watched the changing of the bells at the real Winchester Cathedral while on a belated honeymoon (I think my dad was at a conference and my mother tagged along, but they called it a honeymoon... *academics*).
Ordered today is a new Winchester Cathedral, Golden Celebration, Graham Thomas, Jude the Obscure, and Lady of Shalott.
They're all of the hardier Davis Austin roses (famous for old world style and fragrance), but still considered somewhat tender here. I'm willing to take my chances. I'm eyeing up the sunny beds nearest the house for these, but that would involve the removal of boring shrubs..., which is a lot of work.

I see a lot of shuffling in our garden's future. The Reluctant Gardener pages my mother focused on were shrubs: flowering almonds, ninebark, burning bush... all of which are interesting, and worth considering for spots in this garden as well.

Rhetoric and Roses: A History of Canadian Gardening, 1900-1930
Edwinna Von Baeyer 1984
ISBN-10: 0-88902-983-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-88902-983-5

Garden Voices: Two Centuries of Canadian Garden Writing
Edwina Von Gal, Edwinna Von Baeyer, Pleasance Crawford 1995
ISBN-10: 0-394-22428-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-394-22428-2

Reluctant Gardener: A Beginner's Guide To Gardening In Canada 
Hoel Cooper, Edwinna Von Baeyer, Dinah Shields 1992
ISBN-10: 0-394-22233-4
ISBN-13: 978-0-394-22233-2

rainbow hat, favourite blanket, and a bird's eye view

I occasionally doodle photographs before I take them - plans or diagrams, I guess, of what I see in my head. I don't do this for every photo, obviously - most of them are spontaneous anyway, but when I have reason, or if I'm just feeling inspired without my camera, I doodle... 

I did this a lot leading up to Finn's birth, planning on taking many of my own infant photos using the adorable props and outfits I was collecting. Etsy got so much action last summer that my bank even called me one day to alert me to the increased traffic in my account. I told her: I'm very pregnant, very excited, home alone most of the time, and completely caught up in buying adorable baby stuff online. She laughed, completely understood, and dismissed the alert.

Beautifully handmade hats became my Etsy obsession. I collected carefully, there's a reason for every selection - except the ladybug, that set was a gift :) fulfilling an important 'garden bug' element in the collection. 

I was going to have fun taking photos of my baby, and found myself apologizing to my belly knowing that I was going to over-photograph and over-share the poor kid growing inside me. There were other babies too, friends' babies, that I wanted to photograph - all baby boys born shortly after Finn. It was going to be fun, and a chance for me to experiment with and learn something new about photography. Who doesn't want to take photos of adorable babies wearing adorable hats?

I found the doodle of the rainbow hat with the "favourite blanket" sometime just before Christmas, and took the page out and tucking it in the inside pocket of the notebook I drew it in. I didn't want to lose it, or separate it from the other notes and doodles in the book, but I didn't want to flip through and see it too easily. It's a hard to look at that one now. The rainbow hat was the only one he ever wore (that morning, when we were just goofing around, thinking we had all the time in the world together...). 

His favourite blanket ...not that he really knew it was his favourite blanket - but it would have been; it was the softest blanket I've ever sunk my fingers into. I had ordered it from ...*drum roll*... Etsy, and it arrived the day I was induced - we missed the delivery and were left with one of those post office notices to pick it up, which Rohan did sometime in the day after Finn was born.
I had ordered two blankets: one white, the other blue. As much as we all like to dislike the pink and blue thing with babies, it exists. If I carried Finn around in a pink blanket and posted all those photos of him swaddled in pink everyone would think he was a girl. It's just the way it is. The way I saw it (when I ordered the blankets): eventually blue goes both ways, but pink always seems to stigmatize girls..., so blue was the safer bet. Rohan brought the blankets to me in the hospital and I immediately brought the blue one to Finn in the NICU, where the nurses all fussed over its incredible softness. Finn spent the rest of his life wrapped in that blue cloud.

The brown bucket in the doodle is beside me right now. It's a gorgeous bucket: old, heavy, darkened aged wood..., it's Rohan's and I know he's told me the story of where it came from but I can't it remember right now. I've always seen it as a great photography prop. I've never photographed it.

The other doodle on the page was me imaging a bird's eye view of a chair with a small baby carefully rested asleep on the seat. (I've seen this in others' infant photography.) The only problem then was the missing prop chair - I wanted something interesting, old, with natural character, not something I would find instantly (or while purposely seeking).

Yesterday, while shopping for felting needles, we found ourselves in an antique shop buying a chair (I told you nothing in my life makes sense these days...). It's pretty much what I had in mind; not that I have much purpose for it anymore.
I bought it anyway, even though I'm missing my star, my focus - as soon as I saw it I saw my drawing.
Photographing an empty chair isn't what I had in mind.
Neither was pinning the only knit hat he wore inside a shadow box.

Although he's not nestled in his blue blanket tucked in Rohan's old bucket, the photo we're left with (him in the hat on the purple backdrop in the morning sun) is so very important - even more, I think, because it was one of those spontaneous moments. Those are always the best photographs.

window bird

The house is too quiet today, well... was..    I'm now playing Regina Spektor's Don't Leave Me (Ne me quitte pas) on repeat hoping to kill the nasty earworms that echo so loudly though my head. From the time Finn died I've hear the worst songs in my head - like Bryan Adams' When a Man Loves a Woman over and over and over ..and I don't even like the song, would never listen to it. I've never understood - why that song? It plays like I'm sitting long in a gymnasium and it's playing on a record player in a far away corner. Creepy. I've tried everything to get rid of it - playing songs on repeat until I think I've absorbed enough of something else..., but the next day while I shower (always in the shower... why?!) there he is again, Bryan fucking Adams and that cheeseball song. I hate it. And I.Don't.Understand.It. 

Story of my life now..I don't understand much of anything anymore. I don't feel like the same person I was before Finn while at the same time feel like myself amplified - if that makes any sense. I feel bizarrely creative, full of ideas (mostly of things to "make for Finn" ...which I haven't yet decided is something unhealthy or just a natural need to keep "doing things for him"... ) so I've ordered a odd assortment of paper dragonflies, felting wool, and fabric (among other bits) ("Etsy" is our new word for "mail") and we'll just see what comes of it.

So far I've been completely useless at the things I used to do naturally - camera controls are still foreign to me; completely lost it the other morning when I couldn't get the shot of the tug leading in one of the last salties of the season. When 'the shot' appeared of the front page of the paper the next morning I lost it again. Something tells me I should just put down my camera for a while.

Watching the harbour activity has been a saving grace - I think both R and I agree. I can't deny the beauty I see all around me. As much as I miss Pearl I am grateful for this view, the light in this house, and the distraction of a constantly changing window view.

In the few days I had with Finn, in the few times we sat in our chair in his room I would talk to him while he nursed, tell him all about what I could see - all the boats in the harbour, tugs leading them around, the trains we see shuffling back and forth, planes coming in, all the activity in the park... I couldn't wait to play I Spy with him. Even the snow ploughs are interesting to watch as they clear High Street in a choreographed street dance early in the morning. A little boy would love watching this I think to myself as I stand alone in the window.

Dear Garden Diary

Morning Glory
at Bill Martin's Nurseryland

I adopted one these established morning glory plants (the one I photographed in fact) not knowing what I'd do with it.. but I couldn't resist. I brought one to my mother's last year and tried to train it along her balcony. It didn't like it there; the wind there was too strong - but I have to give the little vine credit, it tried. 

I gave Laura my favourite blue delphiniums yesterday after admitting (finally) to myself that we simply

don't have the space for them in our garden. Perhaps my clematis will now have enough room to ..you know, grow. I thought the blue of the morning glories will make up for the lack of blue delphiniums. I planted them inside the vegetable bed to ramble along the fence.

I'd like to waddle on down to the greenhouse now - there are things I need: bird netting to train the peas on, more string, sunflower seeds ...[I will not have sunflower envy this year gazing down and across at Laura's garden.), ..and of course, more flowers.

I could be helping - making cuttings, maybe even planting a bit..., but my back oh my back is so incredibly sore. I've gone from sitting in a hospital room around the clock to trying to catch up on garden work, and making up for household neglect.., not to mention nesting syndrome is in full bloom. I want to do everything, but my watermelon belly says no.

my watermelon baby
23.5 weeks

The greenhouse smells great, especially the vegetable and herb greenhouse. We've already adopted Grape and Early Girl tomato plants, still needing a Roma and maybe another. I'm trying so hard to keep the garden at a manageable level this year, and only plant what we will use (so we're not giving away boxes of tomatoes on our front step every second day). They'll all live in the small vegetable bed beside the porch - a hot bed, and most protected space in the yard. I'm expecting a glorious crop. 

Thanks to the addition of a towering herb planter, most of this year's herb garden is already under-way,  leaving a little more space in the bed. Other than oodles of basil I don't think we need any more herbs. Some lavender varieties are waiting to be added here and there - for the bees.

garlic chives, osteopermum, Munstead Lavender
and me
in the small vegetable bed

Our asparagus is coming up. They're the first to rise in the large vegetable bed. I'm so excited to eat them. I haven't quite settled on a plan for this year's large vegetable bed, and I'm beginning to assume it's just going to come together as I plant. Two rows of peas are now in, beans to follow, carrots and beets too. We need kale and cucumbers, and some space reserved for a zucchini mound. The cucumbers I plan to train skyward again - that worked well last year as a small space saver. This will be my first year with this garden without interruption. I'll be too far along with this pregnancy to travel to Australia this year, and though my heart is broken over that I'm happy to have the time to dedicate to the garden. Hopefully I can keep it under control.

happy pansies
at Bill Martin's Nurseryland

A Bright New Year's Day

1 January 2013
10:58:03 AM

It's a new year, a new beautiful blue sky day in Thunder Bay. I should be outside soaking up the most of it, but my holiday hibernation switch hasn't yet been turned off. I see no reason to get dressed today. Flannels & slippers #ootd

Now is as good a time as any to update this blog.. I've been feeling a little embarrassed since the January 2013 issue of The Walleye was released and the reader survey gave it a number two 'Best Blog' mention ...knowing that I haven't even looked at it in months. So, being that resolution time of year I'm going to add 'update blog regularly' to the list. ...but really, I say that all the time. For years I've been putting off finishing my glossary here, and somewhere along the way I stopped listed my book wishlist, which I miss.. this passive aggressive blogging behaviour needs to change. Today feels like a good day.

In the last twelve months I've carefully watched #TBay Tweeters, images in Instagram, and followed the 'Thunder Bay' Facebook feed full of photos - all the historic print & postcards and countless current shots of sunrises over the Sleeping Giant- it never gets old - ...it's been fantastic to watch and read the pride. I've met some brilliant Thunder Bay people through Walleye assignments, everyone so humble, ready to share, grateful for the paper's nod. I can't tell you how much it means to be a part of something that spins such positivism.  

fruit & popcorn strings

hung for winter birds

at St Paul's on Waverley

I see good things ahead in 2013. Our neighbourhood is full of fun people, thriving local businesses - walking distance to everything we need, friends, food fine & diner, anything we want. I'm surrounded in parks, outdoor skating rinks, and some of the City's tallest trees. I've never been happier about where I live.

My camera and I have big plans for the year ahead; not sure exactly what, but we're pretty comfortable with each other now so it's time to take our relationship to the next level. I'm still constantly amazed with what the iPhone can produce, and the photo app experimentation is endless... makes it too easy sometimes. Instant sharing has sucked a little quality time away from this blog. 

Collecting photos of favourite trees has been an ongoing project that requires better organization - especially now that I see that so many of my photographed trees have been turned into stumps. (This should definitely be the year I join that citizen pruner program...) I never get tired of roaming the city with cameras; there's so much to see when travelling by foot (or bicycle), slowing it down, taking shortcuts through parks, recreational trails & downtown river walks. 

I am smitten with this new tree on St Paul Street at Red River. 
It is so full of potential - I can imagine it years from now, 
dressed up in lights with ornaments for the birds. 
What a nice addition to downtown. 

It makes me want to breathe a little deeper. 

As for a gardener's resolution or two (or many more)... the list is long, kind of like the gardener's to-do list. That's nothing new, not even in a new year. R commented (complained?) the other day about the tulips and daffodils suddenly available at Safeway, "It's still December!" he said with an eye-roll. I was preoccupied with photographing the spring blooms and checking out the new 2013 gardening magazines already on the racks to think there was anything wrong with daffodils in December. My Christmas loot included a few new titles for the garden book shelf, putting me in the mood for spring planting as of Christmas morning.

Here's to 2013 

to a healthier life, to family & friends and to the best of Thunder Bay, Cheers!

why I garden

Peonyography

While photographing the peonies the other morning (after a long shower under the sprinkler) I wondered if I would ever get tired of photographs of these peonies. Their upright bloom time is always so short-lived, and all it takes is one good rainfall to flop them all over; I madly capture them year after year, same pinks, same same droplets, ...same glorious photograph of a blooming peony for the journal. I'm glad I save the moment, and I'll do it again next year.

I cut a good number of them this afternoon, along with some Alchemilla mollis 'Lady's Mantle' blooms - and after meticulously picking at and shaking them free of bugs & worms ...yes: unpleasant... I arranged them for a vase in the kitchen and photographed them again.

 and again

web pearls

a spider's web on our front balcony
after the rain
10 June 2012

Butterflies flutter by

I found this
Painted Lady butterfly
on the marigolds

happy to pose
made me long for cute bobbly antenna

A Red Admiral
on a verbena bloom

I chased Monarchs all around the greenhouse today
None would pose for a shot
This one hid in the Bidens
On the highest hanging basket
No zoom lens in my pocket, just an iPhone