Wednesday, March 18, 2015


The sun was shining but with the thermometer showing below zero and the branches on the trees shaking outside didn’t seem like a good place to be. So we did the next best thing and belted ourselves into the car. We’ve been making our summer reservations for camping which is making us yearn for those sultry days at the campground – we just had to have a drive by at one of our favourites.


On our drive south towards the St. Lawrence we kept our eyes on the alert for deer – you may recall that the last time we drove these roads we hit one. In fact, there and back, we saw three, but hit zero. The whole area is absolutely crawling with deer. There must be coyotes and wolves too as the area is sparsely populated with little farmland and lots of treed areas.


Deer… Lyme disease… TICKS. I’ve found two tiny ticks crawling on the wall inside the house. I had hoped that the bitter cold winter killed them all, but alas.

Of course we had the radio playing and when Axel Rose sang “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” we looked at each other and laughed. Years ago, one of my brothers was staying with us for a few days. Olaf was 15 or 16 years old when he excitedly got out a cassette of this great new song. As soon as it started playing Carm and I laughed and told him that great new song was new when we were kids. It was written by Bob Dylan and has been covered many times, my favourite is by Eric Clapton. Isn’t it funny how these moments stick in our heads – we laugh every time we hear the song and may tease Olaf about Axel Rose every time we see him?

The photo is of my brothers and I around the time Olaf was 16 (I think).


I chose the quote today with Dire Straits “Brothers in Arms” playing. The soulful guitar settled in my head and like a Leonard Cohen song, slowly pulled my mood down. It really is a beautiful song but it is so mournful…The first quotes were hopeful about spring, but gradually they became more morose, until I ended up with this one.


Nothing is as tedious as the limping days,
When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways,
And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom,
Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

~Charles Baudelaire