spiders

Spiders. Presqu'ile is synonymous with spiders. Their invisible webs are strung on the fence, between the rosemary plant and Grace's cage, in the corners of the shade tent, on the side of the slides, around the windows, everywhere that there are two things that can be joined by the gossamer threads. It was here that I overcame my strong aversion to the arachnids (the small ones anyway - big vicious looking spiders still give me the heeby jeebies).

Why so many spiders? Food. Lots of food. Tiny little morsels of tasty delight. Last night the weather was perfect for the midges/no-see-ums. Warm, no wind - the air was thick with them, and this morning spider webs everywhere were highlighted with the bodies of these fleeting creatures. Our screens were blocked with carcasses; there were some that had lived the night on our ceiling. Carm vacuumed the inside, while I took my little hand-held outside. There had been a galactic battle with many casualties.

Earlier last evening it was perfect for eating outside (before the legions), and later visiting with friends (with a light to draw the we-can-see-them-since-they-are-flying-in-hordes).

Today, as the afternoon wore on, and the land heated up, a slight breeze picked up, leaving the water flat like a Venetian glass mirror, framed by a mosaic sparkling in the sun. It is funny how the breeze doesn't seem consistent over the entire surface, but chooses to leave large swaths untouched.

The whole day was a fantastic. As of 3:30 pm we'd been in swimming twice. I'm like a beluga whale frolicing in the water: fat, white, and looking like I'm having a good time! Carm estimates the water to be in the mid 70s F - it is perfect: cooling but not cold. Refreshing. A bit stinky, but refreshing.

Bill and Brenda joined us for a late afternoon pre-dinner drink. We sat at our site, the view of the water magnificent and a light breeze, barely strong enough to ruffle the hairs on my arms.

All it needed to be perfect was a waiter serving mojitos or iced apple ciders, and salty snacks.

The first Timneh babies

The water is washing against the shore with only a light breeze. It was hot taking the dogs for their early am walk so we didn't go far, just to the church garbage. A 5 bag day - 4 from my dogs and 1 of some unseen other dog - thanks for picking up norton (not the first word to come to mind…).

I may be getting some of these memories out of order, it was so long ago that the timeline is a little faded.

                                                                       ~

One evening in the early spring of 1996 we noticed that Oscar, the female of our pair of African Grey Timnehs, didn't come out of the nestbox when we "did the bird room". We lured her out with a walnut and quickly peeked in. One lovely white egg cradled by wood shavings glowed in the nest box. To say we were excited was an understatment. But it is a long time from laying to hatching so we tried not to get our hopes up too high. Over the next few days 2 more eggs appeared. We'd been waiting for this for 1 1/2 years but the next 28 days seem like the longest.

Every day we checked the nestbox to make sure nothing had happened to the eggs, until one day, after what seemed like an eternety, a tiny, naked chick took the place of one of the eggs. It was barely the size of my pinky - it seemed impossible that Oscar and Felix would be able to take care of this fragile being. Two days later there was a sibling and another two days after that the third egg was cracked open.

The parents cared for thier precious offering for 2 weeks, at which point we removed the chicks from the nest to hand-rear them. Hand-raised parrots make the best pets since their very first memories are everything human. Caring for bappies (baby parrots) from a young age is a lot of work. They must be fed every 2 to 3 hours from early morning to late at night. Special parrot pablum has to be made, their little nests need to be cleaned, they need to be kept warm until they fledge, they must be carefully weaned onto adult food, and they must be handled and socialized.

Feeding every 3 hours meant that I had to 'sneak' them into work with me. Their little clear plastic container sat on a heating pad tucked onto a shelf under my desk. I fed them during my breaks, carrying them and all their feeding and cleaning stuff to the ladies bathroom. I could do it fairly discretely - many women didn't even notice (this wouldn't be the case a few years later with the Blue & Gold macaws - they created a huge stir)! As they grew and became more aware of their surroundings they'd raise their cute little faces, looking up at me as I worked at my desk.  Spending so much time caring for something so helpless made me fall in love. They were darlings.

As it happens to all children, they grow up and it becomes time for them to leave the house. The same is true for bappies. The first chick to be claimed was Cato, the oldest of the bunch. A nice family came to see them a few weeks before they were ready to go, and when the time came, returned to make their choice. Carm was in charge of this transaction as I was at work. When he called to tell me which chick had been chosen I sat at my desk and cried. She was my favorite. There is always something good to come from the bad: her new owner, Ruth, has become a close friend.

The other two chicks went to their new homes not long after. There were more tears for each departure, but that's part of the job - if I'm doing it right.

Our goal was to raise happy, well-adjusted parrots and we had succeeded with our first clutch. We were pretty happy.

                                                                                ~

Cry. Forgive. Learn. Move on. Let your tears water the seeds of your future happiness.  ~Steve Maraboli

The start of 1996 - Aunty Jean

It was supposed to be hot and sunny today, but as is so often the case on Lake Ontario, the lake is its own fickle weather generator. Around noon it clouded over, the wind picked up, and it looked like rain coming our way. But here at Presqu'ile if you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes!

Last night we lit our own campfire, the first in at least a year. The wood from the park was wet and punky so instead of a campfire we had a campsmoke. I will no longer curse those around me who have a smoking fire. It likely is not their fault! With just the odd flicker of flame to light the night, and the moon eventually coming around the point to add its say, we had illuminating conversation.

If you were to ask me 'what was your most momentous year?' I would have no trouble answering: 1996. It was a year of deaths, births, adventures, celebrations and challenges.

                                                                         ~

The year started with sadness when my great Aunty Jean passed away. She was like a grandmother to me, enveloping me with love from my birth until her death in January 1996. I travelled with my parents to Medicine Hat, Alberta, where she had lived most of her life to attend her funeral.

Aunty Jean was my father's maternal aunt with a long history of spoiling him, starting from when his father was in the war, and his mother was a temporary war 'widow'. My grandmother passed away when I was barely two so Aunty Jean took over the role. Homemade cheese straws, donuts, fudge and other confections tickled our tummies with love.  She always had some store bought red hots, round cinnamon candies that burned our mouths, in her handbag. If we were lucky she had a whole bag for us. She always had stories about my dad. We never lived in the same town so sometimes long periods of time would separate our visits.

Her funeral was much like any other until, in her closing statements, the minister reminded us that a funeral is a final gift from the departed. A gift of family and friends coming together in love to reminisce about their loved one and reaffirm their relationships with each other - a celebration about life and love. It is one of the most memorable statements I have heard - I always recall her words when at a wake or funeral and make sure to fully appreciate each moment. The gathering is a gift to be treasured.

I always felt like Aunty Jean had given me another gift, one of adventure and heritage. While in Medicine Hat I found out about the 1996 Centennial Cattle Drive organized by the Alberta Beef Growers Association. It would be the trip of a lifetime, starting from just south of where my great-grandfather homesteaded in 1913, through CFB Suffield and into Medicine Hat. CFB Suffield is a huge tract of land that was expropriated from struggling farmers and ranchers to make a military training base. Some if it is untouched prairie. It is open land without fences and only a few roads. It is a landscape that I treasure like no other. I signed up as soon as I got home, along with my friend Deirdre (also a horse lover). But that's another story.

An insignificant but daily reminder of the trip to Medicine Hat for Aunty Jean's funeral, and everything else that happened in 1996, is the leather belt I picked up at the Calgary airport. It is a rich chestnut brown with a scene of running horses painted on it. I have worn that belt almost daily for 19 years; it has some wear, as my memories have, faded and worn in spots, other parts like brand-new; it is a talisman for everything that happened that year.

                                                                         ~

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”  ~C.S. Lewis