Sandra-Kay Austin

Think that there are no flies in the ointment of life on Vancouver Island?  Well here’s a recent event that might change your mind.

Isn’t this Fun?

They snuck in by air, arriving silently above me like a fleet of World War I zeppelins.   Aware that they were searching for a target, I urged my hand-weeding tool to work faster. Maybe the breeze will come up again and carry them away. After the air stayed still for the next thirty seconds, I watched them head directly for me.  Great. I eyed the dots beginning to gather around my head and tossed a large clump of grass into the partly full bucket of weeds that were wilting as fast as my afternoon goals.  Quickly jabbing the base of a broad-leafed weed, I drew in a deep breath of resignation. Yuck! I snorted, pulled out a tissue, and blew my nose until it felt as if my brain would be expelled. Now you asked for it! Wielding the white tissue like a sword, I cut through the cloud of tiny bodies.  A slim line of clear air appeared in the wake of my tissue and disappeared just as fast. Well that was pointless. I rose to my feet and the moving air currents drove them back a few inches. Yeah. Go somewhere else. Right after that a crawling sensation near my temple warned that one of the invaders had bravely managed to sneak in under my straw hat brim.  I stopped it in its tracks by crushing it. Triumphantly wiping my wet fingers on my dirty jeans, my gaze took in his buddies who were advancing toward me as if they intended to get even.  I tossed a weary glance over at the specks swirling above the semi-circle of clipped grass behind me. Okay. You guys win for now. I’m going inside.

Spring’s song of trilling birds and gently rustling greenery seeped through the closed windows early the next afternoon, tickling my eardrums and tugging at my heart in spite of the housework I was busy doing.  Finally, the urge to venture out into the beauty on the other side of the kitchen sliders became too hard to resist. My hand settled on the door handle. Then the multitude of sunlit brown spots gliding around grabbed my attention. Wow! More than yesterday. No way I’m up to that battle today. Disappointment surged through me and I turned away.  Guess you’re stuck inside for another day. Maybe they’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Two weeks is long enough for you guys to be here, my mind reminded the fly before I fanned the area near my face to send it on its way.  Just after that I noticed that a few tiny black flies were attempting to hide among the hoards of slightly larger brown ones that were circling nearby.  I threw my neighbour-friend a ‘isn’t this fun?’ look. “I’ll sure be glad when…yuck!  I hate it when they fly in my mouth! I don’t need the extra protein! Like I was saying.  I’ll sure be glad when fly season ends!”
Her blue eyes smiled.  “You’re lucky you have long hair.  They crawl in my ears.”
“Well they still find the part.  But what I hate most is when they try to get into my eyes.”  Realizing that one of the black ones was sitting on her cheek, I gently flicked it off.  ”I think it’s the black ones that bite.  The brown ones mostly just drive you nuts, but I’m not sure.”
Thanks.  I was just into Courtenay and there aren’t any there.”
“Yeah.  They’re just here.  Must be all the bush around us.” My neck started to tickle so I lifted a shoulder and squeezed.  ”I guess we should be glad that they don’t bite very often or pester us for too long though.  And that we really don’t have many mosquitoes or biting bugs once fly season ends.” I watched as she brushed flies away her dog-companion’s brown and white face.
“Well,” she said a bit reluctantly, standing straight again and peering up the paved street. “They descend on us every time we stop so we better get going.”
“I know.  A person doesn’t dare stay still.”  Stepping back onto the gravel driveway, I glanced at my front rock garden.  “Hope they leave soon.  I don’t have to be outside much since I don’t have a dog to walk anymore and I’ve been mostly opting for inside exercise these days. Not gardening much or getting my walk in.” Waving my two friends on their way, I turned and crunched toward the gate.

A week or so after our conversation, my grin widened and I tilted my head back. Sunrays bathed my already flushed face, simultaneously adding to its heat and quenching some thirst deeply hidden within me.  My leg muscles screamed for me to stop, while the sound of my panting breaths combined with nature’s symphony urged me onward.  I picked up the pace, my solitary footsteps slapping the pavement and joyously beating out the message, fly season’s over! A sudden desire to gleefully throw my arms in the air brought on a laugh. Get real Sandy!  It didn’t last that long.  And there are worse things. You just don’t want any flies to bug you at all. I nodded. Right. Too bad I’m not in control of things. They’d stay in the bush and leave people alone.

Yes. It is too bad that we can’t control everything that comes our way in life.  And it’s too bad that the flies of tough times and adversity have a way of descending on everyone sooner or later.  Maybe we should all remember that.  And when we see others struggling through a personal fly season, shoo the critters away if we can.

Some of you have inquired how the meet-and-greet-our-future-daughter-in-law-from-Thailand-trip I mentioned in an earlier entry turned out.  So, buckle up your seat belts and I’ll take you with me to the West Coast of Vancouver Island on that September weekend.

Sa wat dee ka

On the way at last! Our Matrix entered a series of hairpin corners and a rich blur of golds, maroons, and greens slid by my husband’s window when I glanced at that way.  My eyes swung to the right to take in the deserted lake a few feet from the road.  The calm reflecting waters nestled in the sunlit valley zigzagging through the steep emerald mountain slopes could not touch my excitement. Feeling as if bugs were jiving in my stomach, I turned back to the narrow road of frost heaves and cracks that was about to veer sharply around a sheer rock face. What will she be like, this future daughter-in-law from halfway around the world?

Sa wat dee ka, I rehearsed mutely, when the car finally arrived at the modern little cabin that my son had rented in Ucluelet.  ‘Hello’ seemed too formal a way to greet someone I could hardly wait to meet and I sighed, wishing that I’d had time to learn more Thai.  Good thing she speaks English. How could I know that he’d fall in love during his month of holidays with missionary friends in May or foresee that he’d return in late summer to propose marriage?

The rat-a-tat-tat of Allan’s knuckles on the wooden door caused my heart to race.  Sa wat dee ka, ran through my mind again and I nervously hoped that I wouldn’t murder her language.  Then, the tiny woman opening the door grabbed my attention. Young, slender, sleek snipped hair, round face, fawn-coloured skin. Her timid brown eyes met mine and her lips parted to reveal perfect teeth.  ‘Sa wat dee ka’ fled from my mind.  “Hi!  Can I give you a hug?” I asked, and her smile broadened as she reached out.

Shortly afterwards, Kevin appeared behind his fiancee.
“So, you met Dang,” he beamed, using her nickname after she had squeezed through the doorway to go inside.
His simple words conveyed such pride and tenderness that the grin in my eyes grew.
He bent slightly to gather me into a  “glad to see you again” hug. “She’s tired so I thought we’d cool it here tonight,” he explained, as my lips brushed his cheek. “Just make supper, hang out, and watch a movie.”
I stepped back, nodded happily, and followed him into the cabin.

The heavenly smell of freshly ground coffee met me at the top of the hardwood stairs early the next morning. “‘Morning Son,” I said, starting down.  “How is she?”
His blue eyes brightened. “She’s better.”  He turned around to flip open a white cupboard door and reveal a sparse set of dishes.  “She’ll be down in a few minutes.  She was cold last night when I checked so I gave her my blanket.”
Stretching to unhook a mug, I asked, “Weren’t you cold then?  Did you come down for the extra fleece one I brought?”
He reached past me, placed the mug beside the coffee pot, and answered softly, “No, I didn’t want to wake her up.  I was okay.”
I studied his weary face.   “Did you get any sleep?”
“Not much.”

Crawling out of the car’s back seat in the gravel parking lot in Pacific Rim National Park a few hours later, I blinked in the unseasonably bright sun. My gaze darted away from the two glinting cars that were already there and landed on Kevin and Dang when I heard a teasing male voice and soft female chuckle. Seeing that he was zipping up her pink winter jacket, a corner of my mouth turned up.  At least she shouldn’t be cold, with that on over her long johns, clothes, and light jacket.  Good thing she’s feeling better. It’d be a shame to miss seeing Schooner Cove.

Late that afternoon, the shimmering crescent-shaped beach and dazzling waters I’d just returned from clung to my mind like the sand in my upside-down shoes. I shook each black leather shoe again before banging it against the front porch railing. Satisfied that most of the golden grains had trickled onto the painted boards, I placed the pair neatly beside Allan’s brown runners just inside the door. A chuckle rose to my throat when I noticed the snarled heap of large runners and small shoes nearby. After that, the conversation in the far end of the living room caught my attention.  Dang isn’t eating supper?  She went to bed? But she seemed to be enjoying seeing the beaches and taking pictures! Wonder what’s wrong. Maybe the change in water and diet, along with flipping her sleep patterns and jet lag.  I hope she didn’t pick up a bug on the eighteen-hour flight here.

Sock-footing-it down the stairway the next morning, I spotted Kevin perched at the wooden table.  “Morning Kev.”
He looked up from the pamphlets spread out on the shiny tabletop. “‘Morning Mom.  Dang’s still upstairs but she wants to see the whales today.  So, I think we’ll see the lighthouse with you and then go into Tofino so we can go on a tour this afternoon.”
Relief nudged my heart.  “Great, she must be feeling better. We want to explore more beaches today anyway.  We’ll meet you here for supper.”

Is that a fishing boat or pleasure craft? I mused later, squinting at the small dark blob some distance out on the gleaming sea. The musical tones on Allan’s cell phone interrupted the swish of waves on sand and my eyes moved sideways.  Realizing that Kevin was calling, I tried to figure out what was happening by reading Allan’s face and listening to his one-word answers.
“Dang wasn’t well enough to go out.  They postponed the tour until tomorrow,” he said with a frown, closing the phone.
“Oh no. But won’t it be really late by the time they catch the ferry back to Vancouver and get home?” I watched his head bob. My brow creased.  “Well, I just hope that she can go tomorrow.” How horrible to come so far to see everyone and everything and end up sick!

“Should I put this back?” Dang asked, pointing to the square of clear plastic that the green fleece blanket had arrived in.
I shook my head.  “No.  I think I’ll wash it first, in case you have a bug.”
A puzzled expression appeared on her face. “A bug?” Suddenly, she laughed. “Then you can say ‘sa wat dee ka’ to it.”

Sa wat dee ka.  Hello.  We’d said ‘hello’ this weekend and my heart was the better for it. A picture of Dang cocooned in the extra blanket, drinking coffee and chatting with me out on the back deck popped into my head.  It was quickly replaced by one of her dark head and Kevin’s fair one touching as they poured over instructions to a new game across the table from me.  This feels right, my heart sang. A sense of contentment took hold of me.  They truly love each other. With the kind of love that goes beyond such things as adoring puppy-dog looks, affectionate hugs, and teasing.  They have the kind that reveals itself in a willingness to suffer discomfort or set aside one’s own desires and agendas for the other’s welfare and benefit.  A love that’s based on what one can give to the other, not on what one can get.  Now, that’s genuine love!  Maybe we should all ask ourselves, “When I love, is it with this kind of love?”

PS  It seems that Dang’s illness was mostly caused by jet lag and fatigue. In mid-April she completed her last day of work as a nurse-anesthesiologist in the Operating Room of the Internationally renowned western-style hospital in Thailand.  May 1^st her family and friends celebrated with a marriage ceremony in Thailand. And in mid-May she immigrates to Canada.  On May 29^th she’ll be surrounded by new family and friends as we celebrate with a Canadian wedding. Whoopee!  I can hardly wait for the end of the month! May two weddings usher in a future blessed with double the love.

Ready for a taste of West Coast Spring?  Enjoy!

Spring’s Wonderful Song

“I don’t believe it!” popped out of my mouth.  “What a crazy place to build a nest.” I grabbed my binoculars.  “What in the world?…It’s gone!”  Realizing that the sparrow’s nearly completed nest had likely fallen to the ground, I strode outside to search through the salal at the base of the bare grey fir trunk. The sight of shattered chunks of mud and twigs made me shake my head.  “What was it thinking?  How foolish to build on a flimsy knob of branch in a completely exposed spot.”

Two Juncos zoomed by, one chasing the other, and a smile came to my lips.  Spring. It surrounded me.  Its subtle scent of the wet season’s mould and decaying matter not yet dissipated by the sun, mixing with the faint fragrance of the earliest flowers dotting the resurrected swath of green spikes and ovals in my garden. I licked my dry lips and tasted the tart flavour of wood smoke from my neighbour’s morning fire that stubbornly insisted on hanging in the air.  Brilliantly coloured Purple Finches filled the evergreens above me, the males singing for all they were worth in hopes of attracting a mate or perhaps boasting that they’d already acquired one. A squirrel scampered energetically up one of the nearby trunks, chattering happily in the new warmth that was attempting to chase the coolness from my bare face and hands.  Spring. Nature shedding the past and clothing itself in the promise of wonders to come.

Hesitating with my fingers on the light switch after supper, I glanced around our cozy living room.  Shadows teased the corners of the room but the hardwood floor in the centre still sported a soft golden glow and I dropped my hand. Pushing aside the afghan sprawled across my easy chair, the comforting thought came that soon I wouldn’t need it to fend off the evening’s chill. Shafts of sunlight slashing the air between the mature firs across the street pulled my gaze out the window as I sat down. My eyes followed a beam across the paved road until it kissed the climbing rose that was draped across the chicken wire fence and vanished.  Suddenly, I shot to my feet.  “Why are you coming now?”  You rob the feeders at night. Forget that! I dashed out the nearby door. The fat raccoon waddling across the pavement completely ignored me as I flew down the steps and driveway like a whirlwind. Then, right as it reached the fence, its beady black eyes swung to me.  I stopped, watching it jump up in the air and turn around in one motion. Satisfaction swept over me when it waddled back to the culvert at the end of the driveway as fast as its short legs could carry it and dove inside. Well.  Don’t be so stupid.

Look! There’s a hummingbird!” my husband exclaimed the next evening.
My face snapped toward the window.  Shifting slightly in my easy chair, I honed in on the dazzling green jewel hovering near the right corner. It moved slowly sideway along the glass looking inside at us and I chuckled. “Okay little scout.  I see you’re back. I’ll get your food made and fill the feeders tomorrow.”  Anticipation stirred at the tiny minute acrobat’s unspoken promise of our five resident families return from their southern vacation.

“It sure feels like spring,” I remarked to my husband, stepping out of the car at the grocery store the following morning. The shimmering sunlight seemed foreign to my eyes after the rainy season and I blinked.  Its warming rays began to seep through my black fleecy as Allan clasped my hand and it was almost too warm by the time I was approaching the entrance. The newly displayed flats of small green plants there caught my eye for a second, and then, the heavy automatic glass doors slid open.  Bouquets of Daffodils and Tulips.  Potted Lillies and Hyacinths.  Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs.  Hot Cross Buns.   My heart sung!  Signs of Spring.  Signs that point to Jesus!  Sweet-spicy buns with crosses, reminding that He died so that we might live in intimate relationship with God.  Bulbs once dead and now in flower, reminding that He rose from the grave and desires that we experience the wonders of an eternity spent with Him. Bunnies, chicks, and eggs, reminding of the new life we can have in Him every day. I smiled, listening to nature’s spring song echo loudly through the store. Chocolate bunnies, stuffed chicks, and candy eggs, repeated the racoon’s warning against apathy and waddling thoughtlessly into the future. Bulbs repeated the sparrow’s warning that all that could be won’t come about if we trust in the wrong thing. Crosses repeated the hummingbird’s tribute to provision.  Spring’s wonderful song, vibrant with Jesus’  promise:
*”…I am the Resurrection and the Life, Whoever believes in (adheres to, trusts in, and relies on) Me , although he may die, yet he shall live.”

* John 11:25 Amplified Bible

Recently crime caught up to our little community.

Missing

“What’s that at the end of the driveway?” I heard my husband ask as I was entering the living room.  My gaze moved to the brightening scene outside the front window and settled on the solitary dark blob on the paved road. Wrong shape for a raccoon. And too still. “I don’t know.” I walked over to the large rectangular window across the room from where he nestled in his easy chair.  “Looks like a backpack.  Maybe it fell off a neighbour’s stroller last night while they were out walking.” They must have gone by in the dark when the drapes were closed. Strange though. It’s so dark outside with no streetlights that we usually see the flashlight. Aware that only a few cars were likely to pass by that day, I decided, “I’ll go get it after my coffee.”

I tugged my fluffy pink bathrobe tighter to fend off the cool air and stepped out onto the front porch a few minutes later. Chirping birds instantly announced my arrival and a small animal in the nearby grove of salal and fir scurried away with a scratching noise.  While I was making my way along the concrete to the gate, quiet returned to the yard and the washed out blue sky draw my eye.  Another beautiful day on the way. When the soft bang of the gate closing behind me sounded like a sudden gunshot, wild twittering rose from the treetops.  Stop it you guys.  Somebody will catch me dressed like this. My gaze darted to the few houses on either side of ours on our short street. Good. Nobody outside. As soon as my shoes crunched on the driveway, a single woof over on the next street declared otherwise. I smiled, pictured the local dogs, recalled their names and homes, and wondered who was on guard duty.  Then I reached the khaki-coloured canvas rectangle. Some sort of designer bag. Somebody’s sure going to want it back.  But why’s it open?  I’ll look for ID when I get back inside.

Shortly afterwards, nostalgia gripped me as I held up a tiny white terry jumpsuit. About three to six months I think.  But who knows, it’s so long since my children were this size. I refolded it carefully and tucked it back inside the stuffed bag of clean baby clothes and diapers.  Better check all these small interior and exterior compartments. A slight frown creased my forehead. Funny they’re open…no ID, just baby odds and ends.  But it has to belong to the young mother around the corner. She must have been rummaging through it before it was lost. I better phone her right away or she’ll be packing the two babies around looking for it. Discovering soon that it wasn’t hers, my eyebrows shot up. Her voice teased that she thought I’d called to solve their little mystery. “What mystery?”  Hearing that her husband’s sunglasses were missing from his truck this morning, I thought, that’s strange too. Then she said that he never locks it and I shrugged. Oh, that means anyone could have taken them anytime. We listed the few families with babies in the neighbourhood, ended the conversation on a cheerful note, and I set out to phone them.  When I finished talking to the last one, a puzzled frown spread across my face. “I guess…I guess I’ll put up notices.  It must belong to some walker from the area or a visitor.”

Later that afternoon, the phone rang and I ignored it.  My head jerked up when my husband appeared in the office doorway and said, “It was hers.  She’s coming for it in a while.” My brain managed to fight its way completely out of the novel that I’d been writing.  I watched his eyes narrow as he explained, “She didn’t realize that her car had been broken into too. They found out that his drill and bits and some other stuff’s missing too.” I blinked.  Someone was stealing things?

Nothing like this had happened in our close community for years and a sense of uneasiness gripped me. When reports of more vehicle doors and gates left open and missing things began to circulate, outrage took hold of me. My eyes blazed at the thought of predators roaming our quiet subdivision in the wee hours of the morning: brazenly approaching vehicles right near our doors and sneaking around outbuildings in our back yards.  How dare some lowlife take my neighbour’s hard-earned possessions, keep anything they can get a quick penny for, and toss the rest out of their vehicle window like it was garbage! This is our community!  We care about each other here!

Even though our home had been spared, my heart went out to neighbours as they told of losses and complained about having to lock houses now. I felt a twinge of sadness as we made plans to check more closely on strangers and note anything out of the ordinary. Bad things happen to good people, I sighed, and something deep within me replied, but good can come out of bad. Surprised by the idea, I wondered, what good could possibly come from this? It occurred to me then that neighbours were talking more, caring more, and taking each other less for granted. Good neighbours have become better neighbours. That’s good, isn’t it? I guess when it comes down to it, we may not have the power to stop bad things from happening to others but we all have the power to make good things happen.  Maybe we should start with becoming a better neighbour.

Sun filtering through trees across the street from our house.

Had any wild visitors to your yard lately?  I did.

Why do it?

“No way!  It’s the middle of the afternoon!”  Muffled by the sliding glass doors in the kitchen, my voice drew an unconcerned glance from the bandit’s glossy black eyes.  Swaying plants pulled my gaze to the strip of thigh-high winter garden behind the waddling 20-pound raccoon, where a small coal-coloured nose on a short triangle of eggshell white fur was pushing aside dried stalks. I saw two alert eyes in a black mask appear, and then a band of white, followed by the rest of the broad little grey head with its cup-shaped ears.  A baby raccoon! It shuffled out into the clearing and my lips formed a crescent.  They rounded to an ‘oh’ when I spotted two siblings following.  Three babies! Shifting to a more comfortable stance, I watched as they followed their mother across the grass like rail cars attached to an engine. All of a sudden, it dawned on me that she was leading her bandits-in-training to the bird feeder.  Bolting out the door, I grabbed the corn broom and raced to cut her off.

I knew that the large raccoon was dismissing the threat when she barely glanced at the waving broom before ambling on. She arrived at the bottom of the cement pedestal and my brow creased.  I swept the air a few feet closer to her and she responded by swishing a hand-like front paw through the inch of discarded shells and spilled seed on the ground. My broom froze when the first baby ambled up to her. How cute are you?  I better get a good look at you before I chase you. While I was studying it, the mother chuckled. My eyes widened when she rose to her hind legs, inserted a paw through the chicken wire around the feeder on the pedestal, and scooped seed into her mouth.  You brazen hussy!  I’m standing right here. When the baby scratched its way up the cement base and stretched up to copy her, I gasped, “Don’t teach it that!” Then the other two waddled up to her hind end and I realized what was about to happen. Rushing toward them with the broom, “Shoo!” shot from my mouth.  Their mother dropped to the ground and turned to face me.  Her eyes met mine. I bit my lip when she calmly dropped her head and shovelled more food into her mouth.  My broom nudged her well-padded bottom.  “Go on. Go eat in the bush.” I urged, but she simply shuffled around to the opposite side of the base and called her babies over there to eat. Why do it when you know you’re going to get whacked? Well okay. Here it comes! With a shout, I charged around the base and swooped down with the broom to give her ample bottom a good smack. She jumped, her wild eyes touched me, and then she galloped away with her charges.

The encounter with my wild visitor returned to mind as I was entering the kitchen at bedtime. Glass of water in hand, I peered out through the glass doors. My breath caught because the moonlight-bathed half-circle of back yard grass and its perimeter of thick evergreen trees looked like a magical silvery setting prepared for a dancing fairies. If those are dancing fairies, they’re awfully fat and awkward. “The coons are back,” I yelled to my husband.

“Be careful you don’t hit them in the eye,” instinctively rolled off my tongue.  The oft-repeated words elicited a lopsided grin and another promise from Allan that he’d only sting them on the bottom.  He quietly closed the door behind him and I pressed my nose to the glass.  I watched as he aimed the airgun. The pop sent my eyes flying to the family near the feeder but they didn’t react. Missed. Another pop sounded and I saw the mother start.  When she turned her backside slightly away and continued eating, I heard two quick pops break the silence. I watched her right hind leg jerk.  That stung. She moved off a foot or so but my relief only flickered because she waddled right back to eat at the same spot.  What are you thinking?  You’ve got lots of good food in the bush.  You know you’re going to get hurt eating here. The popping sounds picked up speed and I heard myself chuckle while she was stuffing her mouth between jumps and sideways body-shifts.  Then Allan stepped off the deck, fired as he approached, and I sighed, “At last.” My mouth opened in a yawn as the round grey family was disappearing into the night. Time for bed.

Eleven-thirty. Snuggling further under the blankets, I glanced at the empty side of the bed beside me and then at the door. Where is he? The house seemed strangely quiet as the red numbers on my digital clock began to work their way towards midnight. Finally curiosity drove me back into the dark kitchen. I stopped dead as soon as I spotted Allan standing motionless by the outside wall.  “Whatever are you doing?” I asked, watching as he peeked outside.  He flashed me a smug grin and replied, “Waiting for them to return.  They’ll be back.”

And they would, but I wasn’t staying up.  The great white hunter can wait and zing them again.  You’d think they’d learn.  Sunflower seeds might be tasty at the moment.  But they come with a helping of sting or whack. I padded in the direction of the bedroom.  Guess though, that raccoons aren’t the only ones that insist on returning to momentary pleasures that bring pain. People do it too. The corners of my lips curled. Maybe at this time of year we should all be asking ourselves, “Am I any smarter than a raccoon?”

Raccoon at feeder in summer

This month I’m trying out something a little different.  If you like it, maybe I’ll repeat it once in a while.

Connections

At last! It’s time to get to know her! Our Matrix entered a series of hairpin corners and a rich blur of golds, maroons, and greens slid by the window behind my husband’s face when I smiled at him.  My eyes swung to the smooth reflecting waters of the lake zigzagging through the steep sunlit mountains on my side of the car.  The peaceful scene on the way to the west coast of Vancouver Island failed to calm my excitement. Peering up the ribbon on twisting black tarmac, I wondered, what will she be like, this future daughter-in-law from far away Thailand?  Why had the missionary friends who introduced them suspected beforehand that she might be the one to capture my son’s heart?  Who was this exotic Thai flower? A thousand questions filled my mind.  I knew so little about her.  What did she enjoy?  What grabbed her thoughts?  What touched her heart? I wished I knew if we had even connected at all through our brief correspondence.

Sitting at my desk today brings similar questions and feelings about you.  For months I’ve been sharing little snippets of my life, stories, and poetry that I hope brought enjoyment, provoked thought, or touched your heart in some way.  Little gifts from me to you.  Now, it’s time for me to get to know you. What have you enjoyed reading? What has made you think?  What has touched your heart?  What do you wish I’d write more of?  What’s on your wish list for future entries? Connect with me this month.  Post a comment below the pictures on this entry.

What are we all apt to thoughtlessly and generously give away?  Been giving quite a bit of it away lately and you probably have too.

We All Give It

She slips silently out of the bush and I freeze.  What are you doing coming out on the road right in front of me? The doe’s timid dark eyes settle on me.   “It’s all right girl,” I croon.  Noticing the thin covering of flesh on her ribs, my forehead creases.  Why are you so thin?  Summer’s almost over. She glances down the empty sunlit pavement in both directions, regards me again, and moves a bony leg to stand more comfortably. Well!  You’re certainly not afraid, are you? After a few seconds, she turns to peer behind her.  What are you looking at?…Oh!…this can’t be real! My awe-struck brain attempts to soak in every detail of the white-spotted wobbly-legged fawn as it walks up to her. Just after it disappears behind her tawny flank, I blink because a perfect little duplicate is prancing out of the trees.  Twins!  No wonder she’s thin! My wide eyes return to their mother and she regards me expectantly. “They’re beautiful!” I whisper, my gaze racing to the first baby again as it reappears.  Suddenly it’s as if I have been thrust into a fairytale for it joins its sibling, their noses meet, and they nudge each other playfully.  “Oh, you’re so cute!” escapes before I can stop it. Aware that my outburst will probably end the encounter, my eyes dart to their mother but she seems pleased by my feedback and only raises her head proudly.  For a few magical moments we both watch the wonderful wee creatures play, and then, she slowly ushers them back into hiding.

My eyes are still smiling when I greet one of my neighbors down the road.  Turning to regard the sandy-haired four-year-old perched on the back of the navy stroller, I ask, “Did you see the deer?”
The boy’s blue eyes cloud. “I only saw a white butterfly.”
My grin slides down to my lips. “Why I like white butterflies too!  They’re pretty.”
The middle-aged woman peers wistfully up the road while I am telling her about the deer.  After that we bend to admire the delicate round face peeking out of the soft pink cloud of blankets inside the stroller. A high-pitched “Look!” causes us both to shoot upright.  Half-expecting that the deer have stepped out of the bush again, I glance that way.  Nothing. My eyes swing to the youngster’s excited face. Amazement surges through me when I realize that his stubby finger is pointing at a white butterfly that is drifting down past the fir trees near us like a snowflake. Wow! My feedback sure changed your viewpoint!

A few weeks later, I’m reminded that feedback can have quite the opposite effect.
“Quit that you little dickens!” I hurl at the fat furry little brown noisemaker in the evergreen about two hundred feet above my head.   My words only fuel the squirrel’s anger and he turns the volume up on his chatter.  Ducking when more fir cones drop and bounce off the ground near my feet like hail, I glance around at the hundreds of cones already on the grass and in my gardens. A resigned sigh exits my lips. I know, little friend. You live here too and you’re gathering your winter food. But you never pack away most of the cones and I have to pick them up. Still…I shouldn’t have yelled at you.  I move away from the tree where he’s been working and snip off another dead flower. Just after it lands in the bucket, scratching lets me know that my buddy is skittering down the closest tree.  Now that’s more like it. Don’t stay up there and fire cones at me. Come and keep me company like usual.  A grin spreads across my face when he stops a few feet above my head.  You always look so funny like that.  Flattened against the tree trunk with all four legs out like somebody threw you there.  His beady brown eyes stare at me for a second before he raises his tail. Hey!  It’s okay, it’s just me!  All of a sudden, he unleashes a tirade of chatter that’s so loud that I cover my ears. Oh, no.  You’re really mad at me!  If only I’d kept my mouth shut.

Sunday after church a few weeks later, the word ‘feedback’ pops into my mind again.
The hum of conversation swells to a crescendo as I hug friends and make my way out to the foyer. “Uh,” I grunt, walking through the door and bumping into the attractive young couple who are stepping out of the balcony stairwell.
Surprise floods the man’s dark eyes.  “Why hi!  You’re sure looking good!”
Secretly pleased that all my exercise and healthy eating is paying off, I chuckle, “Well, you’re looking pretty good yourself!” My gaze slides to the slender woman at his side.  “And you look especially pretty in that colour.”
“Yes,” she responds with a giggle, “We’re all such good-looking people, aren’t we?”
We smile at each other like pleased fools.  Then we part, each of us carrying a warmer heart away after our exchange of complimentary feedback.

Feedback.  It can reassure, give new insight, encourage, or even change relationships for the worse.  We all give it.  And it always has an effect.

With fall already peeking around the corner, thought you might like to come along with me on a late summer hike.

Changing Seasons

An almost unnatural silence hung in the still air beneath the sky of puffy silvery clouds as I donned my cotton jacket in the parking lot.  Seven years and I finally get to see what’s here.  Too bad we couldn’t make it when the wildflowers were out though. Everyone says it’s so beautiful then.  But I guess the end of August is better than never. A wistful little sigh escaped as I followed my husband across the crunching gravel, heading for the fir tree entrance to Strathcona Park’s Paradise Meadows.

Surprise flickered in me when the feathery green corridor opened up after only a few feet.  Then, my breath caught at the sight of an abstract bog carpet of muted rusts, maroons, and greens, surrounded by an evergreen circle.  A grey boardwalk lay atop the carpet like a necklace displayed for sale and we made our way to it.

Soon voices interrupted our comfortable silence and a burst of quick hard thumps covered the rhythmic thuds of our steps on the dry planks.  I smiled when two bright-eyed children in colorful jackets raced past me. Nodding to the grinning parents who were playing catch up and weaving around me, I thought, years ago we could have been you. My eyes warmed and found my husband’s advancing back. Just you and me now kid. He squatted to capture a glassy finger of water on film and I waited, my heart dancing at the sight of a graceful dragonfly hovering and swooping through the nearby air.

A few minutes later I strode away, feeling like a child leaving a room with a newly discovered toy in hand and on the way to explore more rooms. A small meadow of inch-long bright-red-trimmed spikes punctuated by the odd mauve daisy evoked an admiring “oo.”.  A fluffy Canada Jay swallowing a berry in a meadow of Bog Blueberry entertained for a few moments.  A meadow of slivers of reflecting water framed by soft brown and pale gold spears caused me to linger. Leaning against the wide wooden handrail on a bridge, my eyes dropped to the six-inch-long grey-black spotted trout fry that were wriggling slowly through the shallow clear water.  Just moments later the urge to see what was ahead grew too strong to resist and I moved on.

“Well which way do we go?”  My eyebrows rose because my faithful leader seemed puzzled.  What’s the matter? You read maps. This one should be a cinch after the ones we used to read in Search and Rescue. I stepped closer to have a look at the colorful map sign. Right after Allan questioned its accuracy, we were distracted by a passing woman handing out grapes and snacks to half a dozen or so noisy preteens.  My gaze returned to the map once they were gone and I raised a finger to trace one of the lines. “Why don’t we take the trail that goes off here and go up to this lake.  It doesn’t look far and we can always turn around.”

Finally, some exercise. My breathing’s quicker and my heart rate’s coming up. A sense of accomplishment rushed through me. I glanced down at the steep forested mountainside on my left, straightened my shoulders, and plodded on up the nearly deserted dirt trail.  After a short distance the bush revealed its treasure: a delightful little oval alpine lake. The solitary fly fisherman submerged to his hips in the calm green water at the far end resembled a small plastic figure plopped into the pastel icing on a cake and I raised my camera before we turned back.

Bouncing down the trail, my heart sang with gurgling mountain streams, shuddered as I took in huge trees ripped out by the roots or felled by vicious storms, and soared at the postcard views of chalets on Mt. Washington. Then male voices announced a group of hiking-boot-clad backpack-wearers who were on their way up. Must be heading into the backcountry, I guessed, shouldering up to the steep dirt bank to let them by. We could have been you a while back. Feeling strong and invincible. Ready to conquer the world.  Even if that world was just rough narrow trails, heavy packs, sore muscles, freeze-dried food, and cold nights on hard ground.

When I entered the meadow again, it looked as if the earlier invasion of hikers and tourists had never happened.  Five o’clock.  Getting time for us to think about heading home too. My foot tilted to the left, slanting with boards starting to give under last winter’s tremendous snows.  A few more weeks and most of us will leave the frosted slopes and wind-swept meadows to the hardy.

After hopping up yet another shallow step, I realized that what appeared to be a family of adults was gathered just ahead.  My eyes zoomed in on the center of attention, a frail senior who was heavily transferring his weight from a cane to a weathered plank bench.  Suddenly, it happened!  His pale blue eyes gazed out at the still meadow and softened. His thin mouth curved as if he was meeting an old friend.  He exchanged a smile with me as I was passing and I couldn’t help but think, I could be you in the future. Glancing over my shoulder a second later, I saw that the wrinkled face was already turned toward the meadow. It is beautiful, I agreed.  All of a sudden, my imagination conjured up a picture of it clothed in summer’s brilliant blooms. It must have been dazzling.  But was it any lovelier than when it showed off spring’s vibrant green attire? Or nestled under winter’s thick white cloak? It must be beautiful then too. My mind drifted back to those who had enjoyed its autumn beauty that day. People clothed in the innocent curiosity of the very young, the brave enthusiasm of youth, and the experience of maturity. People dressed in the beauty of every season of life. I wondered then if most of us actually even see the beauty that those close to us wear during life’s changing seasons.

Mount Washington Ski Runs In Background

Battleship Lake

Had a turn-your-normal-world-upsidedown-experience lately?  Last month one hit our house and thought you might like to hear about it.

No Warning

I leapt from the bed and froze, my mind struggling to free itself from the shroud of sleep.  My gaze zoomed through the darkness to the illuminated numbers on my digital clock.  3am. Muscles quivering, I shook my head to clear it.  Where’s Allan?  Why isn’t he in bed? Wow, is it ever raining! Suddenly, intense white light and a loud boom jerked me fully awake.  Thunder and lightening! But we don’t get it here.  We’re a block from the ocean. Confusion shot through me as I peered out at the black sky.  When it lit up as if God had turned a searchlight on the house, I blinked.  Then darkness returned with a ferocious growl and I cringed. Wow! That’s close!

The occasional streak of bright light was still dragging its tail of thunder across the distant sky in the morning when I dragged my bleary-eyed body out of bed.  Oh good the hydro works and there’s hot coffee, ran through my head, right before Allan cried out in dismay, “My computer’s fried!”

The freak storm had passed but left us slightly shellshocked. A cluster of lightening strikes had singled out our little subdivision and our morning routine was out the window. Exchanging damage reports with neighbors, we discovered that lightening had touched us all in some way. I gawked at the 4-inch dent it had burned in the heavy-duty foil drip pan that had been underneath our across-the-road-neighbor’s RV.  A chill ran through me when he said that lightening had run up the tree right beside it afterwards and torn off a thin strip of bark. When he went on to say that another strike had ripped his telephone box right off his house and fired it through his greenhouse, I gasped. The house could have caught on fire! And the whole subdivision and surrounding forest could have burned! Breathing a prayer of gratitude, I half listened as Allan listed our own damage: his laptop containing all his business files and presentations, the router, the garage door remote, and the satellite TV were all gone.

Our frustration grew during the next few days as we discovered more broken things and fought to get others fixed. Productivity and routine went out the window.  An army of telephone and hydro repairmen and trucks invaded our quiet streets each day.  A week later the fire department charged to our rescue for the fourth time after smoldering trees close to the subdivision burst into flame. With no warning at all, one storm had transformed our peaceful predictable little world into chaos. I feel just like the spider I wrote about some years ago, I found myself thinking, watching Allan fix yet another recent problem with The Internet on my computer.  The secret in the poem came to mind, my lips lifted, and I turned around to dig out a copy so that I could share it with you.

Spider Secret

~

One fine day I chanced to near

a spider’s web so thin and clear.

The dawning sun’s new warm light

made gossamer silk threads glow bright.

Then a delicate soft breeze

set it shimmering just to please.

Translucent and oh so fair

it clung suspended in the air.

~

Spun to life at spider pace

hung interlocking fragile lace.

What an awe inspiring sight

this masterpiece seemed woven light.

Yet aware I comprehend

my touch could bring its speedy end.

Then this sheer circular chain

only memory would sustain.

~

And if web should rip and tear

it could dangle beyond repair.

Then spider who spins so well

could disappear because he fell.

Devastated and resigned

he could leave spinning far behind.

Yet he just might forge ahead

by simply spinning one small thread.

~

Then should spider be so bold

a larger strand he could unfold.

Persisting thus strand by strand

he could work on ’til web is grand.

Finest art would come to be

should spider spin courageously.

Glorious when by sun caught

his web would be a wonder wrought.

~

Like spider we weave grand dreams

and life destroys our hopes and schemes.

Oft circumstance plays sad role

and we tumble with no control.

Yet spider lands not to stay

but spin anew or hide away.

And we like him have choice too

to hide or start again anew.

~

Since we just might spin that thread

the spider secret must be said.

For some spiders when they fall

don’t tumble unattached at all.

Their dragline’s a long strand done

that’s anchor strong already spun.

And when they land on the ground

it is a ladder quickly found.

~

Some people although not all

are aided following great fall.

For ready there just in case

their dragline’s certain and in place.

They’ve a close relationship

which they can climb and firmly grip.

Attached sure to God above

they find Him reaching down in love.

~

Copyright 1999 Sandra-Kay Austin
Revised 2009

Ever come upon something unusual at the seashore?  I did recently.

Left Behind

“Looks like we’re the only ones here.”  The sea had spewed a number of large logs onto the beach and my shoes sank into the sand as I walked between two. Crunching through the gravel to a patch of packed sand, I marveled, not even a brave bird or boat in sight.

Before me, the wild wind pushed rows of murky green waves heavenward, forcing them up into churning white peaks, before it shoved them in my direction and eventually tossed them up on the shore. Water rushing across gravel played a repetitive cascading bass melody and as I watched, long strands of bulbous brown-headed kelp rose to dance in waves awash with soft after-dinner sunlight. The effect was almost hypnotic but after a few minutes, I pulled my gaze away and glanced over at the tiny turbulent bay a short distance off to my left.  What’s that? Oh, looks like someone was starting to balance rocks on an upturned log and quit.  Funny how people like to leave cairns everywhere.

Spying a somewhat-flat log in that direction, I asked my husband if he wanted to sit down for a bit before our half-hour uphill stroll home.  One side of my mouth lifted when he followed me but plopped down on a nearby rock and raised his camera. I brushed sand off the weathered log and settled down on it, scrunching my shoes into the shells already nestling in the course sand. Then one of the larger clamshells caught my attention.  Looks like an exquisite fan that’s part way open. I took in its scalloped outer edges and followed the fine ridges that left there down through broad semicircles of cream and beige until they met at the narrow rounded bottom. After that, I set the shell on the rough surface of the log so that someone else would notice it.

“There’s a turtle shell,” Allan remarked.

My eyes popped open the instant I swung my face into the tangy mist blowing off the minute bay.  Why it is a turtle shell!  I thought it was just a flat rock. The shoulder-high log standing on the beach like a raised totem pole pulled me to it. Wow, this is cool! I’ve never seen a sea turtle shell washed ashore before. With a smile, I bent slightly to get closer to the eight-inch dark olive shell sitting on the sawn wood top like a flat hat.  Suddenly, my nose screwed up. Smells ten times worse than the beach at low tide. A few long green strands of windblown seaweed clung to the shell’s hexagon-patterned top and my fingers dodged between them to gingerly touch the hard cold surface. Wonder what the inside looks like. Stooping, I peeked through the empty neck opening.  Yuck.  The birds couldn’t reach all the way in to finish eating the meat. I noted that the shell’s interior was a paler green before thinking, as I turned away, whoever found it could have cleaned it out with bleach and taken it home for a trophy.  I’m glad they left it here for me to see.

Even after we’d walked home in the shelter of the trees as the sun was ducking behind them, my mind returned to the sea turtle shell.  What a lovely thing to do.  Leaving behind something that others can enjoy. Instead of leaving garbage like some people do. Guess whether we realize it or not, we all leave things behind us when we leave places. Things that others remember long after we’ve gone:  lovely gifts such as kind deeds and caring words or garbage such as angry actions and harsh words.  I wonder if the things we leave behind make people smile or cringe?