Winter Wonderland

The recent ice storm in Southern Ontario reminded me of the winter of ’68 when I was a girl. I recall how the city of Toronto virtually froze in its tracks. It was wonderful for the children, with school cancelled, we played outside, skating and tobogganing. I don’t recall if our home in Scarborough had a blackout, but we would have bundled up and drank hot chocolate and played cards. Television wasn’t as important as it is today and personal computers were unheard of.

The December 21^st ice storm is considered to be one of the worst. Four days later, much of Toronto is still without power and the temperature has dropped well below zero. We lost power on Sunday morning for six hours. The house became quite cool and Tom was ready to uninstall the electric insert so we could burn wood in the basement fireplace. No need for such drastic measures. The power came on at noon and we were glad of the hot coffee and raisin bread toast to warm our bodies. I spent my time reading Stuart McLean's book, The Vinyl Cafe Story Exchange. The personal stories reminded me of something from my childhood and I will write down the memory and send it to them. Perhaps they will read it aloud on their radio show or publish it in the next Vinyl Cafe Collection.

The scent of wood smoke filled the crisp air outside while I cleared the fallen branches in the backyard.Throughout the day we heard from neighbours and friends, all of whom had lost power and branches or tree limbs. We had planned to visit friends in Whitby, but cancelled, opting to remain home. That evening neighbours from across the street, who live six months of the year in Florida, called to ask how we were. One of their trees lost three large limbs.

It's odd to get an ice storm this early in the season. They are more common in March when the weather warms and freezes quickly. I hope the people stranded at airports find their way to family and friends safely. It doesn't seem so long ago that we were outside in our shorts and tee-shirts, gardening and barbecuing hamburgers. Winter seems to last much longer than summer, but every month has something beautiful to offer.

First Snowfall

Some years we wait impatiently, hoping there will be snow in time for Christmas. This year is far different. The first snowfall in Ontario this week brought varying degrees of comfort. Near Lake Ontario, we awakened to a light sprinkle that brightened our hearts. My friend, who lives an hour south of Ottawa, told me they got two feet of snow. Good thing she loves snow.

On the morning following the first snowfall, the air was cool and the wind calm. Dog walkers were aplenty as Little Bear and I took to the trails. Rabbit tracks were everywhere and I heard the sweet call of a cardinal before I saw him in a tree.

There is just one more month left in the year. If winters would stay this beautiful and silent, no one would complain. Unfortunately, they seem to last much longer than the warm months.

I cannot imagine living in a country without four seasons. There is beauty to behold in each of them.

Autumn Hues

I usually love this time of year, but like Rip Van Winkle, I feel as though I fell asleep and slept through early autumn. The cold came early and leaves changed colour so rapidly they missed a few shades.

And then November grew warm. It was wonderful to walk the dog without wearing heavy winter gear and put the Christmas lights on the house without gloves and a scarf, so why do I feel cheated?

I love autumn. I know I said that already. I heard from friends that even Northern Ontario colours were muted this year. Leaves were mostly yellow. Where were the red and gold shades?

Mother Nature’s palate missed a few hues and cheated us of autumn’s glory.

The wind here has been fierce and  several times I picked up branches and twigs in the backyard. We had an outdoor fire in the chiminea yesterday—the last fire of the season. 

Snow clouds threaten daily and the temperature has dripped. This weekend promises the first snowfall across southern Ontario. It will be welcomed with open arms by children and dogs. Some of us will stay inside by the fireplace and watch through the window as Mother Nature transforms from one season to another.

Morning Frost

Last week my eight-year-old Border collie, German shepherd mix named Little Bear was barky and restless and I knew a full moon was near, but something seemed different this month. The full moon shone brighter and looked larger; the dog became bold and begged worse than usual. I seemed hungry all the time, ate more chocolate, and drank more wine.

I recalled that a full moon in October is a Hunter’s Moon. The name comes from Native Americans who knew by the full moon that it was time to go hunting to prepare for winter.

The moon’s gravitational pull has a strange influence on people and animals and I’m glad it only comes around once a month. This last full moon was unique because there was also a lunar eclipse on the same night. No wonder the neighborhood dogs were noisy and I had massive cravings for unhealthy treats.

Winter is a whisper away. Frost coats cars and gardens in the early hours of the mornings. Autumn mums and pumpkins decorate front porches and evenings grow dark swiftly and suddenly.

Soon, snow will cover the lawns and smoke will billow from chimneys and scent the air. Another season graces us with Mother Nature’s wondrous beauty.

Falling Leaves

I looked out the front window last week and noticed that the maple tree on the boulevard in front of our house had a yellow top. Today, the leaves are vibrant oranges and reds. They're blanketing the ground with their golden canopy. I see children pick them up on their way home from school. This take me back to my childhood when my sister and I gathered autumn leaves and pasted them in a scrapbook.  

A few years ago a terrible wind storm damaged one of the linden trees that  line the boulevard on our street. The township gave us a choice of replacement saplings and my husband and I chose a maple tree. It grew quickly and stood up well to our harsh Canadian winds.

I gaze at its height and brilliant colours and delight in the fact that we are the only house on the crescent with such a magnificent tree. At dusk the golden hues blend into the sunset that comes all to early now that autumn has arrived.


In our backyard, the fifty-year-old floribunda rose bush from my in-laws' Toronto garden is still blooming. It grew to a record height this year and managed to wiggle its stems through the fence, much to the delight of our neighbours. Their eldest son was married this summer and the wedding rehearsal was held in their backyard. My red roses spilled over their table that was covered in white linen and not one person failed to comment on their intoxicating fragrance.

I love all the things that autumn brings. Curling up in a comfy chair with a good book and a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream, si vou plait. The smell of wood fires, pots of chrysanthemums, pumpkins on front porches and chilly nights remind me that Halloween is but a few weeks away. By then most of the trees will be bare and we'll be preparing ourselves for the onset of winter. In the meantime, I'll enjoy raking the leaves by hand, digging up my flower bulbs and storing them until next year, baking applesauce spice cakes and sipping dry sherry by the fireplace.

The Dog Days of Summer

Mid August arrives and banishes the sticky, hot days of July. Windows remain open day and night and light jackets are required for morning walks with the dog. These are the summer days that remind me of of my youth when no one had air conditioners other than oscillating fans.

We own a small house twenty minutes east of Toronto. When I moved here over twenty years ago there was a farm a few blocks away and the old farmer sold his fare at the side of the road. Today town homes stand on his land and we must drive a few miles for roadside fruit and vegetables.

I enjoy our deck during the summer and think of it as an extra room that we lose in the winter. I've always wanted a chiminea and, while walking the dog one evening, we discovered a rusty old chiminea at the end of a neighbour's curb. Being a hand man, and seeing how much I wanted it, Tom hurried home and returned with the dolly. Up close, in the garage, the chiminea looked battered and forlorn. It had been well used and I scooped out about six inches of soot.

Over the next few weeks, Tom took his time sanding the rust and painting the surface. Finally it was ready to be wheeled into the backyard and onto the deck. Legally, if we want to burn wood in it, we'll have to place it on a concrete slab, but for now I'm happy just to look at it and smile.

Mother Earth

Signs of spring are all around us--the return of robins, the scent of the earth reawakening and colourful flowers peeking out of the brown soil. 

How lovely it is to walk outside without heavy winter coats, hats and gloves. The dog running ahead, sniffing new and exciting scents. The sun is brighter and the days longer. Inside, I throw open the windows and burn scented candles  to refresh the stale air.

Scents for spring should be light and refreshing, such as rose water, lilac and lily of the valley.

Easter has arrived and with it comes happy memories of Easters' past. Toasting Hot Cross Buns and painting hard boiled eggs. I recall Easters when I was a girl and how much warmer the weather was in the '60s. We went to church wearing only our pastel dresses, hats and white gloves with maybe a sweater to keep us warm. My Aunt Lil would have a juicy ham and a fruit pie baking in the oven, filling her house with their delectable aromas.

When I was a girl images of Mother Nature were those of mature women, unlike today's paintings and photographs of young, beautiful, multicultural women, draped in greenery and surrounded by animals and flowers. 

I used to get Mother Nature confused with Mother Hubbard. A TV ad that stays with me is from the 1970s with Dena Dietrich portraying Mother Nature who is tricked into believing that Chiffon Margarine is butter. 'It's not nice to fool Mother Nature,' she quips just before lightning strikes.

In prehistoric times, goddesses were worshiped for their association with fertility and agriculture. The feminization of nature was a natural progress of early humans at the end of the last glacial period around 11,500 BCE, when men went hunting and women stayed behind  with the children and planted crops.

Now is the time to sow seeds for summer flowers and vegetables. I don't have a greenhouse, so I'll start them indoors in trays. They won't require sun for several weeks until they begin to sprout. In six weeks I'll have shoots of tomatoes, cucumbers, zucchinis and radishes to plant outside. Next week I'll buy a copy of Farmers Almanac, a wonder source of information for gardening and environmental issues. 

The ground is still frozen, but with optimism, I have been strolling through the garden, making notes and watching to see what has survived the harsh winter. So far, just the miniature roses bushes look forlorn without any buds, but that could change. Snow is predicted to fall next Tuesday, and I'm crossing my fingers that it will melt on the ground and plants and flowers will continue to blossom.

Or so it seemed last week. My crocuses and tulips were peeking out of the ground and the warm air was melting snow and ice, but a few days ago, the weather turned and we're stuck in another deep freeze. I'm back to wearing extra layers of clothing when I walk the dog, but I have refused to bring my boots back upstairs, despite the dusting of snow outside.

An inspection of my garden indicated that the crocuses and tulips have shrunk back into the group.  I can't say that I blame them, although I've never seen them do that before.  

I can hear birds singing outside my window that's open a crack. Last Wednesday, I saw my first robin of the season, but my dear friend, Jacqueline, who lives in Toronto, saw her first robin on March 8th, outside her home. He sang a beautiful serenade and she said, 'Had I been a lady robin, I would have rushed to his side.' As a published poet, magical words roll off her tongue. I just clapped my hands when I saw my robin. Of course I told him how wonderful it was to see him, believing that spring had finally arrived. How sad he looked perched in the bare tree, watching us walk by.

I had started to plan the changes I will make to the gardens this spring, but it looks as though they will be delayed awhile longer. For now, the dreams of turning the earth and transplanting perennials will have to wait for another day.

BURIED TREASURES

The past few days in Southern Ontario have been warm and sunny and the record amount of snow that has fallen this winter has begun to melt. When Little Bear and I went into the backyard this morning I couldn't help inspecting the gardens. About one-quarter of the plots are still covered in snow, but I was surprised to see several perennial plants starting to sprout out of the ground.

Hyacinths, tulips and crocuses are almost a half an inch high. The Sedum spectabile plants are all popping out of the ground and, soon, I will need to deadhead last year's hardy stems. I bought one small Sedum spectabile many years ago and have separated it half a dozen times and transplanted it to various locations in the front and backyard. 

This plant is so hardy that I recall one year, when my naughty puppy was digging for buried treasure, one stem with its root intact lay on the ground. Instead of tossing it the composter, I planted it in the side garden next to a thirty-year-old florabunda rose bush, from my late in-laws' garden. The replanted Sedum is now larger than the original bush, probably because it's in a sunnier location.

My Bachelor Button plants are thriving, but it's hard to kill these hardy bushes that bloom several times during the spring and summer months. There's no sign of the white trilliums in the back shade garden, but they were slow to grow last year so I'll give them a bit more time. 

In the front garden my wild purple irises are flourishing as they do every year. They really are wild. About twenty years ago, my husband and I were walking our dog, Rudy, who's now in doggie heaven, in a wooded public park and found irises growing on a grassy hill. I know we shouldn't have, but we dug some of them up and planted them at home. In retrospect, I'm glad we did, for that hill was leveled to extend the road. I like to think that I saved the irises from the fate of overzealous developers.

My blue hydrangea bush has lots of buds. I planted it after buying a pot on sale in the grocery store two years ago. They looked gorgeous inside surrounded by my blue and white china collection and I planted it outside, hoping it would bloom again the next spring. It began to bud early last year, but a late frost prevented the plant from blooming. I'm crossing my fingers that this spring's temperatures will stay above freezing.

The wonderful thing about perennial gardens is that every day something different is happening. One plant is beginning to bloom while another has finished. If you plant wisely there will be colour throughout the garden from spring to autumn.

SPRING IS IN THE AIR

February's wrath has faded into the distant past and the first week of March brings tranquil breezes and sunny days. Ontario has been buried in snow for months and we've suffered through our routines with dignity and courage.

Two cardinals just landed on the birch tree in my backyard and are feasting on the seeds and bread I put outside every morning. What a joy it is to see them and listen to their lovely voices. 

This is the time of year when avid gardeners retrieve the flower and vegetable seeds they've stored since last autumn and plant the tiny kernels in little pots so they'll be ready for the garden when the frost warnings have vanished and the ground is soft and fertile.

At this stage the seeds don't require sun, so they can be placed in a dark corner out of sight. When the sprouts begin to peek out of the soil, they should be moved to a sunny location where they can continue to grow.

This time of year, pots of daffodils are affordable and brighten kitchens and living rooms. Open the windows wide and let Mother Nature clear the stale, musty odours. Don't toss the daffodils out when they stop blooming. Find a sunny location in the garden and plant the bulbs twice as deep as they are tall, which is about five to six inches. Next spring they will reward you with golden blooms.

Soon, gardeners will be on our knees, planting and turning soil. This is the time of year when we need to exercise, especially legs and arms, which will be doing most of the work in the garden. Squats are the best way to strengthen legs and lifting light weights over your head and as far back as you can go will tone arm muscles.

I keep a rough sketch of the garden, indicating each plant's location. I have a notebook, reminding me to move a plant or divide it or take it out and replace it with something hardier. I often give clippings to friends, which reminds me of my childhood.

When I was ten years old we moved from Willowdale to Scarborough and my mother took a clipping of an old peony plant that she loved. She had given a clipping to my aunt, who lived in Willowdale and sent her another clipping when she moved to Toronto. I like to think that the fifty year old plant is still thriving in Southern Ontario gardens.