Thanksgiving

It's hard to always feel thankful. I must admit that I wasn't feeling very thankful exactly one week ago today when we were saying our final farewells to Ron's Father. Then there was that other sudden phone call about my Mother being in the hospital. But there is something about Thanksgiving that makes one really stop and think about things - take another assessment. This year I find my mind keeps returning to last Thanksgiving which we spent with Ron's parents in Brockville, Ontario. It was beautiful weather all weekend in this historic old Loyalist town on the St. Lawrence River that was named for Sir Isaac Brock - Canada's hero in the War of 1812. It was the way it should be at Thanksgiving - cool enough to wear jackets but sunny enough to have blue skies behind those beautifully coloured leaves. That contrasts with today which is incredibly hot and muggy with hazy skies. The first morning in Brockville we got up early enough to catch some rowers in the mist on the St. Lawrence silhouetted against the rising sun. We walked around Blockhouse Island - which was one of Ron's Dad's favourite spots to watch the boats and the ships going down the river. His Dad also took us on a driving tour of the area and we ended up watching ships go through the locks at Prescott, Ontario. His Dad's fascination with ships probably goes back to his Navy days in WWII. Later he would talk about those days and the many adventures he had while assigned to a harbour patrol boat in Sidney, NS. One evening we also would play a friendly game of Euchre and wagers would be placed. At the end of the tournament Ron and I found ourselves up a Loonie in spite of the usual cross table talk by our opponents - such as when his Dad would ask or perhaps state, "Now if I order my partner up I have to go alone right?". We would laugh when he would then decide to pass and Ron's Mom would pick it up, and laugh even harder when his Dad would complain about us getting into his whiskey - something he rarely touched himself. We were always told it would be added to our bill which we would get in the morning - and of course which we never received. No doubt also over the weekend Ron's Dad and I would have one of our "discussions" - a sort of debate of the politics of the day as he took his role as a Senior seriously with its requirement to complain about the government full-time. But in these debates he always let me be who I was too, and let me have my own opinion - seemed even to appreciate that I had one. No doubt I've missed an interesting discussion about this week's Ontario election and referendum. Last Thanksgiving wasn't our last visit with Ron's Dad but it was one of those memories I am savouring and am extremely thankful to have. So this Thanksgiving I am thankful for last Thanksgiving and having had 27 years to get to know Ron's Dad. Of course I am also thankful for the same things I always have been - the love of a wonderful spouse, our health, and family. But as we mourn my Father-in-law and worry about our Mothers it hit me that I should be thankful for the fact that I'm part of TWO wonderful families! That's a lot to be thankful for! Some images from the way home: - Swirling water in the Jones Falls Lockstation on the Rideau Canal, Jones Falls, Ontario

St. Barnaby's Catholic Church, Seeleys Bay, Ontario

Getting Started with a Dream

Last night I went to bed mulling over this blog. I was stewing over the technical problems of switching from blogging at http://www.ronerwin.blogspot.com to our own server at http://www.ronerwin.com . But I was also wondering how on earth I would even start writing again after a hiatus of over a year, many weeks of traveling, and thousands of images later when the idea of the blog was to document our photographic journeys. Do I go back and pick-up where I left off and make the postings sequential by date or post randomly? Or, do I skip the last year that took us through the western provinces and north to the Yukon,

(Kluane National Park, YT)

and more recently to the east coast including Newfoundland and Labrador? (Labrador iceberg right) That was my dilemma. So this is where my dream comes in. When I visualize the word “dream” I see it in wavy lines like italics. It’s the same for the actual images of my dreams. In my head they are all wavy or misty like this image taken last Thanksgiving of the sun rising over the St. Lawrence River in Brockville, Ontario. But I digress… The first image I recall from last night’s dream is of me and this grumpy bald guy I once worked with walking on the gravel road past the wildflower filled forest (like this one at Sandbanks Provincial Park below) towards the dairy farm where I was raised. Mr. Bald & Grumpy suddenly had long chin-length dark hair and I thought to myself that Ron would find it really funny that his hair had improved both Mr. B&G’s looks AND his disposition. So the Reformed B&G and I arrive at the farm and go into the barn for some sort of photography class (possibly given by Ron). But the barn is now more of a huge industrial building or warehouse. There were people from my past lives – some I worked with and others I grew up with (cousins actually), milling around in the milking area of the former stable. But the stanchions and gutters were gone. I wandered about taking note of all the differences in the stable and getting in trouble with IT guys for opening doors and peering into weird and oddly placed cupboards and exposing network wiring. We were each to give some sort of photographic presentation on farms. I was dreading giving my presentation as I didn’t know what to present. As I listened to one European immigrant city woman give her presentation on “farming today” I looked about marvelling over the differences in the barn compared to when I was a kid – such as the staircase that now descended from the hay mow above the stable through the feed hole that was formerly used to drop hay or straw bails below. Then it suddenly hit me! I would do my presentation on the farm of my childhood – how I once jumped through that very feedhole/now staircase onto a soft pile of straw below and lived to tell the tale. In the farm of my childhood, we kids (and there were many of us especially when you add in the neighbours and/or cousins) played in corn fields with stalks so high that we couldn’t see over them but yet we didn’t get lost. Today’s corn fields are being encroached on by new subdivisions like this one in Markham, Ontario, (below) where you wouldn’t let your small kids play outside alone let alone in corn fields. So I would do my presentation on the farm of my childhood – the one with a well treed hill with many mighty oaks and birch trees for climbing. Everyone’s favourite was a paper birch tree into which someone (possibly an older brother?) had inserted an old tractor’s steering wheel. As the tree grew it absorbed the steering wheel into its limbs as if it was really a part of it and turned the tree into our airplane and a perfect place to let our childish imaginations soar. I was smiling as I recalled these real memories in my dream, and this is when I woke up - still smiling, for I now knew what to do. I would just write this blog about anything at all – memories, movies, our travels – wherever the day, the road, my dreams or life takes me. But each post will of course feature images and/or photographs by Ron, my partner in life and in Ron Erwin Photography. I hope that I’ve made you curious as this fox (above) on the Alaska Highway in BC, and that from time to time you’ll visit me here at Lori’s Log to see what’s going on – in the past, the present or just my head! And please, leave some sign that you've visited.

Labrador Innukshuk ->