SUMMER FROCKS...

It was a biting, black fly summer, years ago, in a small town in Ontario, on the edge of the Ottawa River. Days filled with the incessant chirp of crickets, late in the evening, to lull you to sleep, in the dark,rain starved heat.

It was the middle of August that I got the invitation. “You are cordially invited…” Oh dear…not that…”To a retirement party. A High tea.A ‘cherished experience’ with tea, buttery scones, clotted cream, jams, finger sandwiches, small cakes and light entertainment.”

That was us. The light entertainment.

There was a dress code. “All ladies will wear summer frocks, hats, stockings and shoes.” Really? Summer frocks? Stockings? 

The hall was huge. Round tables spread with white linens,and a vase on each, with a single, drooping sunflower. Standing fans perched in front of huge open windows. But it didn’t help.

The air was dead and dry. Smoldering.

Tons of peach and floral prints, small and large hats, with fake flowers, bobbed on a sea of permed hair. The murmur of countless women, waved and eddied in  the stifling room. They poured tea and munched on sweets.

In the far corner, our string group dutifully scraped away. Old songs mostly. Some new . We even took requests, but stopped short at “Poison” by Led Zepplin. It was a hit that year, in 1989.

Besides us, there were two opera singers in red satin, ferociously singing excerpts from “Bizet’s Carmen”. 

Speeches afterwards, droning on  endlessly, in the sticky air. Sweat beads plopped into tea cups. 

And the tea. Lemon custard tarts, tiny, heart-shaped scones, bowls of watery cream sitting precariously on ice cubes. There were sweet jams, walnut bars, warm strawberries, and questionable sandwiches, with oozing cream cheese. 

When they had eaten their fill, the sea of summer frocks stood as one, crinolines rustling like rusty leaves. There came an unmistakable band aid-ripping screech, when they all peeled themselves off of the leather chairs.

A table toppled. Dirty dishes, tea cups and cream splashed. It was over. 

Sunflower centre pieces were auctioned off, only to find they were full of  earwigs, all trying to make a break for it. Our quartet played the theme from Doctor Zhivago, till our sweaty fingers slipped off the fingerboards.

There was a slimy, forgettable hush, broken only by the squelch of so many shoes. I guess I forgot to mention that most of us got around the dress code by wearing socks with sneakers. 

After all, the invitation didn’t specify what kind of footwear……

Photographs 2025

 

AIR BEE and BEE...

Every summer, I run an "Air Bee and Bee". Free to male bees and solitary females, who  have stayed out too late or  strayed  too far from home the night before. They "bee" too tired to return to their nests. Inula is the best place to sleep, as it is a safe, warm place in which to snooze and snore, when the night gets cooler.

Even Yum Yum ( yes, that's what we named him, cause he  goes "yum yum yum" when he comes to visit), one of our resident deer, sleeps away the hours, where he feels safe. ZZZZZZZZZ....

If you're very, very quiet, and very, very careful,  you can pet the bees, as they sleep. Unfortunately ,this tends to wake them, and  they aren't too happy to have their siesta disturbed.  Best to let sleeping bees "beeee" ....till morning......

Morning Song of the Bees by Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888)

Awake! Awake! for the earliest gleam of golden sunlight shines on the rippling waves that brightly flow beneath the flowering vines.

Awake, Awake, for the low sweet chant of the wild birds' morning hymn comes floating by on the fragrant air.

Through the forest cool and dim; then spread each wing, and work, and sing, through the long, bright sunny hours

Over the pleasant earth we journey forth, for a day among the flowers.

Awake! Awake! for the summer wind has bidden the blossoms unclose

Has opened the violet's soft blue eye and wakened the sleeping rose.

And lightly they wave on their slender stems fragrant and fresh and fair,

Waiting for us, as we singing come , to gather our honey-dew there.

Then spread each wing, and work and sing, through the long, bright sunny hours;

Over the pleasant earth we journey forth! 

For a day among the flowers!

"The bee's life is like a magic well: the more you draw from it, the more there is to learn..." - Karl Von Firsch

 Photographs 2025

HOLD out your HANDS...

"Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all..." 

-Helen Keller 1880-1968

(The Open Door)

Excerpt writings from "The Faith of Helen Keller" edited by Jack Belck

Hold out your hands to feel the luxury of the sunbeams.

Press the soft blossoms against your cheek, and finger their graces of form,

their delicate mutability of shape, their pliancy and freshness.

Expose your face to the aerial floods that sweep the heavens,

inhale great draughts of space, wonder, wonder at the wind's unwearied activity.

Pile note on note, the infinite music that flows increasingly to your soul

from the tactual sonorities of a thousand branches and rumbling waters.

I am sure that if a fairy bade me choose 

between the sense of sight and touch,

I would not part with the warm, endearing contact 

.....of human hands..... 

or the wealth of form,

the mobility and fullness....

that press into my palms.....

"Even more amazing than the wonders of nature are the posers of the spirit..." -Helen Keller 

Photographs 2025