Spencer's Saturday

 Spencer came to visit today.  Saturday.  He is wise for his young years.The rain came and Spencer sat on the porch in his favourite chair. He always goes for that chair. And it has to be "just so." He comes from his home on the hill. Usually with his brother, Smokey. But today he is on his own. He tucks himself into "his" chair.

 The chair I leave out all year long. I have been trained well.  It stays on the porch. No one ever sits in that chair. It belongs to Spencer. Beautiful , beautiful cat. Who, for some reason , thinks our place is swell.He thinks I'm swell. For some reason. We share moments.

  Spencer likes to sit and twitch. Twitch and sit. Whiskers ever alert.

     He poses. He preens. He sniffs the rainy air. He smells things.

 He settles down. And it is good, he figures. He can catch a  nap in his chair. In the rain. The rain twitters and puddles outside the  porch. It is good here.He yawns. He whispers into the air.

                      His eyes grow heavy. He droops.

            Then he snoozes. Dreams of things that he likes to do. Dreams of  cuddles he will get when he wakens.  Smokey is off chasing bugs and stomping in puddles.Spencer dreams.

              Then he wakens. We look at each other. Each knowing something about the other.
                  A connection. He's a cat. Yes. Just a cat.  I feel honoured.

 He peers in the kitchen window. Another ritual that must be observed. Then he leaps.
                                                    The rain has gone.

 The sun is low. The day is done. Spencer has once more swept in and out. Like that gold light that drenches everything after the rain. He sniffs and purrs.
                              It has been a good day, this Saturday, when Spencer came.

Grandmother's Caraway Seed Cake

 GRANDMOTHER’s TRADITIONAL CARAWAY  SEED CAKE

Heat oven to 350.

Spray a loaf tin with Pam. Then line with parchment paper and spray again.

 Grandmother Isabella Shiels in 1910 approx. She moved from Scotland to Bethune, Saskatchewan, with my grandfather. They never returned to the old country.

 ¾ cup butter ( not marg)

¾ cup sugar

3 eggs

1 cup self rising flour

(Add 1 ½ tsp baking powder to the 1 cup of flour, and a pinch of salt)

7 tsp of caraway seeds

 Beat everything together till smooth

 Plop into lined tin. Smooth out batter. Will look like it is not very much. It will rise.

 Bake for about 45 minutes to one hour till a tester inserted in middle of cake, comes out clean.  Let cool. Can be sliced and then each slice wrapped and then frozen.

  My house at 1425 Fairfield in Victoria.Long before I was around. But growing up my mother would make this cake. In the winter mostly on those cold frosty days.  I remember the kitchen scented with the caraway seeds. I never met my grandmother. She was long gone, so was my grandfather. But her essence was here. Every time that cake was made she as there.

 Then the slices were even toasted and buttered. Served with tea most times. Or coffee.  Very simple fare.Not fancy.  Just right and lovely.

 Another version is the Citron Caraway Seed Cake. Add a 1/3 cup citron peel and a dash of vanilla and a dash of almond flavouring into the batter. Not my fav. But  bakes wells. Tastes good. But the ordinary Caraway Seed Cake is by far the best one. Tender and light.

Lots of memories. My Grandmother and Grandfather walking hand in hand at 1425 fairfield, where my parents lived. She died not long after this photograph. 

Monday Morning....

             Morning world. Happy Monday.  It means  Smokey, from the house on the hill,  at the door.                                                                              Peering in.

                  Bunny peering out. The camera trained on the mountains.

                Mt Washington Range blue, grey and white, like a civil war quilt, parched for winter snow.

                          Smokey sitting on the fence. Staring at the chickens next door. Then staring at me.

         And then more  mountains. Not much winter left.
                                          We can pretend that it was winter.

   Smokey and his brother, Spencer, down together from their house. Here to visit. To have a snack.                            
            To loll in the sun, that shines over the mountain, that looms above to the sky.

 And padding through green grass. In March. On a Monday. To find sun.

  Beautiful Cordelia, from the house behind, stands on her Moai. Watching. Watching the other cats. Careful to not stray from her perch. Careful not to let them know that she is there. The sun washes over the Moai and she snoozes.

                I watch  Smokey fall asleep at the door. Again and again.  In the sun.
        On a Monday morning. Till he and Spencer take to their well-pawed trail, and head home. 

Oyster Bay in March

 Oyster Bay is on the Strait of Georgia , not far from Campbell River, and on the way to Courtenay. I don't know the exact specifics , but that doesn't matter. Just start driving along the Island Hwy and you can't miss it. Usually at this time of year it's darker and drearier.  This year, it's like we've missed winter entirely.

 In the 1930's the west side of Oyster Bay was a place where workers waited in a camp to be hired to work the timber of the area.

 A man named Al Simpson, constructed a causeway, sinking parts of ships to  shelter the area from the fierce storms in winter.

 In 1944 the timber rights were sold, but with everything dwindling, and the storms battering the area, the camp was closed down by the early 1950's.

  All the buildings were taken away. It has since been transformed into a  habitat.

  Waterfowl, eagles, migratory birds....

 In the 80's there was talk about turning the area into a coal port, or a marina. Neither of which came into existence.

 In 1989 the District  worked with the Oyster Bay Park Association and by 1996 this small area ( no more than 4 kms approximately) was turned into a wildlife refuge.

 Most of the invasive plant species were removed, replaced with native plants. There are many signs reminding visitors to not take anything from the area. that includes shells as well, or any of the   wood and logs.

 It is a perfect place for photography, especially on  a clear day when you can see the coast mountains.It's one of my favourite places. The trails are easy to walk, the beach is sandy and  goes on forever and ever......

Spring. Six weeks early.....

 Six weeks early. The Evergreen Clematis, in the greenhouse,  is blooming. Usually it blooms in April. The East Coast of Canada is deep in snow. But here on on the west coast we are suddenly finding ourselves head over heels into spring. It's coming fast and furious, whether we are ready or not.

 Clematis is from the Ranunculaceae  ( buttercup) family.  A greek word that means " vine". No kidding. SO much vine, that it hasn't stopped growing, I think, all winter. Well, winter for us.

 There are about 250 species. Some are evergreen. Like this one. As you can see, Smokey was very impressed with the vines growing all over the greenhouse. He stood guard while I rifled within the innards, hauling out things like the rusted out chair I love so much. One leg missing. It has character.

 Looks right at home again, tied to its tree. Cordelia was hiding behind the fence. She was not too impressed with the Garden Guys cutting, pruning, chopping, weeding.  But the results were great.The garden is ready. The dirt is loamy and warm during the day. Cool at night.

 Clematis are very tough. Kind of like stewing hens. Clematis can survive for over 25 years. I keep two evergreen ones in the  greenhouse. They are about 4 years old. It's said they are difficult to grow.....

  I don't really do anything to help then survive. Just water. Some fertilizer. Some pruning when they need it.

                                     And they grow pods every spring. Like aliens ready to pop.

                                         Pods that fail to impress Spencer.  He just stares.The cats from the hill are around more these days. These warmer Spring like days.

        At the same time, just outside the greenhouse, the bleeding heart is starting. Also 6 weeks early.

       And the sunsets are warming up. Cordelia, from the hill, sits on her fence and watches the sun going down. Or maybe it's Spencer and Smokey that she's watching.
                      The sky changes from  butter coloured clouds to orange zest. It feels wonderful.
        Like a sundae melting with hot fudge dripping down the sides of the glass.
"It is spring again. The earth is like  a child that knows poems by heart. "(Rainer Maria Rilke)