Has anyone seen the dog?

In recent days we have experienced a cacophony of loud noises at the cottage. The Farmer has been hammering to finish trim and the gabled end of the roof. Occasionally the air compressor lets out a large belch as it gears up for its next expenditure of power. These noises are startling to humans. To dogs, they are next-level disturbances.

Thunderstorms are another source of concern for the dog, and he knows when they are coming before we do. One slightly overcast afternoon we were just floating around on our inflatable unicorns, commenting on how the sky appeared rather ominous at the distant end of the lake. Suddenly we realized Fergus, who had most recently been barking at us from the dock, was missing. We thought he was protesting the fact that he couldn’t join us on our floaties. Perhaps he was trying to alert us to the coming storm. In any case, he was gone.

We had just enough time to gather our things and head up the hill when the skies opened and the wind started blowing sideways. The thunder boomed as we entered the cottage. We found Fergus upstairs, wedged in the dark space between the wall and bed.

The situation reminded me of my sister’s dog, Mandy. The Rottweiler-mix was not a small dog, but she was terrified of thunderstorms. As soon as the barometric pressure began to change, she would blast through the screen patio door to safety. Upon hearing the weather report on the radio at work or in her car, Mom would call home: “Open the screen door! Mandy’s going to bust through it!!” 

Sometimes we caught it on time. Mostly we didn’t. I think Mom replaced that screen door half a dozen times during Mandy’s lifetime.

On Canada Day, I got the great idea to buy some fireworks to send up over the lake. We started with the smaller ones, watching the dog to see how he would react. Fergus appeared to be doing ok with the explosions – he just kept running out onto the dock to where the Farmer was setting them off. Maybe he was trying to protect his master. In any case, we thought he was fine. Certainly he didn’t react the way he does in a thunderstorm. My daughter’s dog Vitor, however, was another story. While his mum and dad were lakeside, Vitor took off.

We searched every corner of the cottage and took a flashlight to peer under every parked car. Finally we found him (another Rottweiler mix, by the way), trotting down the road. I don’t know where he thought he was going. Maybe next year we will lock the dogs up with a movie and a snack before the fireworks begin.

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It's hot. Find your spot.

I love this time of year when the leaves are popping out on the Virginia Creeper that I transplanted to the back porch. The Farmer built a trellis roof, much like they have in wine country. Soon we will have a living roof to shade and cool us.

A robin built her nest on the top of a post at the edge of our porch. The leaves of the vine have now sprung up to completely shield her brood from view. Two barn swallows sit on the knobby bits of the vine, watching for June bugs. They eat mosquitoes, too. They may be building a muddy nest atop the porch light but, as far as I’m concerned, they can stay as long as they like. They are earning their keep.

The vine also grows thick around, over and through the old log barn at the edge of the property. When you step inside the structure, the thickness of the logs and the vine insulation drop the internal temperature by at least ten degrees as compared to what is happening outside. Maybe this is what made one of our cows (Ginger) decide to force her way in through the single door one hot June day.

I was doing my morning rounds when I noticed a rather large cinnamon-coloured behind wedged in the entrance to the tiny building. Upon inspection, I could tell the cow had gotten herself firmly stuck.

“Oh, Ginger. What have you done?”

She just turned her head slowly round to peer at me, completely nonplussed over her situation. I put my shoulder against her rump and gave her a hearty shove. The logs gave an inch and in she went. She happily took up the tiny pen, rearranged herself and continued to chew her cud, looking at me.

“I suppose you want to stay in here? I’m going to tell the Farmer what you have done to his barn.”

The tiny feeding trough between the two little pens had been shattered by the cow’s bulk as she forced her way inside. My husband started the tractor and brought a big, fermented hay bale outside where the cow could smell it, and waited until Ginger squeezed her way back out of the building. The walls strained under her effort. Once she was out, he nailed a big board across the door.

The next day, which was even hotter and muggier, Ginger was back inside the log barn. She watched us through the tiny window as we approached.

“Well, it looks like she has found a place to get away from the bugs,” the Farmer decided.

Ginger was allowed to stay in the log barn. Like some sort of bovine fairytale princess, she had found her own little cabin in the woods to escape from the blackflies, mosquitoes, wasps and June bugs. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t try to get up on my shaded back porch.

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We're all poets and we just don't know it

“We are in a storm together, but we are not in the same boat.” I read that statement online and it really spoke to me. We are all trying to make sense of this surreal situation we find ourselves in. Life in one household during this pandemic may be completely different from the other houses on the street. In fact each household on one street may have a completely different experience during this strange period of self-isolation. Some are experiencing financial difficulty and anxiety about the future of their small business. Others are exhausted and frustrated from trying to work from home while also supervising their children’s home learning sessions. Still others are just feeling alone and cut off from the ones they love. But the fact that we are all going through something new and strange is drawing us closer together, and it’s doing something else. It’s bringing our creativity out.

Maybe it’s the silence. There is a lack of highway, train, plane and general industrial noise that normally pollutes our soundscape. It’s eerily silent. It’s actually quiet enough, that we can finally hear our own thoughts. And those are coming through, loud and clear, aren’t they? I know personally, that I have had my clearest, most inspirational thoughts come to me during times when I was forced to be quiet. I was laid up in bed with a fever (not recently, don’t worry), or in a location where I was happily cut off from the technological distractions with which we have so thoroughly encumbered our lives.

It could be an overwhelming of feelings and a desperate need to express ourselves, that is causing this burst in creativity. It could also be that we have been creative all along – we just don’t normally make time for these types of pursuits. Normally our days are broken up by what is known in the corporate world as ‘high revenue’ activities (our jobs or businesses) and practical things we need to do to get through the day (eating, sleeping, and caring for our families). How often do we make time to be creative? I think that the need to express ourselves artistically is clearly emerging and claiming its place on our hierarchy of needs, right up there with food, sleep and some sort of regular human interaction.

I think this is another reason why we go to the Internet so often during stressful, unprecedented times like the one we are in right now. We are looking for solidarity and like minds. We may not be able to clearly express our thoughts until we see them written out by someone else, in a meme. There! That’s exactly what I was thinking! (Like, Share.)

And for those who do have an overflow of words tumbling out of them right now, in an effort to make sense of it all, there is poetry. If you go to Facebook and search Quarantine Poetry, you will find a whole inventory of creativity born in isolation. On Facebook, my friend Katie Nolan posts a daily #covidhaiku. This is one of hers, following the 5-7-5 syllable rule: 

Social media – Increases anxiety – And yet, here I am.

And for those who are not on social media, a quarantine poetry chain mail is going around, via email (and possibly good old fashioned snail mail as well). I recently received a poem in response to my story about Forest Bathing, so I will be submitting it to the quarantine poetry chain. It goes like this:

Skipping Stones

                                Poems are like stones

                                Skipping across the water

                                Wherever they touch

                                A new world begins

                                And where they finally

                                Come to rest

                                The truth is not far away.

                                                                Murray Kelly, 2020                              

Springtime normally makes me feel like doing something wild with my hair, getting my hands in the earth and writing a poem about new life. This year I’m reading the poems of others around the world who are feeling rather uncomfortable with this particular plot change, including this:

“The cycle of unfinished tasks, completed in a noiseless room…the silence becomes unsettling and I am left to worry…like a bruised little bird, too confused to fly…not knowing, when I will be let out.” ~Didi Kasana, Vienna, Austria.

If anything, this Covid-19 situation is a reminder to all of us that our life’s plan can change at any minute. And our “new normal” might mean social distancing for the foreseeable future.

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When this is over, things should never be the same

 (please forgive my attempt at poetry)...

When this is over, never again

Will I take for granted, the embrace of a friend,

The hug of a child, around my knees

The ability to dance, with ease  

At a concert, a party, a bustling pub

Our hands will touch. Our shoulders will rub.

We’ll share this thing that we call life

But for now…there is strife

There is fear…for us all

And so we must heed the call

Sit at home, stay apart

But look around, have a heart

What is this? Something new

The world ahead for me and you

The things that were important to us a month ago, just before this period of self-isolation began, seem kind of trivial now. What value would I place on being able to pull my granddaughter into my lap and read her a book? To kiss my daughters on both cheeks? To hug my mother tight?

A virus has brought us to our knees. I remember reading this forecast not too long ago. There have been many prophecies and much soothsaying but I heard from more than one source the idea that the next World War would not be fought with guns but with germs.

And no – I’m not buying into the conspiracy theory that this virus began in a laboratory – there is no proof to back up that particular story. But it seems that Covid-19 is having a more widespread, global effect than any other type of bomb would have. Everyone is affected. Even if you manage to escape contracting the virus and having your health compromised, even if your job is safe and you can pay your bills, your life is being affected because, like everyone else, you can’t do the things you used to do, right now. But I do believe there is something good to come of this.

In the earlier part of the 19^th century we had an Industrial Revolution. The world became mechanized and automated. In the early 20^th century, the automobile was introduced and by the end of the First World War, many families had a car. After WWII, factories ramped up production to bring the global economy back up where it was before the war effort shut it down. Maybe we are heading for our own Revolution. Let’s hope it is one that leaves less of a carbon footprint than the last.

While our leaders, scientists and healthcare workers fight the battle for us on the frontlines and our essential services workers keep the home fires burning and our bellies fed, the rest of us are shifting our priorities, paring down, and getting back to basics. We are learning that we can do without some of our previous habitual luxuries. Yes, some of us will go back to getting our hair and nails done by a professional someday…but will we all go back to working outside the home? Perhaps not.

It might take a while for many businesses to repopulate their core staff. Many will decide that they did just fine on a lower headcount, after being forced to lay off dozens when Covid-19 shut things down. I have no doubt that several industry leaders will discover the benefits of a smaller bricks and mortar presence, relying instead on a core work force that is primarily working remotely from their homes. It makes good financial sense, and many companies have been thriving with a 100% remote workforce for years. The rest of us just discovered that it can, and does, work. I wonder what the effect will be on air pollution over big cities if the majority of the workforce no longer drives to work 5 days a week?

We are already discovering, after just one month, how the reduction in industry is clearing up smog in places like India. Residents there are enjoying better views of the Himalayan mountains, and beyond the city lights they can even see the stars in the night sky for the first time in ages.

When this is over, let’s remember to take our long, solitary walks in nature, and let’s continue to meditate, exercise and do the things that are helping to reduce our stress during this anxious time. When this is over, let’s appreciate the things we are missing now, like dinners with friends and visits with our seniors as well as huge sporting events and rock concerts.

And when this is over, let’s remember that for many generations now, humans have been actively polluting the environment. Our daily activities have been the problem. We have been the scourge on the Earth.

Let’s not miss the opportunity to change that, somehow.

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Come bathe in the forest with me

“In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.” – John Muir

“Let’s go for a walk.” The activity of walking is often compulsive – it’s what our brains yearn for when the chaos of everyday life reaches maximum volume. Many people like to wear earphones when they walk so that they can listen to music or take in a favourite podcast. Keeping up with a dance beat might be good for your cardio fitness, but that isn’t why I walk. I walk to reap the benefits of nature.

Our 200-acre property includes rocky meadow, open field, and forest. My favourite place to walk is in the forest. The Farmer even cut a swath through the woods with his ATV, bush hog and chainsaw so that I can follow a trail in any season on foot, snowshoes or skis. It’s a bit mucky on that trail right now, but soon it will be dried up enough for me to resume my forest treks. At the moment, I stick to the perimeter of the forest.

Turns out there is a name for this blissful walk in the woods. It’s called “Forest Bathing.” You aren’t bathing in water, but rather the energy, scent and sound of the woods. The forest is abundant with life. Everywhere you look, there is evidence of wild things. A pile of droppings alongside the path, a scratch mark on the nearest tree trunk. And then there are the trees.

All around you, majestic trees reach for the sky. Their roots trip you up and their branches tickle your face as you invade their territory. In one remote corner of our property there is a stand of four massive trees, with trunks the circumference of a California Redwood. Someone has built a ladder into the side of one of the trunks, so I climb up. I step onto a platform and survey my kingdom.

According to www.mamanatural.com, Forest Bathing has the following benefits: time.com

·         The creation of virus-fighting cells (would be handy right about now)

·         Decreased risk of heart attack.

·         Protection against obesity and diabetes.

·         More energy and better sleep.

·         Mood-boosting effects.

·         Decreased inflammation.

·         Clearer, more comfortable skin.

·         Soothing relief for sore muscles.

So if you walk in the forest on a regular basis you should be slim, muscular, well-rested, happy, energetic and immune from the coronavirus! (Invalidated).

The practice of “forest bathing” was initiated by the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry and Fisheries in the 1980s. It is not a workout. Forest bathing is an opportunity to immerse oneself in the natural surroundings of the forest. Soak up the energy of the trees. Listen to the sounds of scampering rodents, twittering birds and (possibly) bounding deer crashing through the underbrush. Allow your senses to awaken. Breathe in the damp, wild scents of moss, bark and ferns. Feel the difference in temperature as you step into the natural cool of the woods. Allow the dappled sunlight to filter refracted, through the trees onto your face.

Forest bathing is the opposite of meditation, because you are summoning all of the energy of the forest into your being, rather than emptying your mind of all thought besides your breath. Feel the energy of the forest transfer to your own cells. It’s better than an espresso or a Red Bull. For full effect, remove your shoes. Not for the full walk, because you might impale your tender instep on a twig. But stand tall, reach your arms up over your head, extend your fingers to the sky, wriggle your bare toes into the earth. Breathe.

This is the forest. This is life. It’s free, it’s eternal, it’s here for all of us. Why not try a forest walk this week? Bring the whole family. We used to do this as kids. We called it a nature walk. Bring something to collect your treasures: pine cones, coloured leaves, bird nests, acorns, ferns, pussy willow, red dogwood branches. You can make a spring arrangement for your front step when you get home.

During this time of self-isolation, we are all looking for ways to relieve stress and anxiety, work out the kinks, exercise the body and clear the mind. Forest bathing sounds like the perfect solution. The Ferguson Forest Centre is accessible to everyone, as is Limerick Forest. Just remember – if you round a bend in the path and encounter someone else standing there, barefoot, give them a smile and a wave, from a safe distance of 2 metres.

Be well.

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This is our generation's shared experience

Your grandparents might remember World War II. That was the last time something took over the global consciousness this way. We are all affected by this viral pandemic. It’s surrounding us, reaching us at every level, on every media channel. And for good reason. But unlike WWII, we do have some control over how this goes. Each of us is a factor in how this plays out.

A year ago I was packing for a trip that would begin in Italy. How many people did I see in the streets of Rome last April who are no longer with us? Experts say the outbreak there completely overwhelmed their medical infrastructure. It gained speed and strength due to the fact that people were just doing what they always do: meeting in parks and coffee houses, kissing on both cheeks, greeting each other with a warm hug before spending the next few hours discussing the situation at great length over a bottle of Chianti. Italy is not Italy right now. It’s under lockdown measures, in a desperate attempt to stop the spread of this virus that is minor to many but deadly to others. As I write this, 793 people died in one day in Italy. Let’s hope and pray that was the peak. Now that everyone is practicing self-isolation, the virus will not be able to find a host. Spring will come. The warmer temperatures will stifle the virus, and life will slowly return to normal over the course of the summer.

In our part of the world it is more the self-isolation than the actual virus that seems to be affecting lives in a negative way. I know it’s hard, for those who are suffering financially during this time. Some are laid off, others are seeing their livelihood shrivel up as customers stay away, people stop spending, and everyone stays home. But we do live in a country where our interests are protected. It may take some time, but the government will bail us out. Every last one of us. Have faith.

This period of the unknown can be rather unsettling, even for those of us who don’t typically struggle with anxiety. I thought I was handling the situation quite well, until I realized I had cleaned every flat surface in my house until it shone. I am a stress cleaner. You can literally eat off my floor right now. When times get scary, I don’t freak out. I just turn around and say, “Where’s my mop?”

Yesterday I even found a recipe for gluten-free blueberry scones on my phone and took over the kitchen to whip up a batch. I guess I’m a stress baker too. Not a very good one, but it did take my mind off the news for an hour or so. My daughter (another stress cleaner) says we do it because it is something we can control. Well, that makes sense. Carrot muffins are next.

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Surviving the dog days of winter

We have all heard of the expression, “dog days of summer”. In our house, those are the 30+degree days when our Golden Retriever lies over the air conditioning vent on the cold tile floor in the guest bathroom, groaning like a teenager. He hates the extreme heat. I told him the basement floor is even cooler but there are cats down there. He puts up with the cats (they were here first, after all), but he can’t relax around them. They can’t be trusted. So he suffers upstairs.

If the hottest days are the dog days of summer, then the winter equivalent must be when there is so much snow, the Ferg can’t find his favourite item on Earth: Ball. After our last big snow I used the ball launcher to throw not one but three different coloured rubber balls into the same section of the yard. I always throw in this direction. He doesn’t seem to realize I can throw in other directions, and he never actually looks to see which way I am throwing, so to keep things simple I usually pitch in a northerly direction. He uses his nose, you see, to find Ball. He can find it under a certain amount of snow, but if there is too much white stuff, he loses the scent. We lost 3 balls last week. We will find them in the spring. I will buy reinforcements, and make sure I throw them right in front of him so they are easy to find. For Ferg, there is no quality of life without Ball. Especially in winter.

When it’s really cold out, Fergus goes for a quick trip out to relieve himself, then he sits at the door with Ball. He is a creature of habit so he will paw the door and give me the look…but if it’s too cold I will lure him inside with the distraction of a dried liver treat. It doesn’t take much convincing. His favourite spot on these cold days is right in front of the wood stove, on a sheepskin rug. At first, when he was a puppy, Fergus thought that lying on the pelt of another animal was a bit ridiculous. I used to laugh at the face he made every time I lay him down on the fluffy fleece. Now it’s his go-to, especially when it’s in front of the fire. Besides, there are 3 cats taking up his dog bed most days and he is too polite / intimidated to ask them to leave. He really only gets his bed at night when the cats are locked in the basement.

Winter is also a time when trees are bare. To Fergus, this means that he has a much clearer view of the activities at the house next door. He rests his chin on the table and peers out the window for long moments. A chicken will wander past, then a squirrel will appear and Ferg’s ears will perk up. Finally, the door will open and Rocky, the muscular full male next door will strut over to the fenceline. Slowly, all strength and sinew, Rocky will slink along the bare brushes and sniff the air. He is sniffing for Ferg. Our dog’s hair stands on end. He shivers. His eyes are locked on Rocky.

“Oh. I see Rocky is out,” I comment. Ferg turns his head in slow motion and gives me the side eye. Part of his vision is still on the big dog next door. He goes back to his watch. Life can be exciting, even in the dead of winter.

I imagine, being born in Canada, dogs learn to appreciate the 4 seasons just as the rest of us do. If Fergus had a favourite season, for sure it would be fall. The cooler temperatures are perfect for long walks in the woods, and the rich, deep smells of rotting leaves and roaming wildlife are abundant for a sniffer dog’s nose. Winter is devoid of smell. It just smells cold, with a touch of wood smoke. Fergus’ nose gets a bit of a rest in the colder months.

His sense of hearing seems sharper than ever, however. With no leaves on the trees as a buffer, the sounds of deer crashing through the underbrush and coyotes yipping at the moon carry across the acres as if it were happening right in the yard. Then Fergus bursts out of bed and comes bounding up the stairs to bark a warning outside our bedroom door. Sometimes at 3 in the morning I have to turn the fan on to block out the sound and close the curtains so he will go back to sleep.

Spring is at least 6 weeks away, pup. Winter isn’t over yet. You might as well settle in.

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