Larry Gibbons' Blog

NEMESIS

17/6/2019

THIS BLOG IS A REVISED VERSION OF THE BLOG THAT I POSTED YESTERDAY. THAT BLOG WAS MISSING SOME TEXT. I HAVE ADDED ANOTHER PHOTO TO THIS BLOG JUST FOR THE HECK OF IT.

MAYBE A HAWK

SMOOTH LANDING

I think I’ve met my Nemesis. If not, then a critter with a strange sense of humour. A real tease.

Recently, I said to Sue, “I can see why so many people around here shoot them.”

I was talking about the red squirrels. They are noted for being home wreckers and we may have had one zapped in our home last March. This incident happened on a Saturday morning.

Buster, Sue and I were quietly lounging in our Seniors’ Christian Science reading room when suddenly we heard a loud noise. It sounded like a power transformer blowing up inside our wall and it didn’t take us long to realize that half the outlets in our living room had been invalidated.

GHOSTLY FOREST TRAIL

It was lucky we were home because I was able to ascertain which fuse was affected and then shut it down. The probability of having a fire was great if I didn’t snuff the live wires.

We phoned an electrician, who arrived to tell us that it would be very costly to locate the affected wire and the fried critter and it would be best if we just ran an extension cord around the living room.

The electrician explained that the critters like to live in the walls which are close to heat. In our case, close to our wood stove. It made sense and if the poor critter hadn’t been teething he might still be enjoying our wood stove.

SQUIRREL FEEDER

So, back to the red squirrel, who likes to sit in our bird feeder, and enjoy twisting and turning in the wind while hogging the bird seed so that the birds can’t have any.
You see, one afternoon, I noticed that the squirrel was riding cowboy on the moose skull we have sitting on our deck railing. He likes to chew the calcium that’s in the skull.

RIDE EM COWBOY

Anyway, there he was on the outside of our screened in deck. I stepped out onto the deck, which would put me on the inside of the screened-in deck. The little red bugger looked at me, ran up to the screen and began to nibble. I shouted and he took off, chattering in glee.

The next day, I was sitting in a deck chair, enjoying the fact that there is a screen surrounding the deck and protecting me from the hordes of black flies. They are a fury at this time of the year.

The said little bugger climbed the screen and, once again, began to nibble our fibre-glass bug protector. I tossed a handy bowl of water at him and he jumped away, chittering, chattering, giggling, having an hilarious time.

A day or so later, I stepped outside and there he was, as if he was waiting. He scurried up the deck railing, began chewing and then took off before I got my hands on the anti-nemesis-squirrel water.

SEAGULL IN FLIGHT

And I swear that he’s not really trying to get in. I think he’s just doing it to torment me. To test me. To see if what I write in my blogs about my concern for the squirrels is really true.

MORE WOOD TO STACK

And I do worry about them. Why I even, when we got to the last row of firewood this April which would expose the squirrel’s nest, climbed up on a ladder, and built a little place for the squirrel to make a new nest. I even went one step beyond just normal concern and cut the arm off one of my Cape Breton-dinner-jacket-bush shirts. Because it was stuffed with nice warm and cozy insulation. I laid it next to the squirrel Ikea nest kit so the squirrel would have proper building materials. Sue had to actually stop me from drawing a little instruction sheet so the squirrel would know which part went where. So the little buggers can’t say I don’t care.

INCOMING CLOUDS

By the way, I have found quite a few nests located in the woodshed. I just tossed out a pair of running shoes. Hardly used. The tongue of the one having provided excellent nesting material for a mouse or a squirrel.

Am I being tested? Maybe, but I know I’m not going to shoot the little devil. There’s enough eco-destruction going on in the name of progress and necessity.

WEE BEACH CAMPFIRE

However, I did touch on the squirrel shooting issue with a hiking buddy who said, “You can’t shoot the squirrel. Not after all the stuff you’ve written in your blogs about caring for the welfare of the squirrels.”
Yep, the little tease has me by the proverbial shorts and if he keeps on having fun at our expense I may just have to get down-right tough. I may just have to go out and spend more money and buy metal screening to cover the fibreglass screening that covers our deck.
I can be tough when I have to be.

MIDDLE RIVER MEDITATION SPOT

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NEMESIS

16/6/2019

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PERFECT LANDING

GHOSTLY FOREST TRAIL

It was lucky we were home because I was able to ascertain which fuse was affected and then shut it down. The probability of having a fire was great if I didn’t snuff the live wires.

We phoned an electrician, who arrived to tell us that it would be very costly to locate the affected wire and the fried critter and it would be best if we just ran an extension cord around the living room.

The electrician explained that the critters like to live in the walls which are close to heat. In our case, close to our wood stove. It made sense and if the poor critter hadn’t been teething he might still be enjoying our wood stove.

NOW A SQUIRREL FEEDER

So, back to the red squirrel, who likes to sit in our bird feeder, and enjoy twisting and turning in the wind while hogging the bird seed so that the birds can’t have any.

You see, one afternoon, I noticed that the squirrel was riding cowboy on the moose skull we have sitting on our deck railing. He likes to chew the calcium that’s in the skull.

RIDE EM COWBOY

ENJOYING THE VIEW

And I swear that he’s not really trying to get in. I think he’s just doing it to torment me. To test me. To see if what I write in my blogs about my concern for the squirrels is really true.

MORE WOOD TO STACK

INCOMING CLOUDS

CAMPFIRE ON OCEAN BEACH

However, I did touch on the squirrel shooting issue with a hiking buddy who said,"You can't shoot the squirrel. Not after all the stuff you've written in your blogs about caring for the welfare of the squirrels."

Yep, the little tease has me by the proverbial shorts and if he keeps on having fun at our expense I may just have to get down-right tough. I may just have to go out and spend more money and buy metal screening to cover the fibreglass screening that now covers our deck.

I can be tough when I have to be.

MIDDLE RIVER MEDITATION SPOT

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MEMORY LIKE A BEAR TRAP

18/5/2019

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HERE OR THERE

Sue, Buster and I arrived in Kingston, Ontario on April 23rd. While in Kingston we met with family and friends and that was a very good thing.

MY LEATHER BOOK COVER

Sue, Buster and I left Kingston on May 1st. We arrived in Cape Breton with two extra passengers. One was called ‘A Bad Cold’ and the other passenger was called, ‘A Horrible Toothache’. Both of them decided that I would be their host. I’m now on antibiotics.

BUSTER'S COLOURS MATCH INN'S DECOR

I remember, many years ago, a very intelligent person telling me that animals don’t reason and their memories are very poor. Buster would like to disagree with a hearty growl and a brisk scoffing kick of his furry back legs.

I can tell you that Buster remembers every important thing that happened to him during every stay in Kingston.

He remembered where he had a through-the-fence-fight with a large Weimaraner dog. It was quite the battle. No love lost there.

MARKING THE SPOT

Buster took the time to stop at the Wrought Iron Fence shrine where he made his mark, growled, raised his hackles and used his back legs to kick dirt at the fence. The dog and Buster had had it out the day before.

WAITING FOR BRUISER

One fine day, three big dogs attacked Buster. They were the dogs which the exercisers took with them to the fat-busting joint that Buster and Sue regularly walked by. It wasn’t really anybody’s fault. It was an unfortunate coincidence. I’m sure they have firmed up the door after this happened.

The three big bruisers, who also have good memories and had seen Buster walking by before, spotted Buster and Sue and working as a team, they were able to get the front door open. They all jumped Buster and there was a very tough melee for Sue to sort out. Buster escaped with a bruised front leg.

The place is called STAVE OFF but Buster has changed it’s name to F$%) OFF. Every day, when we passed that place, Buster would stop and growl. He was not cowered and was ready for round two.

LOUNGING AROUND AFTER ATTACK

In Cape Breton, Buster carries the newspaper home as we finish our walk. In Kingston, as we walked along the mall’s store fronts, he grabbed a newspaper which had been left for the establishment’s owners to read. Buster planned to carry the paper back to the motel and give it to Sue. Where’s Buster’s memory problem?

PAPER BOY

The only thing that Buster seems to forget is to come when he is called. That seems to often slip his mind.

BUSTER STALKS CITY DUCK

BUSTER OPENING AUTOMATIC DOOR

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HAPPENSTANCE

19/4/2019

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SALMON POOL'S CABIN

I believe that serious writing can open a person’s heart and mind to the universe. In a sense, it’s praying. A connecting with the universe. A sharpening up of perceptions and intuitions. It allows one to see when some events are more than just coincidence and I’ll tell you about some recent happenstances.

A WING AND A PRAYER

While working on my novel I recorded my daily writing accomplishments or lack of accomplishments in a journal. I filled this book to the brim and needed a new notebook.

As I’ve mentioned before, I learned that completing a novel can be more than just a huge relief and a sense of accomplishment. It can also drag you kicking and screaming into a different sense of reality. Into depression and a feeling of being lost. Of course, it effects each writer differently.

FIND THE CENTRE

Over a year ago, when we were planning on making another trip through the Maritime/Quebec worm hole and entering the world of busy, busy, busy, Sue and I visited Value Village in Sydney. We were looking for some suitcases.

I found a smaller one which I thought would be perfect for Buster. It had a pinkish, bluish, cloth cover and inside, I found by happenstance, that somebody had left one small woman’s stocking, a fully charged pencil and a notebook which was full of fresh white pages. The empty pages just waiting for a wordsmith to write his or her leaden creations. I had found my next journal and the notebook in the Buster suitcase suited me just fine. This I would like to call Happenstance Number One.

CORNEY BROOK TRAIL FALLS

Well, after submitting my novel, I’d also quit writing for a while because I couldn’t get my head to play fair, so my new journal was lying around killing time. Over time, and sometimes over a glass or more of white wine, I returned to the writing of my blogs. At which time I got to crack open my new Buster suitcase notebook. However, because of the busy state of my mind I never really took much of a look at it nor did I give much thought to it’s significance.

BROOK IN SPRING

Then, one day, when I was flailing around attempting to find a reality place mat to plant my feet on, I noticed another happenstance.

This notebook was a special notebook. This Buster suitcase notebook was very timely. Because, you see, when I paid close attention to the book, I saw written on the cover of the little Buster-suitcase-working-journal the words: “THE LORD REPLIED——“WHEN YOU SEE ONLY ONE SET OF FOOTPRINTS, IT WAS THEN THAT I CARRIED YOU.”

And, when I opened it up, I realized that at the top of every page of this journal was a section of the famous “footprints” written by the unknown author. It was enough to knock my powder blue socks off.

This was Happenstance Number Two.

ICY FISH TEETH

Speaking of universal happenstances, here’s another one as it relates to my unpublished novel. I’ll call it Happenstance Number Three.

Sue, my partner, has been my staunchest writing supporter. Now, I have quite a list of writing supporters and some of them have been wonderful. However, nobody can top Sue! She’s been 24/7.

ICY MOUNTAIN FOREST

So, one evening, as I was wandering around in my state of chaotic creativity, I began to poke around in my wee office. I sat down and gazed at all the paper that I’d filled with stories and attempts at novels. I began to feel sad for poor little Larry. Began to think that there was some need for poor little Larry to be shown some respect. That my writing needed to be honoured.

BEAUTY WE OFTEN DON'T SEE

That moment is when I decided that my last draft up to now of my novel should be more than a digital smudge mark. It should be tangible. I should be able to touch, taste, smell and see my work. So, I paid a printer to print out the multitudinous number of pages.

A few weeks later, Sue, Buster and I drove to Port Hawkesbury to meet with Kyle Mcphee, whom I’d commissioned to make a leather cover for my novel.

I’m happy to say that Kyle made a wonderful cover and can be reached at kyleamcphee@gmail.com

OUR MIDDLE RIVER FOX

Now, here’s the universal happenstance of this whole situation.

After talking to Kyle and discussing what kind of leather cover I wanted, I left his shop. It’s located in the old customs house/post office/ doctor’s office.

IN FRONT OF OLD CUSTOM HOUSE

When I stepped outside I saw Sue standing on the sidewalk with Buster. She was excited about something and wanted to show me what it was. Even Buster was wagging his tail in a peculiar, but excited way.

BUSTER WANTS IN

They led me down the street to the front of the workshop. And there it was. Drum roll please. My novel cover was being made at the historical ‘BAIN’S CORNER’. Bain is Sue’s last name.

Now ain’t that a rather happenstance place to give my novel a firm place to plant it’s feet?

As mentioned earlier this was Happenstance Number Three, but who’s counting. Eh?

SALMON POOLS TRAIL

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MURDER OF CROWS

24/3/2019

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WOODS ON TOP OF MOUNTAIN

This is a story about a Blue Jay. It’s also a tale about a ‘Murder of Crows’.

You see, a little over a week ago I was sitting in the woodshed listening to the squeaking and rustling of a squirrel and family in the firewood pile. I was worrying about them because I worry about weird things. I was also worried because I had used up most of the third row of firewood and would soon be removing wood from the second row.

HOW DO WE GET THROUGH WINTER?

Now, to be fair to myself, I had explicitly warned the squirrel that she would have to build her nest near the bottom of the first row. If not, then she would risk having her nest exposed. I don’t think she took my advice, because I believe she built her nest near the middle of the second row.

From time to time she’ll pop out of her nest, climb up on the rafters and look down at me. Sometimes she even directs profanity my way as she stamps her feet and gets all worked up.

WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A PICTURE

Anyway, this particular afternoon, I was sitting in the woodshed. Probably enjoying a glass of one of our local Cape Breton brewery’s beer. The brewery is called ‘Big Spruce’ and the organic beer I was drinking is called ‘Kitchen Party’. It’s a pale ale which has a nice poetic ring to it.

So, there I was, sitting in the woodshed, looking at the large expanse of snow covering our property, when I suddenly saw a Blue Jay smash her noggin into a snow drift. The poor Blue Jay was flailing and flapping around and not getting anywhere soon, except to screw himself or herself deeper into the snow.

HARDIEST MAN IN CAPE BRETON

I went into my living-in-the-woods-emergency-action mode. I pushed up from the orange beach chair and waded through the snow until I was looking down at the Blue Jay.

As soon as I arrived he or she stopped thrashing about and I was able to stoop down and touch the bird. He or she never made a move. I was able to pick the jay up and walk us back to the woodshed.

While walking I talked to the Blue Jay. Told him or her that I wouldn’t hurt him or her.

By the way, from this point on I’m going to call the Blue Jay a her.

So I spoke to her and tried to calm her and the Blue Jay actually turned her head and looked at me while I was talking, as if she was really listening. This I found rather strange and humbling. It was a very intelligent reaction from a wild critter.

FOX SEEN THROUGH KITCHEN WINDOW

I carried the bird into the woodshed, sat down, opened my hands and the Blue Jay flew away.

We noticed, after this incident, that one of the many Blue Jays who frequent our Big Stop bird feeder wasn’t very energetic. She hung around the bird feeder or sat on the ground or on a branch and was lethargic, and at one point I went outside and approached the bird and had to nudge her before she’d fly away.

POOR BLUE JAY

So, what about the Murder of Crows thing? Well, a few years ago I stepped out of an arena and was startled to hear an angry flock of crows cawing their feathery heads off. There must have been at least a dozen or more crows on the roof. All hysterically cawing at a crow on the ground who was beating the stuffings out of another crow. It was amazing to see how blood thirsty they seemed to be.

HOAR FROSTED BUSH

I felt sorry for the poor victim so I walked up and kicked snow at the crows and it stopped the fight. The victim flew away and the crowd followed like mad spectators at a golf tournament.

Later on, when I was in the grocery store, the clerk mentioned that those crows are really going at it somewhere in town. I knew that it was the Murder of Crows who were watching one of their own murder a crow at another unmentioned location.

FASHION CONSCIOUS HIKING BUDDY

So, back to the Blue Jay story. A few days ago I was inside when I suddenly heard a mass of crows cawing to beat the band. Going crazy. A blood thirsty mob and Buster and I made a run for the living room window.

PEACEFUL CROWS

Often, when we’ve heard the crows doing this, we’ve figured it was because the hawk was back grocery shopping or there was a cat outside, those sorts of things.

When Buster and I looked out the window we saw that the crows were in the trees cheering on one crow who was pecking a poor Blue Jay to death. Most likely the Blue Jay who I had picked up about a week before.

By the time I got outside the Blue Jay was dead. Thus the name Murder of Crows.

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LARRY'S SURVIVAL GUIDE TO MANNERS

26/2/2019

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THE RED GATE

How does a person eat in a mannerly way, when in a situation where eating and conversation are in the mix?

I mean, haven’t most of us been told not to talk with our mouth full? I’ve been told. Have you been told?

Not too long ago, I was sitting by myself, in an eating establishment. Suddenly, I heard these words, “Do you mind if I join you?”

BEACH HUT CANTEEN INVERNESS BEACH

“Sure,” I said.

The person sat down at the table, across from me. We then ate, drank and conversed.

You see, the problem is, how do I synchronize the amount of food in my mouth with the amount of food in the other person’s mouth? And, how do I match my chewing speed and power with the other person’s chewing speed and power?

INVERNESS BEACH WALKWAY

The person might, for example, make a comment which requires a verbal response. Wouldn’t a long silent pause after her comment, so I could take the time to properly masticate and swallow my food, not appear rude or disapproving or my showing a lack of interest? So many negative possibilities!

What if I’m gnawing on an over cooked piece of steak? What to do, what to do?

AFTER AN EXHAUSTING DAY OF MANNERS

Even worse, what if she or he asks a question? Maybe one that requires some elaboration? Eh?

And worse still, what if I’m sitting at a table with a whole pile of chewers?

I was once given a tip. Never talk while your mouth is ‘technically full’. Quite a bit of nuance there, folks.

NUANCE

The same person told me to carefully watch the person and synch the shovelling of food into my mouth with the other person’s shovelling regime. One: Fork into food. Two: Observe how much food is on the other’s fork. Three: Shove food into mouth. Four: Find the chewing beat and chomp, chomp, chomp. One two three. Chomp, chomp, chomp. And five: Make conversation in between the fork-loading procedures. etc. etc. etc.

Maybe I should write a book. An Anal’s Guide To Good Food And Conversation.

ICY INVERNESS BEACH

I do have techniques I use to try and solve this problem. I hold my hand in front of my face or I dab at my mouth with a serviette while I speak. I figure that the person won’t be able to see whether I have food in my mouth or not and how much. Sort of an eating-conversation-sleight-of hand.

Unfortunately, I have a soft voice so they probably don’t hear a word I’m saying. Which, maybe, is a good thing.

PUFFED UP CHICKADEE

Speaking of eating manners, here’s another table manners story.

We were visiting a couple in their apartment for the first time. We all politely talked and laughed, but I knew, I knew, that inevitably, it had to happen. The time when we’d have to sit down and eat while still continuing on with our gab-fest.

A MANNERS PIRATE

The table had been previously set with saucers, glasses, tea cups and countless pieces of intimidating and shiny cutlery placed in military order.

The server arrived holding large round plates. Each edible had its own space with plenty of room to spare. A slice of pork in its rounded corner, a baked potato kitty corner to the meat and two overly large hunks of brussels sprouts kitty corner to the kitty corners.

We began to eat. I was nervous. Struggling, once again, to get the hang of the eating nuances. Desperately attempting to watch all three eaters as they forked food into their separate mouths. This person said that. That person said this. Fork in. Spoons stirring and clanging and reminding me of my past wedding reception, while the extra cutlery loitered beside my plate and filled my heart with anxious expectations.

INVERNESS MEMORIAL

I was asked a question. Hand up to mouth or dab, dab with my colourful red napkin and it was at this point where my innocence and ignorance came to the full fore.
You see, when I grabbed my napkin for the conversation dab dab, wipe wipe, I suddenly realized that I was the only person who had a napkin.
But, just to be sure, I double checked. Not another red napkin in sight and it was only then, and only after I’d fully masticated my food and swallowed that I spoke.
“How come I’m the only person with a napkin?” I asked.
The response was quick and sharp. “Because our napkins are on our laps.”

A SNOWY LANE

That was another hard earned lesson and I added this eating problem to my manners’ worry repertoire.

I have, however, just as I did with the chewing and talking problem, come up with a solution. What I now do is look to see what the other person does and if I’m in a group then I use my statistics background to solve this problem. I count how many eaters have a napkin on the table and how many have shoved their napkins down on their laps.

I make the decision based on first past the post. The majority wins. Napkin top-side or napkin under-side, doesn’t matter a whit to me. Majority rules and that’s where my napkin goes. No nuance here.

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SYNAPTIC RUMINATIONS

29/1/2019

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SHARP CORNER ON OUR ROAD

From time to time I like to luxuriate in a wee rant. So, here it is.

I was ruminating, one fine morning, as I hiked up our road, about just how many human synapses were firing off at this moment in which time my synapses were attempting to calculate this futile and impossible calculation. WHEW!

WALKING AROUND SHARP CORNER

I also wondered why some of these electrical sparks produce ideas which can stick, like crazy glue, to other human synaptic thought producers? Inspiring some folks to baa, baa and blather on. Setting human herds off to studying these ideas, tweaking them, espousing them and writing thesis about them until, ‘you’re up cowboy,’ along comes another powerful synaptic onslaught with a whole different belief system firing out of some other particular neurological gray matter. Producing another herd that is full of certainty. Examples: “Make America Great Again. Elvis is still alive. The world is cucumber shaped”. Do you know that some of these ideas have given some people the intellectual DTs?

FOX DOING ITS BUSINESS

FOX SCRATCHING

And some of these conceptions produce moral or mental oblivion. No logical synaptic connections are made when proof-in-the-pudding-phenomenon occur. Hurricanes that are more powerful, the oceans heating up at an alarming rate, larger and more violent forest fires, and just recently, food banks for government workers who work for the most powerful country in the world, climate change deniers, people who declare themselves to be saved and ready for heaven who consider morality to be the most important attribute of the righteous. And yet, many of these shiny-clean-rapture-prepared-persons are willing to hire the devil to get their righteous ideologies etched into the end of history. They believe “the ends do justify the means” and to hell with the innocents. Human and otherwise.

SCAMPERING COYOTE

WATCHING COYOTE

And, one of the reasons I am so troubled and angry about the abuse of the environment is because it is in observing the beauty around me and the wild critters that live nearby, that I find some of the answers that are buried in the muck hole onslaught of human rationalizations. For example, the hushing sound of the river helps me stay ‘almost sane’ and to understand that most fools on the hill are no fools. That most town idiots are no idiots. That most silly looking misfits, are no silly looking misfits.

SOME MOUNTAINS FOR FOOLS

“Knowledge was inherent in all things. The world was a library”
Chief Luther Standing Bear, The Wisdom Of the Native Americans

The world’s beauty and diversity is worth fighting for. In this day and age it is also the intrinsically and logically right thing to do. No need for a God or a king or queen to decree such and such, although I’m all for laws that will help.
The fantastic, unbelievable complexity of our universe should humble us and make us starkly aware that we must be standing with nature and our ecosystems and not against them.

OUR PAPER BOY

And GREED. It amazes me how the accumulation of money has been turned into a moral law. Has been made to appear as a righteous action. This mind-set supported by philosophies that maintain their phoney authenticity by being buried under a saturated blanket of complex theoretical deceptions.

Thus endeth my rant. WHEW!

WINTER BROOK ABSTRACT

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BIG SAND BOX

15/1/2019

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HUNKERED DOWN

The snow swirled and the wind twirled. There was a delightful but frightful evil in the weather’s mischievous behaviour and when I arrived on the deck I looked like a vagrant snowman.

And when I gazed through the screen door, whom did I see, standing on the other side taunting me? Tail wagging and impishness written all over his face? Buster. And if a dog can laugh or tease, then this bow-wow was having a ball.
Because, one of my un-torn, warm, work-gloves was dangling from his mouth and Buster Man was saying, telepathically, “Come and get it, if you can.”
I came, I chased, and I got it, but it reminded me of why having Buster move in with us was such a good thing. He’s got lots of personality, just like the weather.

IMPISHNESS FROM HEAD TO TOE

I have, as some of you know, been whining about being exhausted after submitting a fairly large novel and I never realized, when I began the novel, what kind of emotional and personal cost it would demand.
Not only that, but only God, Trump and a battalion of angels have any idea whether it’s going to be published, but there it is. Out there, zipping around in the ethos at the speed of light.
So, I have been forced from my desk, so to speak, and I have had to fill the writing void with other activities. One of them is hiking with my trusty camera, Click. And because I’m out more, I see more wildlife.

BIRD FEEDER GUEST

Last week, Click and I were strolling hand in hand down our road. As we were nearing home, I let my eyes wander over the huge field that curls up from our road and ends at a thick wall of spruce and fir. My gaze slammed on the brakes when it spotted a small dark object quite a distance away. It lay close to the tiny brook which cuts through the field and it looked like a rock or a wee shrub.
So, what I did, so as to ascertain what it really was, was to point Click, which is a Pentax K70, and proud of it, at the dark spot and then clicked Click.
You see, Click is as good as having powerful binoculars. Why? Because I can look at the photo on my camera’s screen and then enlarge it. That’s what I did and discovered that it wasn’t a rock or a bush. See photos.

RUNNING

HUNTING

Some folks who like comfort and order and up-to-date this and thats might wonder how I cope with the boredom of a long winter away from all the establishments that give so many people places to go, excuses to throw money around and plenty of noise to dumb down their ear drums. These folks might also wonder, doesn’t shovelling snow get boring and tiring after a while?

ANOTHER BIRD FEEDER GUEST

Sometimes it does. However, I often play at the chores I do. Because, life is, to me, like a big sandbox. The five-by- five-foot one I played in as a kid, where I made up worlds. And while I was making sand-box roads and stores and what nots, I’d sometimes say to myself, in my pre-pubescent voice, “I don’t want to grow up. I want to always enjoy playing in the sand and the grass and the woods.” But I did grow up although some people might disagree.

BUILDING MATERIAL

So, I play in other ways. Like when I’m shovelling the lane-way. I have to shovel out enough room for three vehicles: my truck, Sue’s car and the mail-deliver’s car. Notice I said deliverer? I know what is what. Ha!

SUE PRETENDING SHE'S CURLING

What I’m doing this year is building a causeway out of snow. My snow is sand. I keep dumping the snow into this small ravine and my causeway is now about twenty feet long with more construction material to come. Buster likes to wander out on it and enjoy the view.
So, when you see me doing what looks like a cumbersome, maybe boring chore, I may actually be having a ball in my white sandbox.
As a man thinketh, so he is. Isn’t that a Bible verse of some sort?
Thus sayeth Larry.

A SNOWY DAY

WOODS ON A SNOWY DAY

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I LOVE WINTER

30/12/2018

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ME ON THE TRAIL

A few summers ago a friend and I were hiking on the beautiful Skyline Trail. When we arrived at the end of the trail we met some hikers from Ottawa who were enjoying the gorgeous view. They told us that they had travelled the world and this was the most beautiful place that they’d ever visited.

A HAPPY TREE

Even the snow and trees are happy to be on the Skyline Trail.

FENCE TO KEEP MOOSE OUT

There’s a fella who lives not too far from us. He likes to paint trees and leave interesting objects lying around. I like to think of them as his creations.

IS THE WORLD REALLY ROUND?

Last week I heard some very sad news. The news forced me out of my chair and into my hiking boots. I set out down our road, and on the way back saw the sun shining through the trees and illuminating the many ice crystals that covered the branches.
It made me realize that no matter how bad life can get there is still beauty to behold.

BEAUTY TO BEHOLD

Sue loves to walk on our road and share some of this beauty with Buster.

The crows enjoy each other and the beauty from on high.

CONTENT AND HAPPY CROWS

Some interesting hikers enjoy the Skyline Trail.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

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I SMELL LIKE FIREWOOD

19/12/2018

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SUN STREAKS

Have you noticed, from reading my blogs, that I spend a lot of time in the woodshed? You’re right, I do, and I was sitting on a beach chair in the woodshed when I heard the squirrel.

Who?

The squirrel. She was staring at me. Friendly like and I didn’t want to become buddies with her. Because I could be her home wrecker.

And why’s that?

Because she has built a nest in the back of our stack of firewood. I’m not sure how far back, even though I’ve repeatedly warned her to build the nest behind the last row of wood. I’m presently at row five.

You see, I don’t want, one day, to remove some firewood and expose her nest.

At this point, you might ask, how many people in this world worry about getting too emotionally close to a squirrel because they risk being a squirrel home-wrecker?

It can’t be just me, but take one day last week. Please.

I went shopping. I took my grocery list. The grocery list had, in the past, been stapled to something else. In the grocery store’s meat department it got stapled to my finger when I took it out of my pocket. My finger was still bleeding as I paid the cashier. Not a good omen.

So I said, “Bite me.”

I dropped into another establishment. A woman walked in. I couldn’t put a name to her face. I finally did. I said her name and then I said the name of her husband, because I knew him and I made this connection out loud. That’s a no, no.

My comment was overheard and I was suddenly a chauvinistic pig.

Bite me!

Instead of heading home I took a much longer drive. I’d suddenly had a hankering for an Iced Cap at Tim Horton’s. However, I felt the need to buy it in a Mi’kmaq Reserve which is a twenty minute drive from the Baddeck Tim Hortons.

The Baddeck Timmy’s is inundated by construction and it’s a real hassle to find a parking space and anyway, sometimes when I feel overwhelmed by the bull crap in my culture I like to visit a reserve.

So, I drove the extra twenty minutes.

Guess what? The Tim Horton’s was closed. The sign said it was closed due to lack of water.

The sign also said that it might be open around two pm. How much around?

Bite me!

My day is moving along at a crappy pace, but I get stubborn. I’m going to get that damn unhealthy Iced Cap, no matter what. So I drive back to the Baddeck Tim Horton’s. I knew I was losing it. My sense of feeling in control was lower than my gas gauge.

I waited for the flag person to wave us forward and then waited for a second flag man to wave me into the parking lot. Where there was no room for my truck at the inn.

However, they have a drive-through, so I drove up to the little box in which a tiny person lives. The wee person asked me what I wanted. I ordered a small Iced Cap.

There were no vehicles ahead of me. This probably meant I’d get speedy service. That was a problem.

You see, I have a bum knee. Actually two. Before the skating season began I bought an expensive brace for that knee. It’s in the shape of a cloth tube. That morning, before I drove to the arena, I’d slipped the protective tube over my long underwear and fastened it over my knee. My pants were over all this protection.

I followed the directions from the little woman and drove up to the window.

Well, as the day had already gone so well, I tried to make it even better, by parking my truck too far from the take-out window.

A server poked her head out of the window and informed me that I owed her two dollars and seventy-five cents. I tried to stuff my hand into my pants pocket so I could dig out my wallet. My wallet wouldn’t move.

I dug and dug. Pulled and pulled. At one point, I turned to the server, who was trying not to look amused and I said, “Thank-you for you patience. The money will be with you as soon as I can pull the $%^&*() wallet out of my $%^&*( pocket.”

Which I finally did. I then leaned out of the truck window while she balanced out of her own Tim Horton’s window and we made the exchange.

I thanked her. She smiled, in a queer way, at the silly chauvinistic pig who then drove towards the next flag man. Who held up his hand and ordered me to stop.

I stopped. I waited while I clutched the bills and my change in one hand. My wallet rested on the passenger seat.

The construction man, who was a man, gave me the okay to drive onto the highway. I had an instantaneous panic attack, because I couldn’t remember which lane I was supposed to get into.

Bite me!

When I arrived home, I looked at the woodshed and I thought about my day and about the squirrel. And I thought that I could’t be a really mean chauvinistic pig if I worried so much about the welfare of the squirrel, who I assumed was a she, and who lived in our woodshed.

Today a friend said to me, “You smell nice.”

I immediately thought, “Is it my shampoo, my underarm deodorant, my mouth rinse, toothpaste, hand soap?”

I looked at her and waited for her to explain.

She said, “You smell like firewood.”

I immediately wondered. Is she smelling the squirrel’s shampoo, underarm deodorant, mouth rinse, toothpaste, hand soap, acorn body wash?

Only in Cape Breton.

Thus sayeth Larry

HAPPY HOLIDAY

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NEMESIS

NEMESIS

MEMORY LIKE A BEAR TRAP

HAPPENSTANCE

MURDER OF CROWS

LARRY'S SURVIVAL GUIDE TO MANNERS

SYNAPTIC RUMINATIONS

BIG SAND BOX

I LOVE WINTER

I SMELL LIKE FIREWOOD

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