Author: isobel cunningham
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Sometimes I feel that beauty has gone out of fashion. All around us beauty sits waiting to be discovered, to be noticed, to be appreciated. We are busy getting annoyed at some political wrangle, getting frightened over threats beyond our control, getting apathetic because we are overwhelmed. Beauty sits waiting for a glance and…
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There he is! I tried to post this yesterday but as often happens WordPress drove me crazy with uploading photos. He is a darling though, isn’t he. ( look down….on the side of the dark tree trunk…got it?)
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Ladies and gentlemen… here he is, fresh from Hollywood, just as raucous, cheeky and impudent as ever… your favorite and mine, Woody Woodpecker! It is very hot and sunny in Muskoka. Confused birch trees are gently dropping their small brown leaves in the still air. Not a breath of wind disturbs the bees as they…
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On July 1st I started a leave of absence from my volunteer work as a docent at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. It’s been a full month since I walked into the Museum, checked out who is taking tickets today, looked around to see if any of my particular friends are…
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It was a dismal summer and in the country we lamented the absence of butterflies and bees, nodding our heads gravely and tutting over the decline of insect species. Now it is September and unseasonably sunny and warm in Montreal. Two days ago during a visit to a Home Depot garden center, the cone…
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Potatoes have sustained nations. Now, the ones I planted myself sustain me. In the late spring Joe tilled the ground and returned with his arms frozen into the pose of a Hells Angels biker. It is hard to till ground in Mid-Ontario. I hesitate to call it Northern Ontario because of the respect I have…
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Was it any more miraculous than the phases of the moon, than the shortening days of fall, than a sudden snowstorm? It was in some ways. Poor Galileo’s ghost hovered, slowly nodding his head and whispering, “I told you so.” As the hot late summer afternoon turned to twilight, excited kids ran down my…
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Yesterday they delivered the wood and we stacked it in the woodshed. Yesterday was Sunday but today is turning out to be the day of rest. Some may be wondering what a cord of wood is and how it got that name. I wondered too. Turns out the cord was the string wound…
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It has been one month since I took a year’s leave of absence from giving tours as a volunteer guide at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts. Do I miss it? Do I miss walking into the Museum and feeling in a way that it is “mine”? Do I miss looking for my friends…
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I admit to a startled pause when I noticed this posting on a notice board in rural Ontario. Juxtaposed with an ad for a community pancake breakfast, it had something of a macabre flavour. City girl, I thought, get a grip.
