isobelmtl

Writing under a Montreal sky

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about

Isobel Cunningham has published short fiction and poetry. Her book, Northern Compass is available on Amazon. She was born in Wales but Montreal is her adopted home. She speaks French, Modern Greek ( it’s a fun story) and a little Spanish…oh, English too, of course. She welcomes comments on her blog and looks forward to chatting with you over cyber-space.

Category: Muskoka

  • Our potatoes

    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…

  • A Cord of Wood

          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…

  • Absent and Present

      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…

  • Country Mice attend an opening

        The Montreal Museum of Fine Arts recently hosted a party for the opening of an exclusive exhibition of wedding dresses (make that wedding attire) designed by John Pail Gaultier.  I had a ball guiding his big show a few years ago so I was dying to see what had been whipped up for the “Love…

  • Mother Nature is a child abuser

      Anyone who reads this blog knows I can go off into raptures about nature in all its forms.  However, living in the country brings home the dark side of Mother Nature.  As I told a dear friend of mine today, I had considered myself on top of the food chain.  Black flies do not…

  • Planting Potatoes

    There is enough Irish blood coursing in my veins to think of planting potatoes as a sacred task.  I doubt any ancestor of mine ever planted Blue Russians or Congo Pot varieties but scrabbling around in the dirt seemed to come naturally.  I have never planted potatoes before and in spite of the very annoying…

  • And What Does It Mean?

      Here are a few more beauties that just appeared as I was going around this morning.  I have no idea what they are called but I will try to find out. Lovely, aren’t they?  It is very interesting to see all the nesting pairs of birds and see how they are enjoying the bird feeder. …

  • Small Wonders

    Spring is slow to come to Eastern Canada this year.  It has been cold and extremely wet all through April and May was not looking much better until today when a weak sun actually cast some shadows.  We even ate lunch outside with a few strategic returns for socks and sweaters during the meal.  Last…

  • Float

    Float down from silent trees white bouquets of snow. In the still air of early winter bare twigs and branches are outlined with layered fine snow.  Like icing sugar or impossibly fine sand a spotless mantle sits contrasting with the dark, sleeping, Winter wood. Last night in the silent darkness, one by one in their…

  • Crossing

    Here are some turkeys crossing the farmer’s field.  His dairy cows are safe in the barn, their mild eyes turning to the door, their coats steaming in their winter home.  The turkeys are wild and although they stalk around the properties around here, they are skittish of people or dogs.  I even saw them take…