The Hatch is on!

Think how fast a year flies by

A month flies by

A week flies by

Think how fast a day flies by

A Mayfly’s life lasts but a day

A single day

To live and die

A single day

How fast it goes

The day

The Mayfly

Both of those.

A Mayfly flies a single day

The daylight dies and darkness grows

A single day

How fast it flies

A mayfly’s life

How fast it goes.

It starts like a rise of small trout. There are dimples on the surface, little fingerlings eating midges, perhaps. But these are no fish. The water breaks and up pop the wings of a Mayfly, then another and another. The hatch is on!

This legend plays out every year on calm, dark, humid nights in late May and early June. The mayflies make the television news by showing up on doppler radar or calling snowplows out of dormancy to remove layers of duns from bridges.

Mayflies have two adult stages. They first emerge from the water as duns (scientifically known as the subimago stage). They then molt into the spinner (imago) stage, in which they mate and die.

This poem is from the book The Llama Who Had No Pajama by Mary Ann Hoberman. Hoberman's poems, accompanied by Fraser's illustrations, have been delighting children for 40 years. Now, many poems from their out-of-print books are available in this fun collection. The selections are mostly humorous, sometimes contemplative, and deal with animals, family, play, and plain silliness.

See the book on Amazon.com

Dining in the Great Outdoors!

Although the official start of summer isn’t until June 21st, Memorial Day is considered the “unofficial” kick-off to warmer weather, longer days – and outdoor dining.

Grills will be dragged from garages. Tables and chairs hauled to the deck. Entire outdoor kitchens will be set-up and stocked. All of this so we can enjoy - after a long hard winter stuck inside - with finally being about to eat - outside!

I am in love with outdoor dining. I will brave heat, wind, rain and sometimes bugs just to eat outdoors. I have been know to Google local restaurants just to find one with "outdoor seating". Come summer - even with an entire restaurant full of empty tables, I will still ask - "Do you have anything outside?"

I will happily leave the comfort of a climate-controlled, gently lit indoor restaurant to sit in 90-degree, humid sunshine that forces me to wear sunglasses in order to see my dining companions. Doesn't matter. I am eating outside!

Wind whips my hair into my mouth as I chew - no big deal. I am eating outside! A hike down the deck and through the restaurant to get to the restroom - doesn't matter. I am eating outside! There's just something about eating outdoors that makes everything taste extra delicious.

There is something magical about eating outside that makes it worth the risk. When it doesn’t burn, the sun feels lovely; when it doesn’t gust, the wind feels playful. The night can seem more romantic outside. And eating outdoors is inherently more casual than dining inside. It’s hard to feel too formal while listening to frogs croak or watching squirrels race by.

So join me! Enjoy yourself - find someplace special to plop yourself down in a comfy chair pulled up to a table on an deck somewhere and breathe in the intoxicating air of the great outdoors!

"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well,
if one has not dined well." -Virginia Woolf

Digging in the Dirt . . .

To dig in one's own earth, with one's own spade, does life hold anything better? - Beverly Nichols

After a long, cold winter I am ever watchfull for the first glimpse of spring.

 How it thrills my heart to spy the first spring birds after their long vacation in Southern climes,

or the white trilliums and yellow lady slippers poking through the debris of winter,

or the new buds promising fragrant blooms on lilac bushes that dot the Island's landscape.

What I miss most, though, during the frigid, frosty months, is my connectin to the soil and what it produces, whether it's garden-fresh vegetables, sun-ripened fruits or brillant blooms.

As strange as it may sound, I need the feel of warm, black dirt running through my fingers. the outdoorsy smell of fresh-turned dirt on my work cloths and , yes, even the taste of a morsel of dirt on my tongue.

In an almost spirtual way, dirt is the substance that ties me to the earth. Just as soil keeps plants firmly anchored, it also keeps me grounded in what's real and what's important. It helps me stay connected. Working with my hands - tilling the soil, planting the seeds, watering the sprouts, hoeing the weeds, pruning the vines and harvesting the crops  yields such a rewarding sense of accomplishment.

The first day I dig my fingers deep into the soft earth I can feel its energy, and my spirits soar.

"U @ 50" . . .

A palindrome reads the same backwards as forward. This video reads the exact opposite backwards as forward. Not only does it read the opposite, the meaning is the exact opposite. This is only a 1 minute, 44 second video and it is brilliant. Make sure you read as well as listen forward and backward.

This is a video that was submitted in a contest by a 20-year old. The contest was titled "u @ 50" by AARP. This video won second place. When they showed it, everyone in the room was awe-struck and broke into spontaneous applause. So simple and yet so brilliant. Take a minute and watch it.
 

 
Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. It was shared with me this morning and I felt it was worth passing on.

Every Adventure Starts and Ends on the Ferry!

The rhythms and rituals of life on the Island are sacred – the ceremonial arrival and departure by ferry; Bayside dinners with terrific food and breathtaking views; the unspoken decree against high heels (although I must admit that I am guilty of ignoring that one out of sheer vanity); and the generational parade of robust kids, running, swimming, squealing, sledding, and coming of age in the woods and on the waters of Drummond.

But getting to Drummond means that your business must first come through the ferry dock – with a tempo and hierarchy unlike any other place. Everyone and everything is on display as vehicles come and go and wait. Everyone’s stuff is on view piled in a backseat, a bed of a truck or stacked high on a trailer. You know what stores people shop at. You know who is getting new furniture. You know what books, magazines and papers people read to pass the time. And you also get a glimpse into each other’s relationships as passengers are dropped off, picked up and said goodbye or hello to.

The ferry also marks the passage from one world to another. The pace of the Island has always been intertwined with the coming and going of the ferry. And life on the Island is a reflection of this marvelous relationship. “Island Time” means a more relaxed way of life – and the wait for the ferry is the first step into a mood and pace that is always of an unhurried nature. This distinctive lifestyle and its gentle easy rhythms are as much a part of the landscape as are the waves lapping at the shore. Waiting for the ferry makes for a wonderful chance to practice patience . . .

Patience is the best remedy for every trouble and Drummond is the best medicine for dealing with the stress of life off the Island. Mahomet once said, “Patience is the key to content.” And I have often been known to exclaim that I am the most content woman in the world when I am back “home” on Drummond.

And so every trip across M-134 brings with it a peaked sense of anticipation – the wait for the ferry always putting extra emphasis on what it really means to get here.

This was one of the first Blogs I posted when starting this page - it bears repeating now as many of us are planning our Great Escapes to the Island for the Summer Season. Hope you enjoyed it the second time around too!

If you are not into sauntering and need to plan your trip down to the last little detail - here's a great link for info on the Ferry schedule:

http://www.drummondislandchamber.com/index.php?page=Transportation

Out-on-the-Hook!

“Sometimes we are lucky enough to know our lives have been changed, to discard the old and embrace the new and run headlong down an immutable course. It happened to me . . . on that summer’s day when my eyes were opened to the sea.”  - Jacques Yves-Cousteau

Blue-green stretches of water, emerald islands scattered across this fluid canvas, and warm pine-laden breezes – when it comes to restoring body and soul, no place in the world can compete with Drummond Island. And few other places in the world can inspire one to explore, again and again, the tapestry that makes up a summer spent in the north; the rituals of family, the pleasures of friendship, and the immutable cycles of the natural world. There is a depth of feeling and wonder that lies at the very core of spending one’s summer Up North.

For me there is no sweeter pleasure than a summer day spent out-on-the-hook in Harbor’s big bay. I wake up early in the morning, squint up at the sky to see if the haze margin that promises a scorcher is smudging the horizon, pack a lunch, a hat, some sun block, snatch a bottle of water, and dash out the door. I inevitably run back for the book and bottle of wine I left on the table, then dive into the car and head down to Yacht Haven. My adrenaline is pumping in fierce anticipation, and finally – there it is: the jockeying for a parking space, the hunt for the cart to haul items down the dock and the first deep inhalation of diesel as the Up North’s engine turns over and comes to life. Bingo! All my senses are buzzing with the intoxicating elixir of the elements!

It’s WATER time!

Once anchored out in Harbor I take up residence on the deck – my head falls back unto a pillow. I angle my hat, adjust my sunglasses, open my book and settle into nirvana. Lord Bryon once wrote “There is society where none intrudes/By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more.” I would have to agree with this great swimmer wholeheartedly.

Once significantly toasted top and bottom I predictably dive into the water. Half submerged, at one with the aqueous mystery below; I bob around the boat, exposed to the sun and air from the neck up. I am on sensory overload, and I haven’t even broken any laws! I am the most content woman in the world. I surrender to the rhythm of the water and my mind goes as blank as the sky. I might swim a few strokes and then turn on my back to float, letting the energy of the water pass around and through me.

After a while I come back to the present, climb up on to the boat, and flop on to a towel laid out on the deck in a coma of bliss. I slowly drift off to sleep – the smile on my face the same as it was when I was a child and my eyes were first opened to lazy summer days spent out-on-the-hook.

“Summer afternoon – Summer afternoon – the two most beautiful words in the English language.”  – Henry James