'Gang aft agley'...

The presently in foreign climes daughter asked me to write her up a description of how maple syrup is made. She gives bottles of the stuff as gifts and ends up explaining what it is. So, I set off to make her a booklet, with illustrations, one that she could use just the photographs of or hand to someone who wanted more information. And I do have photos, lots and lots and lots of them, from our quarter century of making the stuff.

It took me two days to extract the photos, organize them (um, sort of) and write the text. I have a fine colour printer and my plan was to print off a copy in booklet form, put the text and photos onto a USB, and mail her the result, along with a couple of other things.

Several weeks ago, a good friend and I ventured into The City, and I stocked up on cartridges for this printer. I was all set, I thought, smugly.

Silly me.

Test pages printed, at first not spaced properly, but I solved that. Loaded in the matte paper that makes a good booklet. The printer spit out five pages of the nine I wanted. And quit. Red button flashing. I reloaded. The printer spit out two blank pages, and flashed. Repeat. Spit. Flash. 

This is not the first time this printer has done this to me. The last time it balked, I searched on line and found a fix. I printed off the instructions to use should the wretched thing do it again.

A frantic search did not turn up the instructions. Nowhere. No how. 

A day passed, with repeated tries on my part interspersed with loading and  unloading the washer and the drier. Spit. Flash.

I finally went back to the basic loading instructions and told the [censored] machine that it was being loaded with plain paper in a different size than I was actually using.

It spit out two blank pages and then proceeded to print the rest of the text and photos. Not on the proper paper, no, because I had loaded test paper. 

There is now a booklet on its way to the foreign climes daughter with five pages printed on fine matte paper and four pages printed on flimsy stuff that does not do the colour justice. But it is done and mailed.

And my fine new car reset its clock all by itself to Eastern Standard Time.

You win some. You lose some. 

 

We decided on a pizza night at supper time and as we are too far away to be in the delivery area, I drove into the village at dusk to pick it up. It was dusk on the way in and the moon was at that stage of waxing when it looks like a billowed sail, not tossed upon cloudy seas this time, but rather breasting serenely through cloud fog, intent on its journey. We had snow earlier, and it lay up around our place but was only shining wetness down in the village. 

By the time I drove back it was full dark and since it was only my second time using the headlights of the new car, I had a slightly stressful few minutes remembering how to dim and raise them. That turned out to be easy, but the dashboard is illuminated in blue and is a bit too bright for my taste. I am not looking forward to a session with the manual figuring out how to dim the display a bit. Ah, new car joy. I wonder if the car clock change is going to be easy or a real struggle. Each car has been one or the other for Fall Backs over the years. Two sessions with the manual may have to happen.

I have been smugly admiring my mileage (kilometre-age?!?) with the hybrid Escape, and playing with the acceleration to keep the gas consumption low. I can get down to 4.9 litres per 100 kilometres sometimes. Since my last fill, however, it has been creeping up on me. I am not sure why…. possibly it is because the heater is now on. It was surprisingly high coming back up home, but I did have the heated passenger seat on high to keep the pizza as warm as possible. Our last few cars have had a lot of what I think of as ‘bells and whistles’, part of the package as we purchase, but heated seats are a treat, oh my, in eastern Ontario winters.

I am dreading this winter. Over the summer we have been able to do a lot of things if not normally, at least possibly. Coffee in the park with friends, Book Club convened in a big attic room owned by the granddaughter of one of the members allowing for distancing and ventilation from an open door to a balcony. A cleverly distanced wedding of the daughter of a friend held in a field in an open tent. Discussion group in the garden. Lots of time on the screened porch. As the snow fell this afternoon, it was really difficult not to sulk about the fact that these jaunts are now at an end. 

Well, yes. That was last week. Today the time changed and JG has spent most of the day telling me what time it should be, rather than making himself buy into the new hour. And it has rained and is raining. And it is a dark, November of course, sky. On Tuesday, day after tomorrow, the USA will or will not settle down. And tomorrow the guns will start and the deer, poor dears, will be at high risk for two weeks of the season here. Meanwhile, the paper feed in my colour printer will not work properly and I can’t find the printout of what to do to fix it that I made the last time it did this to me, and it is November, of course. 

We went out for a COVID-19 distanced dinner party to neighbours yesterday. I enjoyed every bite and every minute of freedom. And, I find, freedom from fear. I did not once think of the possibility of getting infected as we chatted and ate. Perhaps as this thing keeps grinding on and grinding on with glacial slowness, I am just numbed. I think a lot of people are. But tomorrow it is back to the masks and hand-washing and socially correct distancing as I trudge into town to a printing place and get my essay onto paper. And consider whether to kick the printer through a window or keep looking until I find the instructions for the fix.

A story of Two Trees

 We are having some most discouraging weather. Rain, more rain. Rain yesterday and rain tomorrow. In between the downpours, the sun comes out, or the moon shines down and the leaves glow or are outlined in silver light. Then darkness or gloom and sploosh. We are also, today, having gusty and occasionally really big puffs of wind. There are a few leaves being torn off the trees and those on the ground are being rearranged with amazing frequency. 

But really this post is about a fine autumn day, a perfect day really, when our two big maples that flanked the laneway at the road were felled and cut up. These were old trees, planted as we were told when the land was first opened up and farmed, and so probably over 150 years old. They were handsome trees until the big ice storm in 1998 did a lot of damage to them. They were also, by reason of their location, ‘open grown’, that is, branchy and bushy. And there was a lot of rot in the multiple stems. A breakage on either side could easily block our egress to the road and, worst case, trap us in bad weather. It was decided that they had to go.

And so, in warm autumn sun, I slung my camera around my neck and, carefully distancing myself from falling branches, documented the cutting out party. 

This is the left hand tree, as you face the road, showing trunk and multiple stems.

There was no way JG was doing this himself, and so we hired a tree removal company who arrived with an oversized truck and boom with bucket rig, and hauling a chipper. They also had an assortment of very, very large chainsaws that the young man in the bucket slung around as if they weighed nothing. 

The first order of operation was to take off the long limbs. 

The left side tree gets its first trim.

This done, larger stems were lopped off one by one.

A Very Large chainsaw.

As the branches and stems came down, they were picked up by the ground crew and fed into the chipper. The chips went into the truck. I assume that they will be made into something useful.

Here the right hand tree is all down. 

Here is the left side tree, roped and ready for the last cut that will bring down the big stems. The ground crew is sorting out and chipping the small stuff and leaving the bigger pieces to become firewood.

Both trees are down. It seems very open. But now the small trees that have been overshadowed by the big guys will have room and sun to grow. 

Our tractor is now in use as the usable wood is sorted and placed by the roadside for easy access. Since these branches and portions of trunk have almost all been cut to length and moved by our neighbours, who will split them for firewood. Not much will be wasted, as even the small branches will be chipped and become mulch on the forest floor.

Fighting back

Here are two photos of the oak trees struggling to grow new sets of leaves. These were taken over a week ago (today is August 2nd) and the poor things are now in a bit better case. Unfortunately it is raining and looks to continue all day, so a current photo will have to await better weather. I thought I had posted these, but something went wrong. 

Apologies, and more to follow.

Chomp!

The date is July 8th. The tree is our cherished oak that sits just off the front deck of our house and provides my screen porch with afternoon shade. As of today, it is barren, eaten, ravaged by gypsy moth caterpillars.

They left one branch. Why, I do not know. I guess they just didn't notice it. While they were chomping, my husband tried spraying, both with insecticide and water, and he and our ED both ended up squashing the loathsome insects on the tree trunk as they crawled determinedly up it. We are hoping that it is not too late in the year for the tree to try to grow a new set of leaves.

One happy fellow as a result of this. The dominant hummingbirds sit on a vacant branch waiting for a junior to try to get a drink at the bird feeder nearby. He now has his choice of lurking spots and an dive path unimpeded by leaves.

The last time we had an infestation like this was, we think, in the mid 1980s. If you go outside under the trees, there is a rain, a pitter patter, of caterpillar poop. The joys of nature, eh.

Lawn Ornaments

Some people decorate their lawns and gardens with statues, gazebos, painted truck tires with flowers in the centre or motorcycles pasted with 'For Sale' signs. Our back field, which JG mows and I guess should qualify as a Very Large lawn, is decorated, this summer, by a doe. We see her (I am just guessing that it is just one her, but the behaviour is characteristic) almost every day. She checks out the feeding station, nibbles with more or less enthusiasm at the plants in what used to be my rock garden, and reclines here and there on the mown grass, ears twitching. She is very decorative.

The header photo shows her, with a lot of editing, wandering in the dusk. The editing was necessary because the light when I shot this was pretty poor and I got a blue cast on everything. It will do until I get a better one. Although, I do have a lot (erm, far too many) deer-on-the-grass photos. A disciplined photographer would purge.

Over the last week or so she has been joined, from time to time, by a turkey and twice by a small and somewhat nervous varying hare. Or two; the hare size varied. It is more than a bit distracting, actually, as I should be getting on with the housework instead of peering out the windows.

If one must self-isolate, it is surely a fine thing to be able to do so here.

Systemic Racism in Canada

Racism in Canada is a fact. No one is denying that or arguing about it with the possible exception of Rex Murphy. Link https://nationalpost.com/opinion/rex-murphy-canada-is-not-a-racist-country-despite-what-the-liberals-say. I believe that it is also a fact that open prejudice is less overt in Canada than it is in the United States. We are a politer people, for one thing. Instead of calling Michelle Obama ‘an ape in heels’, she gets the label ‘callipygian’. Conrad Black was the perp in this case and I have despised the man ever since I read that column. Link https://themsmysentiments.blogspot.com/2008/01/more-than-just.html

 I am white, middle class, well educated, in my 57^th year of a solid marriage and damn lucky to be Canadian with roots here that go back some generations. I am also lucky to have grown up in a community that was, to an extent, mixed race. I went to school with black kids, socialized with black kids and was unsurprised that my parents socialized with black professionals. And I got my education about racial epithets in Grade 3, when I repeated a comment my teacher had made to a classmate, calling him ‘her little chocolate drop’, and the classmate pushed me down a set of stairs. I liked chocolate and I liked George. He neither apologised or explained, but his hurt was clear. The lesson stuck.

 All my life I have believed that all the kids of whatever race and religion got the same schooling in my home community, with the exception of the Catholics who had a separate school system. As they still do, in Ontario today. The black kids were more heavily represented in a couple of the high schools, but as far as I knew, got exactly the same courses and calibre of teachers. I was smug, in fact, about how my community handled race.

 After writing that, I wondered just how good my recollection was. I have been looking at photos from a Windsor History website and it hit me that almost all the photos, elementary and secondary, were of white kids only.  And so, I did a quick literature check. Guess what!  Link https://www.tvo.org/article/the-story-of-ontarios-last-segregated-black-school?fbclid=IwAR2D9ptY035ZrBaTvvDkuaQNDFgJG5vDMwH-7PILtdOUXEKG7K57J-pijZE. I also found a nicely structured timeline of blackhistory in my community. Descriptions of actions in the 1940’s and 1950’s reveal a mixed bag of prejudice and fight against prejudice. See https://www.publicboard.ca/Programs/K-12/africancanadians/Documents/Roads%20to%20Freedom%20Sec_Feb%202011.pdf 

 I left my city to go to university and have never lived there again. Looking back at that time (and the yearbooks) I realize that there were very few black students. At the time I was oblivious. I recall going to a movie with a black male classmate and being puzzled at the glare I received in the lobby from a friend. I was engaged to be married to a guy who was not at the university and if I thought anything, it was that she believed I should not be with another male.

 I tried to teach our daughters not to let race get in the way of friendship and fellowship. I probably overdid it. My younger daughter tells me that racial prejudice and epithets were a factor in her schooling. If she told me that at the time, I probably told her to ignore the perpetrators as not worthy of attention. If I thought anything, it was that these creeps were too few to matter. I followed with interest the efforts to overcome racism in the USA, but I was a young mother with money to earn, kids to raise and a house to manage, and it did not appear to me to be my fight. After all, I thought, overt prejudice is illegal in Canada and those experiencing it could have recourse to the courts. Police beating up African Americans for no reason? Only in the States. Even a stint on the city’s Board of Education did not teach me much. Kids of all races were in trouble for various reasons. A few years working in the Board’s Personnel department did not cause me to count the number of blacks in positions of responsibility either. We had black teachers. So, no problem.

 I am white, middle class, and, I have come to realize, a stupid person. Over the last few years, I have learned more and more about the ‘racialized’ experience. And it just makes me sick. The fact that I don’t think I contributed to it is pretty lame. By not noticing, yeah, I have been on the wrong side. What was I thinking? Well, that the LGTBQ community needed some support. That agism needed fixing. That women are second class citizens (both of these latter from personal experience). But that Canadian blacks were routinely being subjected to hassle and worse from the police just went under my radar. I read about what I assumed were isolated incidents and also assumed that this would be dealt with. That the First Nations people were also hassled and worse is something I knew from reading but also assumed that the assurances from our politicians that this was being remedied were true.

 What I have just had shoved down my throat is that we cannot trust the police force not to use force when it is not needed. That police seem to be allowed to act on biases without penalty. That quite a few of our institutions are systemically unfair and that nothing has been done to change them. And that all this has happened and is continuing to happen because people like me, and including me, have not been paying attention and have not been enforcing change.

 Demanding change is not the same as getting change. I learned this in a very minor political position, on a Board of Education in fact, where, once elected, I quickly found out that as an elected official I was doing the equivalent of riding on an elephant with no reins. If you whacked the animal hard enough with a goad, you could get a minor change in direction, but the minute you stopped whacking, the change stopped happening. Why did this occur? Because the majority of the people in positions of responsibility were content with things as they were. Most of them, like me I suppose, were people of good will who thought that the bad stuff was aberrant and could be dealt with case by case. Bullying in the school yard was normal, always had been, and was relatively innocuous and besides, the kids would grow out of it. Or toughen up. Or you put a program in place and your elected official bogs off, happy. And never stops back to ask if the program is working or still in effect, even.

 Someone should ask if the school yard bully has grown up to be a person who will kneel on someone’s neck for eight minutes, ignoring pleas for air. Has the kid who teased someone about skin colour turned into an adult who blocks access to medical care at a reasonable price for ‘those’ people because they don’t look after themselves and don’t deserve it? Have the ‘elite’ groups of middle school madness become adult NIMBYs? And, equally frightening, what are some kids learning at home and internalizing. Because, don’t believe that little kids are innocent and are taught bias. Kids are inherently biased, like chickens pecking the one that looks different, and have to be taught, carefully taught, that all people are equal. When they see adults literally getting away with murder, what do they learn?

I am convinced that any of this is not going to be changed by a top down fix. That there are laws on the books and a Charter of Rights is nice, but not good enough. The elephant just keeps clomping along and here we are still sawing at the reins. Any change will only begin when a majority of people demand it and keep demanding it. Starting with sorting out the police, ditching politicians with tin ears and being aware, on every street, in every office, classroom and store, of prejudice in all its many subtle and overt forms. And calling it out, then and there, as it happens. In fact, by stopping being stupid and complacent and enabling. Yes, all lives matter, but the priority for our ‘racialized’ brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, matters more.

Note to readers: I am trying out 'New Blogger' and not getting the links to work. I have therefore included the URLs.

Adding Insult to Injury

This happened yesterday, May 12th, in the middle of the afternoon.

After I spent the morning at the Emergency at Perth Hospital getting a diagnosis of arthritis in a swollen and painful wrist. The dominant hand, of course. My poor husband, who had to drive me to the hospital, spent the morning in the car as he was not allowed in, not being a patient. Patience was thus enforced. I will say for the fine young doctor in the Emergency room that I am back to being able to type today, after he prescribed for me and showed me an Xray of the wrist that he categorized as one of the worst cases of arthritis he had ever seen. 'You must have used it a lot' he said, cheerfully. 

May Day

There is a fine and well-tuned chorus of spring peepers this evening, in full throat for the first time this spring. Earlier, as they were warming up, they provided a back-up for a robin’s triumphant solo with all the grace notes and considerable volume. I was out on the porch a short while ago (9:00 pm ish) and the sky was still blue well after sunset and a bright star (probably a planet, in truth) had been hung in the branches of the oak tree. May 1^st, and, yes, spring. Finally.

Lots of buds

In fact, my daffodils are finally deciding that they are going to bloom after all. We had a day yesterday of soft rain and the back field turned green and the tight, cold-rejecting buds in my bulb bed began to take notice. Today a lot of the minis are in bloom and the whole bed begins to look promising.

The oak tree is now the only tree in what I think of as the front of our house, even if the front door is on the other side. Very close to the screen porch there was a large and somewhat decrepit black cherry and in front of that a clump of birch that had never really recovered after the ice storm. To get the cherry to fall away from the house, JG had to cut the birch away. So, down it came, and the cherry followed. Poor guy has just finished raking up all the dead crunchy stuff that broke off when it was felled, but it did land exactly where he had planned for it to go. He hauled the trunk away while there was still snow on frozen ground and cut it up. Today he split some of it and remarked that there was a lot of rot in the lower trunk. Good thing he got it down. But it does change the view from the screen porch.

The two stumps, one centre and one just showing to the right of the oak trunk are the new cuts.

 Word Nanny wants me to put a comma after ‘But’ in the sentence above, but I am not going to do it. That is how I write and I WANT that to be two sentences. Word Nanny is just about as unreasonable as my Grade 13 English teacher sometimes. If I want to be colloquial, it is for a reason. Damn it! And I will swear if I want to. This is a blog, not an erudite essay. I still recall that teacher with a mixture of horror and amusement. Her name was McIntosh. We had Macbeth as our Shakespearean play and the woman hung a wooden knife from a light fixture when she read us the ‘Is that a dagger …” speech. Honest. She did. Ever after, we referred to her as Mac the Knife.

Um, where was I? Oh yes, May, spring, flowers and song. There will be a half moon along before very long. We have a small flock of turkeys wandering in and out of the back field, mostly to check out the feeding station to see if the deer left then any corn. The male is hopefully displaying and pacing and the females are paying him absolutely no attention whatsoever. Poor guy.

I took out the corn and deer ration to the feeding rock this afternoon and there was a doe who just stood close by and watched me set up the piles. As soon as I stepped away, four more, all does, simply materialized out of the bush. I had made five piles. Three deer trotted up and started eating. The fourth ignored her pile and chased the smallest of the five away from the rock. Mean. The deer are not quite as horrid to one another as the hummingbirds, but the fully adult does can be pretty ugly to the smaller ones.

I have to rummage through the storage room and find the hummer feeders asap. There is forsythia out in Perth, I am told, so the hummers will be along. No trillium yet. One mosquito in the kitchen at supper time. Ah, spring.

Hey, you up there on the snow cloud.

MEMO

TO:         Weather Gods

FROM:  MPG

RE:          Overnight Snow

DATE:    April 22

Please note date above.

As of this date, no more snow is required. Please send warm and gentle rain instead. Sunshine would be good also, but that may be beyond your capacity at present.

Propitiation will continue as burnt offerings in the woodstove until further notice. Weather dances are cancelled for the present due to cold-aggravated arthritis.

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Faking it.

The lock-up affects us all in different ways.

In a moment of madness I went looking for face  mask patterns through Google search and found several. My helpful husband also found and printed off one for me to use. I dug into boxes of craft materials that I have not accessed since the grand girl got too old to come out here and make things while we looked after her for her parents (she was putting in her own zippers by her last visit). I have piles of suitable fabric and filter material. I looked for and found an incredible assortment of sizes of elastic. And got at it, yesterday.

Needless to say, the first try was an abject failure. I used the pattern JG found

and it turned out to be way too big and too loose. I am now about to embark on a second that strikes me as being a bit small, but we will see. Goodness knows I have lots of stuff to keep at it until I get one that actually works. In the meantime, a Facebook friend who is an incredibly talented seamstress has made one mask (that she posted about anyway) that not only works and fits but has a matched pattern on it. Oh, well.

More on this topic later. Maybe. For non-sewers, I promise to warn you.

My other preoccupation has been, of course, news. On the internet, on the radio, in our two daily papers. Quite a bit of it is very confusing. Quite a bit of it is bad for my blood pressure. Some of it made me cry. And I made a most embarrassing discovery about a mistake I have been making for quite some time.

I have this prejudice about the meaning of words. I like them to be used the way I think is accurate. I can work myself up to a really good grumble when someone uses ‘decimate’ to mean a high but indeterminate number of deaths. You see, I was a Roman era scholar back in the day and learned that ‘decimate’ means ‘destroy one in ten’, * I know that the meaning has broadened, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

* Definition of decimate (transitive verb)

1: to select by lot and kill every tenth man of, decimate a regiment

2: to exact a tax of 10 percent from

3a: to reduce drastically especially in number. cholera decimated the population

The connection between decimate and the number ten harks back to a brutal practice of the army of ancient Rome. A unit that was guilty of a severe crime (such as mutiny) was punished by selecting and executing one-tenth of its soldiers, thereby scaring the remaining nine-tenths into obedience.

It's no surprise that the word for this practice came from Latin decem, meaning "ten." From this root we also get our word decimal and the name of the month of December, originally the tenth month of the calendar before the second king of Rome decided to add January and February. In its extended uses decimate strayed from its "tenth" meaning and nowadays refers to the act of destroying or hurting something in great numbers.

Decimation by William Hogarth Beavers, Roman Military Punishments, Chapter 4 (Wikipedia)

Um, I was going somewhere before I got diverted into Merriam-Webster. Oh yes. It finally percolated through my thick skull that the modern world is using ‘fake news’ not to mean something that is made up rather than real but to indicate something that is exaggerated by the press beyond its neutral news value. Not as in ‘fake it till you make it’. Back to Google.**

** adjective: fake, not genuine; counterfeit.

Similar: forgery, counterfeit, copy, sham’ fraudulent

(of a person) claiming to be something that one is not, "a fake doctor"

There are even several definitions*** of ‘fake news’ that could have clued me in earlier if I had not been so arrogant.

*** Fake news is written and published usually with the intent to mislead in order to damage an agency, entity, or person, and/or gain financially or politically, often using sensationalist, dishonest, or outright fabricated headlines to increase readership, (Wikipedia)

Words that ‘stray from their original meaning’. Little lost sheep, Bah, humbug. I feel obliged to take a different look at what President Trump has been trumpeting about, much as I would rather scrub toilets.

https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/media/what-it-really-means-when-trump-calls-a-story-fake-news/2020/04/13/56fbe2c0-7d8c-11ea-9040-68981f488eed_story.html

It is so easy to misread someone’s comments when a word is not being used in the same sense by both parties. I recall pleading with my junior high school students to regard language as a tool and realize that the sharper the tool, the better the result. I have not long since been hammering at my ESL students to try to get them to understand that there is a difference between the simple tenses and the progressive tenses. (‘I eat my breakfast at 8:00’ am vs ‘I am eating my breakfast’) My father was a lawyer, my mother a life-long student and teacher of English. They used to argue about language, my mother accusing my father of obfuscation in some legal document he had written and my father complaining that Shakespeare was not poetry because it did not rhyme. (Not hard to see why I turned out the way I am, eh.) And misreading plays hob with cooperation and fellowship.

To top it all off, of the patterns I found that made sense to me, only one mentions seam allowance width and it is not clear whether you are to cut it outside the provided pattern or not. I am going to have a lot of masks of wildly variegated sizes before I get one right, I can tell. Ah well, I do have a lot of time to spend on this project.