Scenes from Lake Louisa

At the lake

Window Wars

I love birds. I love birds more than I love clean windows.

On the lake side of our cottage is a two-storey wall of windows which, I admit, afford us a beautiful view of our lake. After many years of living in this cottage, we learned the hard way that when the windows are sparkling clean, the birds bonk into them on an almost daily basis. Our first summer of Avian Carnage included bluejays, grosbeaks, goldfinches, chickadees (no actual deaths as they're like fuzzy ping pong balls) nuthatches, and heartbreakingly, one hummingbird.

I have fought every summer since to leave the windows dirty. The little bits of dust and detritus from the trees were enough to alert the birds that this was not a safe thoroughfare. Hey, I'm not a tidy person by any stretch of the imagination so it was no hardship for me. I could still see out the windows, and the birds benefited, so it was a win-win.

My husband didn't buy it. He's a tidy-pants dentisty type of person and those sorts of people like things clean. But whenever he brought up the subject I'd distract him with a cold beer. This worked for about ten years.

The problem is, he's also a task-oriented kind of guy. It's a weekend wasted if some chore or another isn't completed. He has a mental checklist he carries around in his head and then goes through every Sunday night. (If he spent, say, a weekend lounging on a couch reading novels and eating junk food, his disappointment in himself would be profound. I, on the other hand, think this is a perfectly reasonable way to spend a Saturday.) So on his holiday this summer, he didn't loll, he hauled out the extension ladder and washed all the windows.

Almost immediately, the bird bonking began. Earlier in the day, I'd spent an hour or so watching two young yellow-shafted northern flickers preening and hunting for bugs, figuring out how I might photograph them to the best advantage, then one of them hit a clean window and died at my feet. A few hours later, my first sighting of a Blackburnian Warbler became my last as it too hit the Freshly Washed Panes of Death.


I'd post photos but the birds died before I had the chance to take any photos if you catch my drift.

An "animated discussion" ensued between my husband and I, interrupted by a group of young men who dropped by for a social call (i.e., beer and chips) and soon wished they hadn't. My husband's solution was to hang plastic lids from strings as the boys looked on. They bounced around in the wind and clattered on the glass not unlike birds bonking into windows (the lids, not the boys.)

My temporary solution? I removed the lids and replaced them with strips of tin foil, which now flutter about with the slightest breeze. The reflective nature of the foil coupled with the screechy sounds as the foil scrapes the glass serves its purpose as there have been no bird deaths reported.

However it now appears that the Blair Witch has taken up residence, and the noise is unnerving in the extreme, as it sounds as though she is scraping her long filthy fingernails across the glass trying to get in.

Ideas, anyone? I've heard of these ultraviolet cutouts that can be applied to windows, that are transparent to humans but appear solid to birds. Anyone use these?

Gone Fishin'

The Novel Woman's posts will be more erratic than usual, i.e., less frequent not "deviating from the normal or conventional in behavior or opinions" although that might be up for debate.

I'll be spending a good chunk of the summer at the lake, where there is no internet access. Okay, there is, because it was introduced this year, but at great cost both to one's wallet and to one's freedom to sit quietly on the porch with a book in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other.

Yes, if I had high speed wireless I could stay connected, but there are other ways to do that. Like playing board games with kids and guests until the wee hours, singing songs at a lakeside bonfire, relating stories from childhood with friends and family and snuggling with my husband. I guess that's the way I want to be connected. And I do a lot more reading and writing when there are no other distractions.

If I'm desperate, I can wander up the road to my Swedish neighbours and "borrow" some internet time from their front porch, or kitchen if they're up. They make me coffee and joke about becoming an Internet Cafe. But more often than not, once emails are checked, the laptop is put aside and we're sharing a laugh over lunch.

No. I don't think I want internet access.

So see you when I see you. I'll post when I can. In the meantime, I'll be writing, reading a delicious stack of novels I've saved for summer, photographing anything that takes my fancy, and swimming at dusk under blazing skies in a cold, black lake while the loons call back and forth.

Mother's Day. It's all over but the shoutin'...

Well, the shoutin' and the photos.

Sure fresh flowers are bee-youtiful, but they quickly fade. But, I took some shots of the sweet little arrangement my girls picked up for me, and it's almost as good as having the real thing.

Almost.







And now, I'm off to check on the cottage where we're doing a few renos. Last weekend, we stopped to say hello to Farmer C. who looks after the place when we're not there.

Apparently, according to Farmer C., there have been timber wolves out and about. As in, right in his back yard in full view of his farmhouse. And coyotes, which we knew about. Then Farmer C. told us how he and two neighbours went out on the frozen lake this winter to rescue a deer. There were three deer trying to cross the lake to get to the island. Two of them made it, but one fell on the ice, which was so glassy and smooth, every attempt to right itself ended up in failure, its legs splayed leaving the poor deer (no pun intended) close to exhaustion. So the three men went and lassoed the deer, who was at the end of its rope (no pun intended) then they pulled the deer to a rough patch so it could get back on its feet (no pun intended.)

But, most exciting of all (well, the timber wolves are pretty exciting) he saw a moose right on our property! I really hope I get a glimpse of one this year.

Okay, this post was clearly all over the map.

Easter Weekend

Then and now. To recap:

Two years ago, my three kids were off on their own adventures for Easter weekend (university and New York City to visit cousins respectively) so my husband and I thought we'd escape up to our cottage for a romantic weekend of our own. We'd had mad snowfalls that winter, but we spoke to the fellow who plows our driveway and he assured us the road was a go. He'd also shoveled our cottage roof because there was a concern about the weight bringing the whole structure crashing down.

I drove, as per our usual agreement (windy twisty road = one carsick passenger, so it's a given I drive anywhere with windy, twisty roads) and arrived to find that although the road leading into our cottage was technically clear of snow, the bright sun had turned it into a hill of thick ice. Thick, unsalted, unsanded ice. And when I say "discovered" I mean after I crested the hill. And by "drive" I mean gripping the wheel of what was now a giant sled without brakes nor capacity to steer while screaming like a cat in a blender.

Luckily my husband talked me through it "Don't brake just go let it go LET IT GO! If we get through this honey, I'll take you to Paris and we'll stay in the finest hotel!" (At least that's how I remember it.) Once we got to the bottom of our road, I threw our car into 4-wheel drive and gunned it up our driveway which was also covered in ice. At this point, the long drive coupled with the giant coffee I'd consumed along the way and the rush of adrenaline meant a desperate need for the loo. One small problem - I couldn't see our front door. What our driveway guy neglected to mention was that the snow he and his helper had thoughtfully turfed off the roof was now piled on top of the mountain of snow that had accumulated on the decks. To refresh your memory, this is what stood between me and the loo.

This marked the beginning of our romantic weekend. That's Doug digging right below the roof looking for the front door, the top of which is just below his boots.

Fast forward to this past weekend.

We had another opportunity to spend a couple of days at the cottage on our own before a big family Easter brunch. The experience could not have been more dramatically different than two years ago. The sun was shining, the snow practically gone except for random bits in the shade of the deepest woods. In fact, Saturday went to a record high of around 26C, and we found ourselves dressed in shorts. There was something very strange about hopping over snow-covered steps in flip flops in order to get to the deck, but it was hot enough to justify wearing them.

The ice still covers the lake, but it changed in one day from white to dark gray, indicating it is ready to sink any day now.

And at the edges, I saw water. That's actual meltage people! I resisted the urge to jump up and down on the ice to hasten its demise.

So it was that I sat with my husband by a frozen lake on the hottest spring day on record with a gin and tonic in one hand, and a juicy novel in the other. The breeze swirled around us, sometimes hot sometimes cold, depending on its direction. If it passed over the frozen lake, it was as though someone opened a freezer door in a hot room. Then it would change direction and swirl around from the sun-warmed cedar woods, so it was as though someone had suddenly covered us with a blanket warmed from the dryer. It was just amazing, and thrilling because we Canadians count on days like this. It's our reward for our long winters. This was like winning the weather jackpot.

The chipmunks and bluejays were back to beg for peanuts, the cheeky red squirrels were bickering and chasing each other up and down the birches over the sunflower seeds I'd put out for the chickadees, and there was even a large pileated woodpecker hammering away on a stump. And no bugs to bug us, no blackflies, mosquitoes or deerflies. Nada. Just serenity.

And say hello to this little guy who landed on our deck:

I don't care that it's overcast and cool today, nor that they say it's going back to a more seasonal 5C by the end of the week. This weekend acted like a tonic on the soul battered by another winter.

Field Trip

Went to visit a friend this week. She has a new cottage. The weather was iffy, it being November. But it was still wonderful to be in the country.
Her lake is long and shallow, so the ice is already forming.

Her cottage is warm and cosy. Not so the old outhouse in the woods.
But it still has its charms.
I liked this old tree, struggling to hang on, its roots wrapped around a mossy rock.
And at the base of this tree, a magic door where a sprite lives. I opened the door to see inside, just to make sure.
A Happy Thanksgiving to all my American friends!

Summer is winding down

There is a day, every summer, when you know the warm days are coming to an end. There is a subtle shift in the air, the light is different, the mornings a bit colder and one day, you catch a whiff of smoke from someone's fireplace and you know it's time to say goodbye for another year. We're almost at that point, but I cling to the myth that summer ain't over until the last kayak is put away, the bird feeder is packed up, and the garden is put to bed. My nephew agrees.



I'm still at the cottage, which is why my posts are few and far between. Forgive me if I haven't responded to your emails or comments. Dial-up is so long and frustrating I want to pitch my laptop in the lake, so every so often (when I can't stand it anymore) I wander down the dirt road to my friend Anna's cottage and steal a bit of her high speed time while we share a cup of Chai tea. So forgive me. I will be back. Just not yet.

I've still got a few more days here in paradise before I pack up and fly my Youngest to university. It's bittersweet saying goodbye to one's children - you know they're going to be having one of the greatest adventures of their lives, where they will make life-long friends, perhaps meet the love of their lives, choose a career path, discover books and philosophy and aspects of themselves they never knew existed. But it's wrenching for a mother to watch yet another child leave home. And it's just as hard the third time around as it was the first.

Every little birdie has to leave the nest someday, or so they say. I say fight dirty and stock the nest with homemade brownies, lots of cold cuts and a flat-screen TV.

Room at the table

It's been a crazy few weeks full of drama and excitement, both good and not so good. My husband and I decided to head up to the cottage and check on things and try to relax a little this past weekend, but we hadn't anticipated how COLD it was going to be. I stepped outside on Sunday morning and could see my breath! It did, however, keep the blackflies in check. And we (okay, my husband) managed to get the dock stained and ready for another summer of heavy use. Despite the frigid temperatures both on and off the lake, two brave souls went forth, clad in wetsuits, and christened the lake on a Seadoo. Behold The Cousins, Matt and Chris:

I (my husband) installed the bird feeder again, and my little friends found it almost immediately. Even the hummingbirds paid a visit, chirping their impatience, so I filled their feeder too. They were too fast for me to capture before the blackflies moved in, but the chickadees have always been more accommodating.
Last night we stumbled home late and exhausted to find a house full of kids and friends plus our niece up from Colorado (who is getting married this coming weekend) along with her Newfoundland puppy, the gentle giant Medved. We threw together a last minute dinner of bbq'd chicken and salad and potatoes and beer and a homemade rhubard cake from rhubard pulled from my country garden. Then my son surprised us when he walked in the door so we made room at the table and put out another plate.

Just like love, there is always enough for everyone.

More photos to come, but this week is going to be a logistical challenge. You'll see....

Scenes from a cottage

And so it is that time of year when we drag our docks and boats from the lake, store deck chairs in the shed, and split wood for the fireplace. It was a gorgeous Thanksgiving weekend at the lake, warm and sunny with no hint of the cold about to descend like an unwelcome guest. But the leaves are just past their peak, the water is too cold for swimming, and so it is with heavy hearts we say goodbye to summer. For real.

The garden has a few stragglers, but there has already been a killing frost, and so it must be put to bed until Spring.

Cold wind of autumn, blowing loud
At dawn, a fortnight overdue,
Jostling the doors, and tearing through
My bedroom to rejoin the cloud,
I know—for I can hear the hiss
And scrape of leaves along the floor—
How may boughs, lashed bare by this,
Will rake the cluttered sky once more.
Tardy, and somewhat south of east,
The sun will rise at length, made known
More by the meagre light increased
Than by a disk in splendour shown;
When, having but to turn my head,
Through the stripped maple I shall see,
Bleak and remembered, patched with red,
The hill all summer hid from me.
(Edna St. Vincent Millay)