AN EXTRAORDINARY BIRTHDAY GIFT

On my last birthday, I saw the little red flag on my rural mailbox was raised, so I headed across the street to bring in the mail. Inside the mailbox was a soft package, and my sister's handwriting was on the package. My sister, who lives in Kingston, has developed an interest in needlework in recent years. A couple of years back, she quilted a set of placemats for me depicting a row of Newfoundland jellybean houses: those brightly-coloured rowhouses that line some of the streets of St. John's. I love the placemats, use them often, and they never fail to attract admiration from guests, especially because while the colours are the same, each of them is unique. I got back to the house, opened the package, and was amazed to see a piece of textile art inside. It was a landscape, and while it had a familiar appearance, I couldn't quite place it. She had sewn pieces of brown patterned fabric in the shape of tree trunks, against a background of pearl-white satin. You know how they say a picture is worth a thousand words? Here's the piece of textile art.

Once I had marvelled over the piece, I recognized a spot of yellow on the piece, which instantly located the scene: it was an image of my little yellow boathouse on the edge of a pond, as seen through the trees. I was transfixed to realize she had even added the reflection of the boathouse in the pond water. Inside the package was a note from her, explaining that she had found a photograph on this blog, and decided to render it in fabric as a gift for me. It took me a while to find the photograph, and I'm not going to make it easy for you, either. You'll have to scroll back to a blog post entitled Spring Forward, dated March 6, 2022, when I'd gone down to the island for my first visit of the year, after an unbearably long winter, and had my first presentiment that winter might actually end. It's odd that I should choose today to write this blog post, as it snowed again for the first time this afternoon. Once I'd gotten familiar with this new piece of art for my home, I had to decide how to display it. I'd been saving a beautiful piece of board, and I mounted the piece of textile art on it, and decided to title it Boathouse. I photographed it for my sister; she also liked the board backdrop, but suggested I add some text underneath, to anchor it. I read through the blog post, found a few lines of text which I felt captured the mood of the textile art, and wrote that text underneath. Then I sent a photograph of it to my sister. "Perfect', she said. And that is how I come to have this remarkable piece of art hanging on the wall of one of the guestrooms. Our great-nephew, Benjamin, was recently visiting for a few days. He immediately recognized the scene, as the island is one of his favourite places to visit, and he was just amazed that Auntie Lesley had made such a beautiful work of art. He has since claimed that room for his own, and given me a colour scheme for the walls. Here's how it looks. I can't begin to tell you how delighted I am with it. This is a gift that has made getting older feel worthwhile.

THE RETURN OF KAT AND JOSH

If you've been reading this blog for a while ('a while' being last October), you'll recall that I sold my beloved motorcycle, Clyde, to a fabulous young woman named Katarina. Her partner, Josh, was already a motorcyclist and Kat was just about to take her test. It had been a stressful time for me, worrying about giving up Clyde and therefore, my youth. I didn't want him to go to the wrong owner. I wanted him to go to another female rider, one who would care for him and love him like I did. Well, when I met Kat, I suddenly lost all my stress, because she was so right for Clyde, and Clyde seemed to feel the same about her. I was really thrilled to have a text from Kat to say she'd passed the motorcycle test and when spring came, she and Josh would be out getting used to riding the open road together...but apart, on two separate bikes. We planned that once she was comfortable, they'd ride up here for a visit, so I could see Clyde - and them - again. A couple of weeks ago, Kat and Josh made good on their promise. I was pretty thrilled!

I took them on a walk around the property, nonchalantly swinging my chainsaw, because Josh and I had joked last year that we were going to see if Kat also wanted to add "lumberjack" to her resume. Now, Kat had never taken down a tree with a chainsaw before, but she was definitely not intimidated, listened carefully to the instructions, and promptly took down two trees. I didn't measure, but they were at least 15 feet high. I was out on the land today and was amused to see that a third tree, very near Kat's trees, had come down all on its own. It was probably thinking, "If Kat comes back, I'm a goner. Might as well call it a day right now." Well, I definitely hope they'll both come up for a longer visit. It's funny: you occasionally meet new people and instantly realize you like them uncommonly well. That is the case with Kat and Josh. Somehow it feels like they belong here. A word on Clyde: Kat has made some excellent improvements to Clyde: removed the windscreen and the logos on the gas tank, installed new mirrors and repositioned the licence plate. Clyde looks so handsome. I'm looking forward to seeing them all again soon.

LOGGING ON (THE ISLAND)

There are a fair number of tall, skinny trees on the island, but the tree I'm here to tell you about today is a tall, skinny, diseased, dead maple with a distinct tilt southwest. It looks like an accident waiting to happen. When I say tall, I estimated this one at around 70 feet. It's one of the taller trees on the island, and because it's so high up there, it looks much skinnier than it is.

I decided last fall that one of my first spring projects would be to bring it down and cut it up. It wasn't until I headed down there with my larger chainsaw that I realized how much thicker it was than the capacity of my chain saw. However, since the lower trunk is bifurcated, I figured I could tackle each fork of the trunk individually. I had a new chain on the chainsaw, and I'd charged up two batteries. The eastern fork of the trunk was really no problem. Clearly all the strength of the tree was on the west side. I'm a patient person, so I worked on it carefully until the bar and chain of the saw got pinched by the weight of the tree leaning down on it. This happens frequently in my experience, so I didn't waste time trying to pull it free. After all, this tree was maple, not balsa wood. I opened up the side door of the chainsaw, disconnected the bar and chain from the sprockets, and left them in the tree. In the worst case scenario, I figured I could buy a new bar and chain. It was starting to rain, so I came home with only the body of the chainsaw, charged up the batteries and decided to wait overnight, because it occasionally happens that a partially cut tree that is leaning will be overcome by gravity and come down on its own. This morning it was still standing, but the cut through the east fork of the trunk was considerably wider. That seemed encouraging. The previous day I'd been emailing with my friend Neil, whose farm is 20 times the size of mine and who knows all too well that I was working far above my pay grade. He strongly recommended I get a professional to finish the job. As I was thinking of heading back up to the house and calling up a tree company, I heard a distinct sound that I recognize: it's not really a cracking sound but it's half way between a woodpecker and a gunshot if one were wearing ear protection. It's a sound that says, "Lady, you need to be over 70 feet away from the scene of this crime in a hurry, and you'd better get there the long way around." Did I mention I was wearing my new dressing gown? I often wear it over my clothes when I'm at home. So I walked the long way around the edge of the island, crossed the bridge, and I was standing on the bank of the river, at least 100 feet from the tree, gazing up at it. I really did not want to miss seeing its descent. I stood there for about 15 minutes, and noticed every time there was a gust of wind, I heard the woodpecker/gunshot sound again. As the wind picked up, the sound came more frequently, and all of a sudden, the tree started to fall straight in my direction. It landed exactly as I'd hoped it would land - and there on top of the stump I could see my bar and chain, just lying there doing nothing. Postscript: I went home to retrieve my phone and a tape measure. The tree turned out to be only 60 feet high, as the crow flies, but the trunk wasn't completely straight. If it had been, I'd have exceeded my maximum tree height by an impressive amount.

The thing is, the whole endeavour felt a little too risky. A tree can suddenly torque when it's being sawn through, and come down in an unpredictable way. I'm comfortable with a fair amount of risk, but I don't like unmanageable risk. So I think I may take Neil's good advice and confine my lumberjacking to things like cutting up tree stumps.

FUN WITH A CHAINSAW

There's an ancient apple tree overhanging the sloping roof of the garden shed. It's like a hen that's too old to lay eggs. I was planning to climb onto the roof of the shed with the chainsaw and take it down, one piece at a time, before a storm takes it down for me. Today it's the first really warm day of spring and I'm out doing heavy work, so I figured, why not have a go at doing it from ground level? In my mind, it was of smaller diameter than it is in real life. I nearly changed my mind when I saw how thick it was and how many knots the trunk has. Knots are really tough to saw through. I sharpened the large chainsaw, oiled it up and started cutting.

I knew which way I wanted it to land. As I could see my cut widening, I knew the thickest part would land near the edge of the sloping roof. I was worried it might go right through the roof. What to do? What to do? In the shed there are some thick foam cushions for the big deck chairs. I positioned them on the roof right under the main pressure point. Then I got a twelve-foot aluminum ladder and lay it on the roof beside the cushions. I figured it would act as a giant snowshoe. Then I got a length of rope and tied the upper trunk off, tying the other end to a pine tree. I figured if it started to crack, I'd guide it in the right direction by pulling on the rope. Let me tell you, it worked like a charm.

The tree came gently down onto the roof and balanced on the foam cushions. I didn't even need the rope. I just stood behind the tree trunk and wished I had my iPad with me to film the descent. There I was, telling myself I'd chosen a poor angle to cut and wondering if I should start over with a brand new cut (never a good idea because multiple cuts greatly increase the unpredictability of the descent) but it was like that apple tree was skydiving. Apple wood is wonderful for burning in a wood stove. It's fragrant, burns hot, and - at least in this case - it's free. And now, if you will excuse me, I'll go and retrieve the ladder from the roof.

HARD TO SWALLOW

We are not alone. I'm here to report that squatters have taken up residence in the carport. Yesterday one of my neighbours dropped by. We were standing at the doorway chatting when I saw something black whooshing through the carport, doing a U turn and then making a speedy exit. My neighbour turned just in time to see it. "It might be a barn swallow", she said. Sure enough, on closer inspection, there was a newly built nest in tuhe rafters of the carport, on top of one of the long fluorescent light fixtures.

Last fall, I'd had swallows evicted from the roof cavity and I know they like to return, year after year, to the scene of the crime. So here we are again. Wait'll they find out how rarely I turn on the fluorescents: if they're hoping their nest has heated floors, it's going to be a grave disappointment. I have a soft spot for birds, and if they want to nest in the rafters, I'm prepared to be a pretty good landlord. But this morning I noticed my shiny black car, the sleek and lovely Lorraine, had a lot of bird droppings on the rear left taillight. A quick trip to the car wash took care of that, but I've had to move my car to the other side of the carport for the season. Better get those babies housebroken, Mrs. Swallow. Wouldn't want to aggravate the S.O.B. Landlord, now, would we?

THE GREEN DOOR

I had a sudden urge for a different front door colour. Maybe it's going to become an annual tradition because this is the third time I've repainted it in three years. When I bought the house, it was a pale orange. Prior to that it was dark fuchsia. The entranceway is a bit sepulchral, being under the carport, so the door needs a jolt of colour. I first primed it in light blue, then painted it royal blue, with matching railings. It looked good, but blue is a tricky colour. Depending on the shade, it can easily call to mind a recycling bin. I've always liked the combination of blue and green, as long as they are equivalent in saturation, so this time I chose as close to emerald green as I could find. It's taken four coats already, and could probably use another. But so far, this is the look of 2022.

DOWN BY THE FENCE LINE

These early spring days can be unpredictable: cool, cold, freezing, rainy, snowy, a hailstorm, high winds, and occasionally, warm. We're not even half way through April, but we've already had four days warm enough for me to be outside in a T shirt. These are bonus days, and I'm making the most of them. I feel as though I'd been shot out of a cannon, and that's just as well, because there's lots of outside work to do. On Day One of the warm days, I got out the weedwhacker and cut back all the overgrown greenery around Pond One. On Day Two, I took the Good Ship Louise out of drydock (in the drive shed) and pulled her down to the edge of Pond Two with the tractor. I raked up all the leaves that had amassed in the carport over the winter, collected and split enough kindling to last me till the cows come home, and then I went out rowing on Group of Seven Pond. It was pretty excellent, but I've got a lot of upper arm strength to rebuild. On Day Three of the warm days, I went out on Pond Two, and dredged out all the logs than had broken off and fallen in during the winter. This is heavy work, but once the branches are dragged onto the shore to dry out, it looks like a lot has been accomplished. Today was Day Four. It was a beautiful, warm day and I decided that since next week is going to be rainy, I'd better get started clearing the south fence line. I've been working at this project sporadically since I got here three years ago, but it's astonishing how much grows back over one season. There's an old cedar split rail fence running for several hundred feet. It separates my property from Cathy's property (she's my neighbour to the south and has become a good and trusted friend). A fence between us is a bit of a joke, honestly, because we never think twice about being on each other's property. We share tools and keep an eye out for each other. If she's in town and I need tofu or bok choy, she's on it, stat. If she needs me to run a security check on her property, same deal. But, you know, there's the old fence and I really like to look at it, all moss-covered and weatherbeaten. So I started clearing the fence line of all the tenacious tangled vines but are actually an invasive species, called grape-something. I think I cleared about 200 feet today. Here's the first section:

This part of the world is very rocky terrain. Not far from the fence line are two large rocks that always cause me misery. One is very angular and in an awkward spot. If the tractor ever hit that rock, I'd be both in hospital and in the market for a new tractor. The second is like an iceberg: 90% of it is below the surface. The top 10% is covered with moss, so the mower deck of the tractor has hit it several times over the years. I decided both rocks had to be moved. The angular one wasn't too bad. I basically grabbed it and tried to tip it over. On the tenth try, I succeeded. I may need some help relocating it but for now it's out of my way. It may not look all that big in this photo, but it is a brute.

The iceberg rock, I quickly discovered, needed to be dug out. Turns out it had two sidekick rocks, one on either side, but they were of manageable size, and I moved them with ease. It took me three tries to dig down enough to dislodge this huge rock. I needed a shovel, a crowbar, a length of wood and a manual tiller. The cavity it'll leave when it's finally out of the hole will be big enough to bury me in. I've had a good idea, though: I can bring a length of rope down there, wrap the rock in rope, tie it off securely, tie the other end of the rope to the tractor, and try to drag it out. If you never hear from me again, it's likely because this wasn't such a good idea after all. Stay tuned!