A truly happy person is one who can……..

FeaturedA truly happy person is one who can……..

…..enjoy the scenery while on a detour. (Anonymous)

We spent some time in Eastport in October 2017 and enjoyed many delicious meals, shows and activities. Finding ourselves with some time to spare between activities, we decided to hike the Sandy Cove Look-Out trail. It was an overcast dreary day and the hike was uphill but not very long.

The trail winds through trees and is fairly nondescript, but I always like to finish a trail once I have started, so we kept going.

We have to take personal responsibility for uplifting our lives. The Sacred Path of the Warrior Chogyam Trungpa

The trail was wet, dark and grey.

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At the top, the Canadian flag flies precariously in the wind.

In summer, beautiful Sandy Cove beach is a favourite of mine.

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My husband saw this beautiful Caribou Moss and took photos.


It was the bright spot of the hike and I am so glad we took the detour.

“But,in my simple ignorance, suppose
That self-same Power that brought me there
brought you.”
The Rhodora Ralph Waldo Emerson

photos L & C Fudge

Magical Cape Spear

FeaturedMagical Cape Spear

Hiking around the boardwalks and trails of Cape Spear is always beautiful and for me spiritual; hiking it with one of my grandchildren is pure magic.

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“Walking gives freedom. When you walk you can determine your own tempo. You can choose your own course. You can think whatever you want.”      Nina Kuscik

Normally, I would agree with this quote but in this case, my four year old grandson chose the tempo and the course, and my thinking was limited to ….stay away from the cliffs, do not lose sight of him, do not run, do not spoil his day with too many warnings……….

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Wait for me!

On my previous visits to Cape Spear, I had never explored this!

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Surely with this workout, he will sleep tonight!

I truly do not understand people who abuse our earth with excess garbage, it will only sustain us for so long. Awesome is everywhere, let’s preserve it.

Photos by L. Fudge

Cape Spear, Newfoundland …..add it to your bucket list!

“Walk as if you are  kissing the earth with your feet. No one saves us but ourselves. No one can and no one may. We ourselves must walk the path.” Buddha

An early morning tale………

An early morning tale………

followed by a 5 km trek.

An early morning rise, with the warm, velvet liquid of my tea going slowly and longingly down my throat. My eyes are closed to savour each welcome mouthful.
I open my eyes and see my scraggly spruce having, what appears to be, a venomous, aggressive debate. There is much pointing of fingers and threatening swaying back and forth, perhaps they are severely disgruntled with their unkempt appearance. This continued for most of the day. I trusted that they would end it peacefully.

Today they seem to be more settled and are standing tall and rooted. They seem to know their importance. I like that about trees, they have a strong sense of self.

Gerald Squires wrote the following about trees.

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by Gerald Squires

His paintings bring our barren, rustic landscape …….to, to….just what they are…it’s as if you are seeing the real thing. His notes and writings which are found in Gerald Squires by Stan Dragland, were to me an unexpected find. This is a book that really should be bought and read.

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It was an eerie morning in the Cove…….

It was an eerie morning in the Cove…….

……and the spiders were somewhat disgruntled with me for always brushing their webs from my clothesline. I awoke to find that they had been busy overnight hanging their own line.

Fog

by Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Web in Red

Web in Red

The Spider and The Fly

by Mary Howitt (1799-1888)

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the spider to the fly;
“’Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy.
The way into my parlor is up a winding stair,
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the spider to the fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in.”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly, “Dear friend, what shall I do,
To prove the warm affection I’ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome; will you please to take a slice?”
“O no, no,” said the little fly, “kind sir, that cannot be;
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature!” said the spider, “You’re witty and you’re wise!
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you’re pleased to say,
And bidding you good-morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready to dine upon the fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing
“Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing:
Your robes are green and purple; there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little fly,
Hearing his wily flattering words, came slowly flitting by.
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue;
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlor; but she ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed;
Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.

Web

I had never read this in its entirety before. A gem of a fable!

Dogberries, birdhouses and gnomes enjoying the soft fog and mist.

Any treats?

Any treats?

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

L. Fudge photos

A Sunday Trek along Bight Road

A Sunday Trek along Bight Road

Walking gives freedom. When you walk you can determine your own tempo. You can choose your own course. You can think whatever you want. Nina Kuscik

A beautiful fall day along the Wild Bight Road.

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The times they are a’changin.
While I don’t see Bob Dylan in this setting, his words ring true.

Peaceful and serene.

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The little red tractor….sure miss stopping and talking to Gerald Head.

Dogberries are so plentiful this year….and so beautiful as they add their splash of colour to the landscape.

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Thankfully there is no change here, the colours are vibrant.

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A lazy Sunday in the fields.

October’s Party by George Cooper

October gave a party
The leaves by hundreds came-
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
In jolly “hands around.”

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October dressing for her pool party.

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Bight Road

O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds,thy wide grey skies!
The mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
All all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Edna St. Vincent Millay