A short tale over a long trek.

My father did not live excessively. He did not understand waste…throwing things away, not eating the food on your plate, overspending…..I believe it actually hurt him to see any of this happening. He was also not a man who talked simply for the sake of talking. Perhaps this is why I vividly remember the day he showed me the bluebells growing on the cliff by our wharf. He liked ( I was going to write ‘was amazed by’, but that would have been too excessive) the way they grew there in little or no soil, and thrived against the elements. He liked their tenacity and determination.

While hiking I have seen many bluebells and always stop and admire them. I, too, marvel at where and how they grow. I love their colour, their shape, and their tenacity.

Keels, Newfoundland 2017

A Bluebell for Dad

Hope is the periwinkle softness
nestled in the craggy cliff,
rising from the salty beach rock
growing and blooming against all odds.
It is the tiny sturdy stem
bending, but not breaking
in the ferocious gale.
It is the cheeky bell shaped flower
that asks nothing of me,
yet brings such joy and pleasure
if I just fix my gaze upon it.
Carol (White) Fudge

My mother was born in Traytown and I loved spending my summer holidays there. Traytown and the Eastport Peninsula is another beautiful area of our province. The Beaches Arts & Heritage Centre has become another favourite place of mine. Their many shows, events, artists’ displays and craft sales bring me back every year.

Winning 1st place in the Literary Competition at the Centre was insignificant in the literary world, but I’ll take it, be thankful, hold on and perhaps be a little cheeky.:)