My week: March 10-16, 2025

For many years now, it’s been hard to see the point in blogging. No one visits, or, if they do, they don’t comment. I have persisted, half-heartedly, because I like the idea of recording things – books I’ve read, places I’ve gone, birds I’ve admired. I need to write things down or I forget.  

To minimise what has long felt like wasted effort, I had taken to writing only two monthly summaries: one of what I’d read and the other of photos of anything that had captured my interest. Eventually, I dropped the  ‘month in photos’ post, even though I enjoyed the opportunity to review the past month and pick favourites. Despite keeping a paper journal of everything I read, I could never quite give up on the book review posts, though, because the blog’s search function does come in handy sometimes.

Thanks to Feedly, I still keep up with about a hundred blogs, although the number dwindles every year. People get discouraged and give up, or switch to Patreon or Instagram or Substack (which pays actual Nazis to create newsletters, btw), or drop the personal (and, to me, more interesting) posts to focus on whatever bland content SEO demands.

I do enjoy the hardy bloggers who stick it out – like Lucy at Attic24, Julie at Little Cotton Rabbits, Barbara at Coastal Ripples and Pip at Meet Me at Mike’s – even though I am also guilty of not leaving comments. I guess it’s nosiness, but I love the glimpses into their daily lives. I like seeing what they’re interested in and what’s particularly trying to them at the moment and what they’re doing with their time. And every time I see them add another post I think again about how nice it would be to have years and years of detailed records of a life. How gratifying it would be to look back on. 

Anyway, all this blah blah blah is me trying to remind myself that even if no one ever sees a thing I post, future-me would be grateful to current-me for taking the time to jot things down. 

So, to keep it brief, this past week, I:

-celebrated Anna landing a permanent, full-time OT position only 20 minutes away (instead of the current six-hour drive to visit)

-started putting Merlin in the window again to listen to the birdies (no spring migrants yet)

-have been reading A Pelican at Blandings by Wodehouse, Undoctored by Adam Kay, Marple by Mark Aldridge, and listened to The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie

-sowed Brandywine, Sweet 100, SunGold and Roma tomatoes, as well as Bright Lights chard, Sugar Ann bush pea, Grand Rapids lettuce and basil

-tidied all the seeds and potting stuff

-cleaned out and reorganised all the pantry shelves

-opened all the windows because it’s been unseasonably warm for mid-March

-watched Blue Jays spring training baseball

-went to the farm market for fruit and veg

-scored a couple old music books at the local Little Free Libraries

-cooked a gigantic pot of chickpeas to freeze (but have since used four jars so so much for a huge freezer stash)

-worked on the never-ending blue alpaca lace wrap and a very chunky baby blanket (nothing exciting – just using up stash)

-sat with my boy, the maple-dipped doughnut 


June 2024 in photos

As always, June was a whirlwind. End-of-school-year insanity is behind us now, but there was still more than enough going on for someone who likes her days super boring and uneventful.

Aside from two birthdays, June’s big event was an extra-long weekend in PEI visiting granddog Evie and her people. She’s a beach girl, too. Must be genetic.

Evie took us to Panmure Island, where I got the obligatory lighthouse shot.

The next day, she took us to a mysterious bridge out in the middle of nowhere where we watched a heron fishing for his lunch.

The day after that, Evie took us to Beach Point Beach because it takes more than a bit of mistiness to put us off a good beach walk. (A bee sting is what it takes, actually. Poor Foster.)

Now for the bird shots…


May 2024 in photos

Farewell to my father – Joseph Pius Cameron, November 19, 1940 – May 8, 2024

The aurora borealis from Wolfville Ridge, looking out across the valley.

Granddog Evie and her people suggested an afternoon at the beach, which is always a good idea.

Glen does not agree.

Baxters Harbour.

The Look-off.

I took a truly ridiculous number of photos of birds this month, but will limit myself to just a few for now.


March and April 2024 in photos

I was sick at the end of March and not up to posting anything, so today’s recap will be two months for the price of one.

This was Simon in March, taking a short breather from destroying houseplants and pots.

March 7 was an incredibly grey day, making this flock of cedar waxwings in our beech tree hard to make out. Boy, were they noisy.

The robins are nesting under the deck again this year, meaning lots of photo opportunities when they come out to find food.

The old man sunbathing. Still a heartthrob.

A young goldfinch, I think, keeping an eye on things from the deck.

The goldfinches love love LOVE picking at the seeds in whatever this tree is beside the deck. They descend upon it en masse and will easily spend an hour hopping from branch to branch looking for goodies.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

I’ve been re-photographing all my completed mittens and hats for sale and it is…not my favourite thing. Who knew that accurately photographing the finished product would be the hardest part of the whole process?


February 2024 in photos

Heading into February, I expected a fairly quiet and mellow month. I knew there’d be drop-off and pick-up trips to the airport and that I’d be dog-sitting Evie for a week in addition to all the usual duties (grocery shopping, doctor appointment, parental care), but nothing too draining. What I hadn’t anticipated was an emergency root canal after two weeks of steadily worsening pain while (thanks to an error at their vet’s office) cat-sitting two of the world’s most energetic, curious and affectionate kittens.

This is grandcat Simon and this was my view any time I tried to write. Simon loves chewing pens, plants, upholstery, cardboard boxes, kitchen utensils, drapes and human fingers.

Simon is unfamiliar with the concept of personal space. He’s lucky he’s so cute.

This is grandcat Nadja. Like Simon, she likes to be paws-on and “help” write, walk, care for houseplants, knit, cook, do dishes, read a book, and, as in this photo, empty the kitchen garbage can.

They are beautiful cats and smart enough to break out poses like this just when you’re ready to strangle them.

Sadly, cousins Simon, Nadja and Evie do not make good playmates.

Evie just needs everyone to understand that this is her house and what she says goes.

I have never met a dog who enjoys the snow so much. She’d stay out there romping for hours if only she could find someone to stay with her.

But it was really cold during her week here and the stupid wimpy humans always pack in it too soon.

Uncle Glen is also frustrating for her. He looks like a dog and smells like a dog, but behaves like a Canadian pensioner on the beach in Florida, refusing to do anything but lounge in the sun all day. “Toys do not tempt him, Evie,” I said. “You’re wasting your time trying to get him to play.”

If you can’t beat him, join him.

And finally…

My lovely ram friend wanted to do a bit of modelling, but it was really cold that day and my mouth was hurting so I just took a few photos from the car and promised I’d do better next time. Sorry, buddy!


January 2024 in photos

I love January. It’s cold and cloudy most of the time (the best weather) and quiet and peaceful because everyone else is too depressed to make many demands. I love wearing layers and cuddling under a blanket to read or knit and spending hours at my desk reflecting on the previous year (and all the targets I missed) and planning the year ahead (and all the goals I’m sure to fail to reach). Happy times.

A pair of eagles against a rare blue sky.

A mid-afternoon look across Wellington Dyke.

My snow-shovelling partner.

Trees in the backyard at the tail end of a snowstorm on January 29.

One of my mourning dove friends.

Eagles eagles everywhere.

Looking across the fields toward Blomidon.

Always a sucker for hay bales.

A slushy Minas Basin.

If you put a brightly coloured tractor in your field, I will take a picture of it.

Yet more eagles. Seriously, they are everywhere this year.

And a hawk, for variety.

I felt like thrumming, I guess.


my favourite things of the past few weeks

December is a lot. The cooking, the baking, the shopping, the wrapping, the cleaning, the cards, the finishing of handmade projects, the four million little things to prepare and remember. I get a little more organised with every passing year, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be organised enough to not feel overwhelmed for a couple weeks in the middle there. We had a lovely week with everyone home, though, and all the work was worth it, of course.

*My favourite people

*My favourite granddog

At her great-grandparents’, tuckered out by late Christmas afternoon and using Santa as a pillow. He’s been around so long there are probably pictures of little me doing the same thing.

*One of my favourite grandcats

This is Nadja, waiting impatiently for me to make a fresh cup of green tea she can share. Her brother, Simon, never stops moving and is harder to get a picture of.

*My favourite birthday present: Shaun the Sheep

Charlotte, genius crochet toymaker, designed him herself, which is no mean feat. Makers understand just how much skill goes into crafting something like this.

*Gecko!

Charlotte looked in on a friend’s geckos while she was away for the holiday and you better believe I was getting in on that. There were three geckos, but this one was the most outgoing. I could have watched him (?) eat mealworms all day.


my favourite things of the week

For November 27 to December 3, 2023

*A visit with this handsome young man

I knitted a blanket for his upcoming first birthday and I think he liked it – if dragging it along while blowing raspberries means he likes it, which I’m pretty sure it does. It’s been a while since I spoke toddler, though.

*A visit with my crow friends

My walking companion is too polite to say so, but I bet he is heartily sick of my need to stop and chat with the crows during every outing. They’re just so smart, and they’re my neighbours, after all. Seems rude to walk on by without a word.

*Big, moody skies

This time of year brings the drama and I love it.

*’Embroidery Woman’ (1817) by Georg Friedrich Kersting