Peggy's Cove: A lesson in Quiet

It was quiet.  Punctured only by the occasional conversation carried on the wind and the constant crash of the waves against the rocks. 

We went towards the water, compelled by the rocks and the muddy, narrow path leading towards the water. One jump and then another and then another and we were there. Right on the edge.

6 inches separated me from the Atlantic Ocean. 

It was awesome. In the truest sense of the word. 

I could have stayed for a long time. I breathed in and out with the cadence of the waves, half in awe and half in delight. And then brought back to reality by the giggle of my two year old and the way she followed her uncle like a mountain goat over the rocks. 

The mum in me got nervous and I told him to hold her hand. Always.

It's barren there. Rocks covered with red heather. Little pools of water. And all around you, the ocean. Demanding respect. 

I tore myself away and we walked down to the village. Few words were spoken. We gestured when we wanted to stop and try to capture the scene before us. We wandered through a boathouse filled with old fishing paraphernalia and other interesting stuff like a whale's jaw bone. I wondered what use I would have for a lobster trap and how I would display it. And then I saw the shells, gathered up from the sea. Worth very little to the seller, but worth a great deal for me. I handed over my coins and he wrapped the shells up for me. 

 We followed the twisting road up to the lighthouse and the throngs of people. It is after all one of the most photographed sites in all of Canada. We took some obligatory pictures as well and headed away from the people. 

It was too noisy, too busy. Everyone caught up with too much noise, the bus schedules, the overpriced coffee served at the top, the perfect picture. 

I wanted to capture it all with a film camera. Slow.

We wandered along the rocks, always making our way close to the edge, watching the water hit the rocks and create spray. Our faces were moist. 

I found a house I wanted to live in, a little house by the sea. It's quiet and secluded. Simple and quiet. 

I crave that in my life. 

And so I build it in, one little bit at a time. And I keep my shells close to remind me. 

How To Be Quiet 

1. Take a deep breath. 

No, seriously. It can't always have the sea tang but it can always help. Breathe in and then out slowly to the count of ten. It slows your heart rate down and relaxes your body. 

2. Do the next thing. 

So the house may be a mess, the laundry still needs to be folded and there's other nagging jobs. Just do the next thing: put laundry on, wash the dishes, breathe. Everything will fall into place. 

3. Deliberately slow down. 

Light a candle, put some calming music on, gather your littles or whoever is close to you and hug them.   Take time to figure out the reason why life feels so busy, so noisy. And then scale back. 

4.  Take time to be quiet. 

It may just be a few minutes standing on the back porch, or it may be longer. Leave your phone alone, actually leave all screens alone. Take the few minutes to regroup and then face your lists, your busyness, your day. 

Where is your favorite quiet place? 

the street where we live

On Westwood Ave, just off Main street and tucked behind a deep red maple is our home. It's a five unit apartment building, built in the early 20th century.

The basement is everything that an old basement should be: cobwebby, low ceiling-ed, and old furniture to be brought upstairs, painted and given a new home. 

The third floor is half living quarters and half attic. Ten years ago, I would have carved out a little nook by the paned glass window to read and dream. Now, I watch my girls as they scurry under the eaves and investigate all the forgotten  treasures.

It's mostly just the girls and I at home during the day. Everyone else is out and about, except for our neighbor access the hall. The gentleman has lived here for a long time and is the sweetest grandfatherly type man. He offers to help with any information about the building we may need, apologizing that he can't help in a more practical way. He's 95, still writing books and walking downtown for his groceries.

There hasn't ever been children or musicians living in this house but the others don't seem to mind. The French couple who lives upstairs always smile at our girls and love listening to the hours of practice.

There is a dog in residence, we hear his feet skittering across the hardwood floor and the little yelps when his owners come home. She looks like Kate right down to her nude pumps and dark wavy hair. He looks nothing like Will though, we exchange hellos when we go for walks and little tidbits about the neighborhood.

There's a fifth resident, one of those brilliant writers or night shift workers, I'm convinced of it. Not exactly the type to host a building party at Christmas but friendly enough to say hello.

And then us. The family with the little girls, recently transplanted from Alberta. Musician, artists and owners of the double BoB.

It's a lovely place, clotheslines out the back and a formal front entry with a beautiful tile floor. The bushes are all flaming red now, the grass still full and lush.

It's the first place that we've loved this much and that I've let myself get so attached too. It calls out the beauty, the parties we could host, the conversations to be had, the neighbors to bake for, and the memories to be made.

It's home. 

Transitions, Popcorn, and Making Memories

I lay with you tonight, until you stopped talking and your breathing slowed. You were in my bed, Daddy had to go back to Alberta to shoot a wedding and so it's just us girls hanging out for the weekend. 

You were wearing your 'workout jammies', a pair of sweats that you wear when you work out with me. You took your long sleeved pink tee off because you were just too hot. 

You flipped and flopped all over the bed. It's been a big day. It's been a big month and a half, so many changes and I forget sometimes that you're only two. 

We took Daddy to the airport and you wanted to go to. So badly. There were tears in the car. Yours, mine and Khaira's. 

I think somehow you see the airport as a magic portal. Like, if we just all step through the revolving doors life will resume normalcy again. 

It's hard, baby girl. I know, I understand. It's hard for me too. 

It's why we relax a little bit on some things, and why we maintain our family traditions. Reading the same books at bedtime, having special foods, and singing songs that we like and have always liked. 

We shared a bowl of popcorn tonight, actually it was a cake pan because we don't have our bowls with us yet. We watched a little movie, you, me and Khaira. We munched on carrot sticks and snuggled through the scenes of the screen. Khaira fell asleep quickly. You needed a little more time to unwind, you take in so much of what goes on around you. We talk about baby horses and jammies, about coloring and the swings at the park. You stroke my hair and share your blanket with me. You ask me if I'm cozy, I memorize this moment with you. 

It takes all evening for you to fall asleep and that's okay. 

Your breathing slows and you barely stir when I move back to your own bed. My own breathing slows and I feel peace. 

Picking the Perfect Pumpkin

It's the pumpkin patch dilemma. Everyone is dressed in their sweaters and plaids and boots, parents are following their children around asking them to "just please look at the camera!" "Just smile nicely!"

The children run from pumpkin to pumpkin declaring each one to be the best. They see the glory of the big orange balls, the autumn light glinting off the pumpkins, the corn maze holds mystery to their imagination.

The adults check their watches or their phones, getting caught up in a text conversation.

"Hurry, hurry, haven't you picked one out yet?"

They drag the pumpkins to get weighed and then load the children in the car to cries of 'but we weren't finished yet.'

The pumpkin sits on the front porch steps, maybe with a carved face or not. The pictures are liked and commented on, 'oh my goodness, your kids are SO cute!'

And everyone moves on. 

Pie is made with canned filling from the store or a ready-made pie is picked out from the bakery section. And it's eaten and for the most part enjoyed. I'm not judging here, this was the way we danced on Thanksgiving weekend. And it was good. 

It struck me this weekend when we were out at the pumpkin patch, the great extent we go to make memories and to capture everything and then to share it, as if the capturing and sharing make it more real. Parents chasing their children around, bribing their children for pictures when all the children want to do is run and delight in the pumpkins. Minus the bribing part, that was me. It wasn't the perfect pumpkin picking that I wanted, and it wasn't just the children who were being fussy and grumpy.

Sometimes, its better to just let the littles set the pace, to follow them around the pumpkin patch, marveling at how they walk, noticing what they notice. Sometimes it's better to not care so much about capturing the perfect picture but to make the perfect memory. Sometimes it means picking out a knobby pumpkin and hefting into the stroller for the ride home. Sometimes it means not being perfect and not being all cutesy and not having any of those pictures to share. Sometimes the only pictures are of everyone being distracted and looking the other way but sometimes there's the one magical picture of sunlight and autumn and life. Real life just like you live it everyday, captured just how you are right then. 

And that's really okay. And that's really real. And that's really beautiful. 

To Pick an Apple

We went apple picking, my girlies and I. It's kind of one of those 'must do' activities when you live in the Annapolis Valley. Historically the Valley is known for its apple orchards, Wolfville's famous Farmer's Market is held in an old apple warehouse and every farm market along the highway sells apples whether grown in their own orchards or not. 

To live during Autumn is to live the season in the East where leaves turn every color and the season is long, long compared to the West. It has always been one of my favorite seasons but here there is just something extra special. Apple picking, pumpkin patch, gourds, boots, scarves, hot tea, and the cold nip  in the mornings. 

I was delighted when I saw apple picking at Noggins Corner Farm on a list of activities with a local homeschool playgroup. My girls are too young for most of activities but this one I knew we could do and it was an opportunity to get out and meet some other moms. 

Noggins Corner Farm is a well-set up operation. They have a farm market where you can buy all kinds of seasonal produce, their squash displays alone made me want to buy one of every variety. 

Along with about 60 other parents and their children, we went on a wagon ride past the flower and herb gardens, the raspberry canes and the pumpkin patch. We rode through the forest and under the eagle's nest and past rows and rows of beautiful apples. 

Each of the children were given a bag and we filled it with Gravenstein (an apple brought over from Europe in the 19th century), and Macintosh (a Canadian apple from Ontario in the 18th century). Kilmeny was more interested with picking up the apples off the ground then picking them off the tree, and we filled the bag quite quickly. 

There was also a corn maze to go through as well as the incredible play area set up to occupy children of all ages. I opted out of the corn maze because really? With one sleeping baby and the toddler strapped in the stroller, it wouldn't be that fun. We hung out by the duck races, got throughly soaked (Kilmeny) and chatted with the other moms of littles (me). 

There were apples to enjoy on the picnic tables, huge slides made out of pipes, tunnels made out of the same pipes and hay bales, a climbing structure made out of tires and hay bales and flowers to pick if one so chose. 

It was a marvellous day, filled with lovely autumn activities. 

What is your favorite thing about this season?

Blomindon Park: a Bay of Fundy treasure

On the last weekend before we returned the rental car, we went exploring. The road wound in and out of small towns, past farms with their produce stacked by the road inviting you to buy a pumpkin, showing vistas that made us catch our breath in the sheer beauty of it all. 

It was misting when we arrived and we ran out in the glory of it all, happy to be alive and together. We scooped up our little ones, one on my back and one held her Daddy's hand. 

We marveled at the old things just sitting there, the rock wall built over a hundred years ago, the ancient  tractor now part of the forest's landscape. 

We took big breaths of the salty air as we made our way down the stairs onto the beach. 

This.

This was what we had been waiting for, the great expanse of water. England was just on the other  side of the pond. 

We both went a little (iPhone) camera crazy, trying in some way to capture the intense beauty that surrounded us. 

  

The acres of red sand. The apple tree showering its fruit on the beach below. The fresh water falling over the cliffs and making its way to mingle with the salt water. Driftwood, tiny shells, crabs, tide patterns on the sand, lobster traps, seaweed. 

My heart was full to bursting. There were many things that were hard about the transition (still are hard,  if I'm honest), but in that moment I was deliriously happy. 

And no one can take that from me. 

We walked to the water's edge, tipped our toes in the Atlantic, and felt so small. And so alive. 

Summer Bucket List: Sand and Water

My summer bucket list actually doesn't really exist. With moving, packing, downsizing, transitioning and busy just living life, we really didn't need another list of stuff to do. But there are a few activities that are special summer experiences and we've already knocked two of them off the list, the list that I sort-of, maybe, have.

I  have so many memories of holidays at the lake, spending all day in our bathing suits and then sleeping deeply all night to the perfume of aloe vera gel. Reading in the sun and then playing endless rounds of water tag, dolphin dives and practicing our handstands. Food always tasted so good after a day at the water, and it was almost always something grilled. 

On a recent weekend trip to see my family, I got to experience all of that but with my girlies. It was just a few hours at the river but it was so special to me and I loved making that memory with my girls.  

 What's on your summer bucket list?