Going Potty

Going Potty

 By Maryanna Gabriel


Oh dear. Am not adapting well to strata life. A young lad who looked like he would be more comfortable behind a car wrench was standing on my transplanted Columbines cutting the flowers off my hedge. He had just lobbed a Christmas Rose into his discard bin. 

Am so not used to this. You will be happy to know I educated him on what the so-called weed was and that I was one of the people here who did their own gardening.

"No one told me," he said.

I am trying not to feel mortified. Some people like this type of thing, I suppose. But I am not adapting well. I thought the property was my own but I am being told it is not, that it is "common". It is enough to make a gardener go potty. 

My Secret Garden

 By Maryanna Gabriel

It has been gaspingly hot, breaking all records. The forests to the east are burning, and my family in Alberta are not able to go outside. Their skies are orange and the air quality is intolerable. Did we have a shoulder season between unseasonable cold and unseasonable hot? If we did, it was far too brief. 

It is soothing to escape to the backyard, tiny compared
to what I am used to, but charming none the less.

Groundcovers mingling madly. 

Years ago, an avid gardener spent a lot of time and energy on it. While it was not well understood by the intervening owner, I am getting acquainted with what is going on when, and what needs to be contained where. Ground covers have escaped and are mingling madly. All very zen studying it all and working out the rhythm of plantings.

Last night, I learned blackberry leaves are rife with minerals. Rather than madly glaring at the blackberries this morning, I stepped to where they are comingling, nevermind they are impinging on the rhubarb. Plucking the fresh new leaves for the morning smoothie, I recognized it was a gift, I had cast aside, and was now finally receiving. 

Spider Lake and Picnics

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Getting away from the riveting topic of books, one of the more exciting things to do as I explore my new geography is the expansiveness. One thing I am wondering right now is why is Spider Lake called that? It truly is a pretty place, but the name gives it a creepy feel (sorry spiders).

 Apparently it is because from the air, it vaguely resembles a spider. One wonders what was going through the mind of the person who named it. It does not look like a spider to me at all. 

The lake itself is fed by glaciers and underwater springs. The area became a park in 1981 and is set in 459 acres. We have Matilda and Bill McCormick to thank for its more pristine aspects. In 1889 the two set up a "resort" with tents and later built cabins. Because of this, the adjacent areas were deeded to them although the surrounding areas appear to be held by logging companys. A host of lodge owners continued with tourism down through the decades, but today it is the perfect spot for a picnic. Can hardly wait.

Love this time of year between the cold and the hot. Happy Mother's Day everybody.

Unboxing - The Book Arrives!

 By Maryanna Gabriel

After all this time, the dream has become a reality. The book, Walking The Camino: On Earth As It Is was delivered to my doorstep. Yours, if you ordered it, should not be long. |

What first went through my mind when I opened the box was, "It's bigger than I thought". I love the cover. Lots of mixed emotions. One would think it is the end of the journey. It isn't though. It is the beginning of a whole new one. A writer can't sit on one's duff. A new set of dominos are in play.

For example, one does not freeze and say nothing when a person says, I'd love to read your book. Which actually happened yesterday. One says, Oh, what luck. I just happen to have a copy. Would you like me to sign it? And so forth. 

Geez, Maryanna.

I'll try practicing in the mirror. 

When I Get Home

 by Maryanna Gabriel

Have caught myself several times saying..."when I get home I'm going to..." It is when I think of the
garden. Then I remember. Hey, wait a minute! It is no longer mine.

After twenty-eight years of creating it, some part of me is still stuck in a garden bed in my old home on Salt Spring Island. A recent drive-by was a shock. The new owner had painted the house pink from a deep blue and the lovely cedar shutters with hearts cut out of them were a vivid white. The overall effect was one of a strawberry shortcake. You would think I would remember, but brains like to track old neural pathways it would seem. 

My new garden is lovely and infinitely more manageable. I am delighted to have discovered a blooming magnolia tree. Now off I go to transplant a columbine. 

A blooming magnolia tree.