Fourth Printing!

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Shout out... well, whaddya know.

My book has just gone into its fourth printing.
My publisher wrote this morning and said... "it is a great story."

High praise from a man who knows. Yabba-dabba, doodly-doo!
A big thank you to all who have supported me.

Voting For Nothing Much Happening

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

    "When the soul begins to remembers where it truly belongs,
the noise of the world slowly fades into silence." - Rumi

The other day I was talking to my grandson, and he referred me to a podcast entitled "Nothing Much Happens". I laughed, then listened. Happily, it put me to sleep. Very peaceful. Something about the enticing activity of ants at a picnic. Riveting, especially these days and preferential to most headlines.

It occurred to me that the doe breaking into the garden might be pregnant. Judging by the state of my booby traps, she has made three more attempts, none of them successful - thank goodness.

Apple tree in recovery. 

Thankfully, I live in a relatively peaceful and unpopulated part of the world, which suits me just fine. The other day, a ferry worker, late for her shift, drove into me at a billion miles an hour making a turn and, for some mysterious reason, was looking the other way. 

The upshot of all of this was tripping on a paver, keeling over, and spraining an ankle. 

With the garden making a gradual return to its former fecund state, my car being fixed by insurance, and my ankle healing, I am seriously in the nothing much happens camp. . 

One Red Geum

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight and his
 punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."
        - Oscar Wilde

Time being of the essence, I booby-trapped the doe's last point of entry. Ted Kaczynski would have been proud. It's an arrangement of graduating obstacles. Last night I woke up to a racket and flipped on the outside lights, it being the dead of night. She'd had a tangle with the rubbish bin laid cunningly alongside the first gate, and as I peered into the dark void, I could hear the crunching of dry leaves as she bounded away. Good. I hope it scared her. Wish I could invent a balooga horn going off when the bin gets tipped. 

Returning to bed, I tossed and turned and woke up dreaming about a famous person we all know walking in and out of Hades. Great insight, now how about the reverse? This morning I was before dawn, nervously staring at the garden, then inspecting the premises. She has been so aggressive I cannot discount a new plot point of attack.

But nothing. All was well. Relief. So this takes us to day three without a  break-in. The honest to goodness truth is that there is tiny cucumber making progress, and I even picked two strawberries. Am posting a photo of the one bravely emerging red Geum. 

Supernatural Quality: Update

Maryanna Gabrie

 "Never give in—never, never, never, never."
                                                                        - W.C.

After my last blog post, AJ and I worked hard at blocking the spot where I spotted the doe's exit. She had been enjoying many garden delicacies and has recently snacked on peony and rhubarb, their leaves being a little tougher I suppose, and so more of an acquired taste. Our fix wasn't pretty, but it was better than the pitch fork arrangement I had going.

Three days have passed with no break-ins. I celebrated. In my dreams, I mentally composed the blog to you all sharing my joy. Spotted the one hopeful red Geum in my flower bed and planned to post a picture here as my cause celebre. I even lifted the remay from the vegetable beds and the apple tree yesterday. Slept like a baby. That was how confident I was. 

Not a flower in sight.
Still some green though..
Hope. 

Shock. This morning she was back.This deer is starting to take on a supernatural quality which I know sounds off the wall, but I can't help it. As in when a Navajo bad guy possesses an animal to bother someone a medicine man does not like. All I can say is this deer is not acting like a normal deer, hence the analogy. 

This morning, she had a great time munching through the beans and the remaining rosebuds then chomped into what was left of a crunchy fatsia tree. The red Geum is gone. When I made my heated appearance, she exited via a rear open gate.

Mea culpa.The thing is though, and let me be clear, she would have had to jump down six feet into a dark narrow passage with a medieval looking high stone wall to one side. Please understand there is a first gate before it. It's pretty intense she came in this way. 

So now, everything is covered again. The front gate is locked with a chain and padlock. This new entry point is blocked with wire and boards.

I dunno know.... I really don't. 

Hours Later Update:
Night has almost fallen and I was listening to my show with the kitchen door open. Good thing. I heard two loud cracks. By jove, she was kicking the very gate with her hooves, absolutely incroyable that a deer would do this. I know it was her because I saw her hightailing it from the scene of the crime as I yelled. This gate is stiff and has a chain and it held throughout her athletic administrations. To be sure, I have placed my trusty pitch fork and boards with nails as reinforcement. Feeling watchful, but better. Certainly is abnormal deer behaviour. Will be up at dawn for she will try again, but I feel the fortifications will hold. Living under siege is not pretty. Have water, rice and beans. I will never surrender. Holding fast to the remaining green pepper plant. Never say die. 
The Following Morning - Dawn:
No audible warning. Didn't hear a thing. She was in the garden this morning at first light and was skillfully removed the reemay. Get this. She came in through the two foot crawl space. Shopping for an electric fence this morning. Uncanny. And very creepy. She will ruin the wall at this rate. Rocks have tumbled everywhere. 

"We shall go on to the end... we shall defend our Island [and green pepper plants], whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender."
- Winston Churchill

A Regular Houdini

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


In all my years of island living, I have never experienced anything like this. The deer has been in every day since my last post. There are actually one or two plants left. Action requested, but what? Sitting like Ma Kettle with a shotgun across my knee is not exactly what is called for. Tempting thought, though. A dog? Electric fence? 

"If only you would bark," I say to Jasper, the cat. He remained silent on the subject. 

So I went about repairing the plantings as best I could and chained the gate. There that'll do it. Except she came back. More damage. Chased her out. A huge doe with no spots. Of course, she is huge. And smart. How is she getting in?

I walked the perimeter inside and out. There was an area that looked disturbed so I set about plugging the base of the fencing with a board and rocks. There that'll do it. Then relaxed. Again she returned. Again, I chased and this time she showed me her spot - a different place off my deck. Ah hah, now I have you, my pretty. Building a blockage with what little wire fencing I had, I relaxed, watered, and repaired. Replanted to try and restitute some greens before snow flies - there is always hope. 

Yesterday I was practically humming and took off the protective sheeting from the broccoli and romaine stumps so they would grow. I could always wash off the deer saliva. And relaxed. 

Well, last night I was lying in bed when I heard a clunk. Geez. Her. She jumped the blockade. Quite the feat actually, given the angles. Out I went in my nightie as she eyed what little was left of the romaine. This time she surprised me. She exited from a different spot by leaping a gated, eight-foot high rock wall and squeezing herself along a two-foot crawl space beneath the deck, maybe twenty feet. Wow. A regular Houdini. 

So I've moved more stuff to make entry as uninviting as possible. The way I figure it, the next jump could break her leg. So now I am not really relaxed at all. 

Blockaded. Waiting with baited breath...

Deer Crunch

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Munch, munch.

Woke up at five in the morning and did something I seldom do which was walk onto the balcony to check the weather. Can't claim to have ever done so at the crack of dawn. 

Much to my surprise, a large black tailed deer was in my precious garden. First time ever. Red alert. Emergency. emergency, emergency. By the time I got down there she had completed a good munch through all the broccoli, the chard, the lower branches of the apple tree, and the tops of the bean plants. Damn. Even a rose or two. 

Don't you think it's weird I got out there? By the time I bounded down, bounded being an optimistic description, all things considered with this back of mine, she had exited. 

Smart. The gates were closed. She pushed it. Bother. 

So now the gate is tied with a rope. And I am still finding casualties. Likes hostas, not so big on squash. 

What's left of the broccoli.

The Return Of The Rose Whisper

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Blessed by beauty.

Ahhh, the month of June. Roses. If you don't remember who the Rose Whisper is, I inherited a garden created by a master. It's a lot of pressure. He loves roses. I am blessed to have the beauties everywhere. There are worse problems in life. 

We had an understanding he would help me figure out what was where. So, he returned with his partner for a visit. I served muffins and coffee. There was barely time.

It was a bit like watching the King (I guess that is capitalized) during the Trooping Of The Colour at Buckingham Palace. Nothing escaped his observant eye. He carefully inspected the perimeter, inside and out, and took it all in. Then he began rattling off such names as Hot Cocoa, Garden Fairy, Michel Trudeau, Rock n Roll, Anna's Praise, Pink Bonnet, Pompons des Princes, Roses de Rescht, to name a few, as I followed panting behind him, madly scribbling. 

As a result I have managed to create a garden map. The major challenge of the excercise was deciphering my hand writing. Now that the roses are blooming some of the names are not matching what I have written and so now I must refine my conclusions. 

Refining my conclusions. 

Getting Ahead Of The Wind

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Something amazing happened. Roses curling in unexpected places around here need the support of a trellis or two. I thought I had the problem solved when I utilized an arbour made of poor materials. (Being cheap, you know.) Well, you get what you pay for. The silly metal things started to bend and I could see the situation needed some oomph. So I went searching. 

Rose arbour being installed. 

Eventually, I found someone willing to bring two sturdy arbours made of wood. I was chuffed. We made an exchange that involved a stay. It was a good deal for both of us. Just in time.That very night a wind blew. While I was sleeping, it blasted the silly metal trellisses to smithereens. In the morning, I found the trellises in disaray on the ground. Pretty wild.

This brought to mind a time when I called a tree specialist. Ahead of time. The night before, a wind came up and created a lethal widow-maker. The specialist saw it before I did. Sometimes we prepare ahead of time without knowing the reason why. 

Jasper

 By Maryanna Gabriel


Living in the country, I have wondered about getting a dog. Instead, I have a cat who visits named Jasper, who acts like one. He sleeps on the doormat watching me come and go, eyeing my every move. It's most interesting for him because the fridge is right by the door. His behaviour is hard to understand because he is not mine. He lives across the way. Yet he is always here. 

I'm trying to teach him manners, and just when I think I've made headway, we are two steps back. He is a rescue cat, you see. Lately he's taken to rushing the door. His entire mission is to enter these hallowed halls. He's so smart he has also learned how to open it with a gentle rocking motion. Moreover, there is a screen installed which he likes to puts his claws into so I have to really watch him. The door was not only expensive, carpenters are not cheap. 

This led to an incident. While I was balancing a tray of polyurethane...  across hand-knotted carpets in order to get to a deck, he rushed the door. And was in. I knew he was headed for the fresh paint on the deck opposite. In mind's eye, I was either going to spill the polyurethane trying to stop him or he was going to run onto the deck and reenter the house with deck coating encasing his little furry feet. That left one resort. Boy, did I yell. I think they must have heard me clear to Vancouver Island. He got the message alright.

He disappeared for a couple of days. I could tell he thought I had flipped my biscuit. Which was the truth. I had. Don't worry, though. He's back. On the doormat. Watching me. 

A Reason To Slow Down

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"Here or there does not matter
    We must be still and still moving."
    - TS Elliot

A summer with fewer plans sounds dreamy. The garden is a good reason to slow down. Among other reasons. There are little baby apples and cherries in the making, to say nothing of quince, so I have been madly using up last year's preserves in order to make way for the new. I used this recipe for the last of the canned cherries. I thought to share it as it is delicious. 

Olive Oil Cake

1 eggs
3/4 olive oil
3/4 c sugar 
Mix the above until smooth
Add:
1/2 c cherry juice (or milk)
1 tsp vanilla
zest and juice of one lemon
Mix then add:
1 c flour
1/2 tsp bak powder
pinch salt

Mix and bake roughly 45 minutes at 350 degrees.
Top with whatever you like... (cherries?).

Cherries in the making. 

Baby apple.

Life Hack

By Maryanna Gabriel

Life Hack: give yourself twelve hours alone in the garden first thing in the morning. Ha ha. I didn't write that - I saw it somewhere while doom-scrolling. Today I started early. It sets the tone for the hours that follow.

Mornings in the garden are the best. I wander about with my coffee and the hose, taking it all in.
I have been amusing myself by making two little fountains, one solar, one electric and along with them a story diarama involving frog miniatures. So much fun. The birds are really curious.

Frog stories. 

The manic feeling of getting everything into the garden is starting to subside despite the strange heat. Everything is planted and now trimmed with lovely surprises along the way like the Lily of the Valley bloomed, and oh wow - a radish, or holy-moly look at the Calla Lilly, then my goodness is that a flower on the olive tree? So you see the garden news is much more appealing than the global. 

Glory.

Garden news. 

Low Altitude

 By Maryanna Gabriel


Speaking of Travels In A Different Sort Of Way and the news, for all kinds of reasons it is more enticing to stay at home. Locally it is the unprecedented heat, the forest fires, the crowds, the expense. And internationally, what was once assured is precarious with flight cancellations, upped fees, and impossible line-ups (complete with fainting mothers) due to new European regulations for cross border travel.  

It's funny. I had a feeling (you know how one does), about flying last March and I said naaah....my back is bad right now, I'll do it later. Later! Ha. The intuition and the why is obvious now. My. 

Who would have thunk? So much change in the last two months and none of them comfortable or even pleasant. Like why throw oneself into the frey? It sounds disastrous out there. 

However, just in case, I got a new passport. What a thing of beauty. So pretty with all the nice pictures. And the "I'm being sentenced to Alcatrez" personal photo that perennially graces such documentation is now tiny. The opening page is a digitalized piece of pastic with a micro window so who knows how it looks when scanned. Who would have thought? 

Low altitude air travel... 

More future. There is a car in China being developed, well it is already created, that flies - low altitude air travel. I'm not kidding. Just like in all the prediction models of what is to come. Except it's here. Now you're talking. Maybe I'll get one of those.

So many changes happening. Sometimes I feel like I'm time travelling. 

Without The Buzz

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

    Making silly rhymes (as in my last post) may be a strategy to lighten the mood, but I’m not the only one. The ladies at the local café were dead set against discussing the shifts going on globally. However, the news gets through eventually, and one must be mature about it.

    But not today. I don’t mean the mature part; I mean the news part.

    It is an intensely hot Saturday, as in wilting, and for no apparent reason, as I write, we are in the middle of a power failure. As a result, the neighbourhood is uncannily quiet, which I’m really enjoying. I swear there is a buzz that vanishes when the grid goes down. I don’t even know it’s there, but when it's  gone, it feels so much more relaxing in a subtle sort of way. Less of an energy drain. Maybe it's the fact that the internet is off enabling the inner news broadcast more noticeable.

    The energy that was our world in childhood feels closer, when a Saturday morning meant comics, bikes, and popsicles. Funny how you don’t know what you have so much of the time until it’s gone. 

Going Potty

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"A crooked tree lives its own life,
 but a straight tree is turned into wood." 

- Chinese proverb

Dear Reader, 

It seems to me, maybe you don't agree, (just in time, for a rhyme), t'is my observation that the world of men is becoming increasingly callous. With malice. And it's beyond global. The constant barrage of what was once unthinkable is taking a toll on varying microlevels of the day to day (by the way). So I'm changing my focus, and shifting locus, and dealing with it by going potty, rather than knotty. The sun is out, and shifting doubt, what was a slow spring, is now a day with zing. So what do you know, outside I go. 

Feeling ever hopeful, I'm quelling my needlings, by putting in seedlings, to little pots, that I have bought. I'm quite sure in so doing, there may be more global peace. Inner peace for sure. The outer peas are coming along nicely. With great effort, I'm limiting myself from the varying social mediums, as well as their tediums. It's making a difference this time away.

Am remembering the days when I used to read, for example, and oh - look, here I am halfway through my book. Or would work on a creative project, bit by bit, and carefully tend it, from beginning until end it. So this is how I'm reclaiming some humanity,  (and not resort to profanity), at least within myself and hopefully with others, because sure as Shakespeare, my dear, a strangeness to this tale, doth prevail. 

So take heed, what do you know, off to sow, to weed, and grow. There is no need for gloom - the iris is close to bloom. See? The quirk of this perk is a smirk. Making up rhymes helps deal with the times. 

Iris close to bloom. See? 

Yours very truly and feeling unruly,

Maryanna

A Why To Live For

 By Maryanna Gabriel

“He who has a why to live for
can bear any how.”|
 - Viktor Frankl

A portal of peace.

Late last night, I began to relax when by miracle America stepped back from the brink while the word nuclear loomed. Seeing photos of Iranians holding hands across the bridges of Tehran was my tipping point.

Of course, the craziness continues this morning, but it feels different. Aside from a myriad of emotions, the recent spate  took everything I had to self-manage.

Am feeling blessed to be with an old high school chum in a lodge on the beautiful beaches of Rathtrevor on Vancouver Island this morning. 

A portal of peace. Stillness so precious. Being in beauty - a means to bear any how.

Stillness so precious. 

Awakening With Thoughts

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Hummingbird through the window. 

Sweet dreams are the best, and I awoke from one this morning. I dreamt I was fashioning decorations for Christmas. And here it is Easter... what a funny thing. 

A light rain is falling as the idea of an early morning walk dissipates. I watch a hummingbird through the kitchen window perched on the clothesline and see him steadily regarding me. 

With Easter, I repeatedly return to a childhood memory of a meal my grandmother prepared for our family and how it is that food binds memory and connects us close. Decades later, the crumble of a pie or a savoury sauce returns us to simpler times, where nourishment translates into love. A piece of nostalgia to start the day with and feed the soul. 

So then, what shall I make? Then it comes to me. A lemon tart is just the thing. That's the ol' ticket. Lemons, and daffodils, and Easter. No bonnet, though. 

Renewal

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"Sometimes I only need to stand
where I am to be blessed."
- Mary Oliver

Going into the forest puts me in touch with what's important. Priorities reassert themselves when I'm  feeling as though I'm losing my way. There is a lovely walk at the end of the road where I live. I head into the quiet of the green and feel the reassurance of moss and fern. In silence, I hear. 

Today, I saw a little dormouse scamper into his wee house, a hole at the base of a tree. He perched there, his cute rounded ears attentive, watching me pass. Forest news worth noting.

With the world a-jumble, this is how I make the crooked places straight within. To show up where it feels right, to live one's best life, and leave the rest to Spirit. 

A Breath Of Fresh Air

 By Maryanna Gabriel


He was such a funny man. With buckets of courage, too. I am feeling a bit like Oscar Wilde when asked if he was writing. He replied that it was going very well. In the morning he put a comma in, and in the afternoon he had taken it out. Which kind of sums up my writing progress these days. 

Surely, a breath of fresh air would help. 

Feeling discouraged by an air freshener I had recently purchased online (do they pay people to review these things?) as the stench quite honestly made me gag. It reminded me of a maladorous penny candy from childhood. You know the kind. Those little packets that turned one's teeth and tongue into an agent orange colour and smelled like nothing natural on this planet. Well... after airing the house for a long time and at these frigid temperatures, I made up my mind.

My taste is low-key. One has to be subtle. So I made my own. It's perfect. I love it. Totally gag-proof. Here is what I did if you need a breath of fresh air too. You can see there is room for your own creative modifications.  

Maryanna's Breath Of Fresh Air

1/4 c boiled water

a cut up half a vanilla bean

tsp vanilla 

lemon peel 
a few sprigs of lavender

2 tbsp vodka 

Let sit for 24 hours. Strain. Add vodka to the strained solution.
 Pour into the spray bottle.
Hear the bluebirds sing. 

Hear the bluebirds sing. 

A Bit About Cookies

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,

it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,

it was the epoch of incredulity,

it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness,

it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."
- A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens

Last night, a wind started up as it sometimes does in this little valley. The next thing I knew there was profound crack. I leapt out of bed. Someone  had a flashlight in the night flickering through the forest investigating the matter. They were joined by another bobbling light. For a while I worried it was my fence. Well, it wasn't. This morning when I got up I could see that an enormous fir had toppled, fortunately away from my house and narrowly missing the neighbour's shed. It's all a bit of a tizz, what with world events, and trying to monitor one's news intake, to boot.

Remember when the word cookie used to mean the kind you ate? To remain calm, I made my favourites, a healthy recipe which comes from Sicily. These are quick to prepare and a little on the exotic side, my perfect way to take in morning tumbles with a coffee. 

Calming Sicily Cookies

1 c. ground pistachios (I used pumpkin seeds and it worked perfectly)

1 c. almond flour

1/2 c. icing sugar

1 egg

zest of one lemon

Shape into tiny logs one inch long.
Traditionally these are pinched in the center like bow ties.
 Bake at 350 degrees for ten (or so) minutes until golden on the bottom. 

    

The Most Comforting Inn Of All

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"The power of finding beauty in the humblest of things,

make home happy and life lovely." 

- Louisa May Alcott

Shaking things up. 

   
     Sometimes one has to shake things up a bit. You know what I mean. Do something interesting.

Done up lounge by the sea. 

     I found a bark-laden historic building by the sea, a four-star hotel, at two thirds the price. I was in... barky being an attention getter. This used to be a country home home commissioned by a lieutenant governor located in the Saanich Peninsula. It looked all done up and conjured visions of high tea, gin and tonic by a fireside lounge, and elegant breakfasts. A bygone era caught in time as it were. All terribly romantic.

     Gosh, I haven't a thing to wear, I told myself. 

History still standing. 

     This is the third time I have done this. I love history and so anything vintage in the hotel business in Victoria catches my attention. The last time was in the heart of the city. I hastily departed that hotel at 6:00 am. I would not even stay for the "b" part of the "b&b" as I was so needing to leave, given the cracks in the walls and the rattling in the night. This time, it was not the rattles.

     The gorgeous bathroom was enchanting, but

Barky being an attention getter. 

the big old tub was out of commission due to "old plumbing", the curtain was torn in the bedroom, the lounge deserted, and breakfast was wisked away before I had finished. I know I could have stopped the latter, but the truth is that by then I had lost interest.

     The upshot? Being home is the most comforting inn of all.
I light the fire, draw my bath, and linger over breakfast. A third world problem solved, I know, but one must draw comfort in the little things in our lives. Besides which, I have a lot of bark around here.