Season Of Mists

 By Maryanna Gabriel

"Season of mists
and mellow fruitfulness..."
    To Autumn - John Keats

The interview time was actually placed in my calendar. That's how fooled I was. Season of mists, alright. What with all this talk of artificial intelligence going sideways I expected more of myself. That I would be smarter. 

Being out there on social media attracts a lot of weird proposals like cleaning my office, or fixing my website, and lately it has been book promotions, with a slurry of book club offerings. Then came a letter from a publisher wanting more of my writing. I looked him up. New York. Quite famous. But I knew any editor of his caliber does not solicit, for in reality it is exactly the opposite. Nor would he have time to compose such a lengthy, detailed, and flattering letter. That was the tip-off. The flattery. And the perfect composition. Just in case, I wrote the publisher and actually got a reply confirming the letter was not from them. 

But this week's solicitation had me fooled. It was from a radio personality in London, England. The emails were somewhat personalized so I felt less like I was dealing with a form letter. I wrote the station to be sure. Then, after I agreed, the hit came - a request for money. Three tiers of payment depending on how much media exposure I opted for.

No thank you. See you later. Is this what you call a non-person player (NPC)? Without soul? The radio station has yet to reply. Maybe they think I am an NPC impersonating being scammed. 

    

Adventure With An Apple Pancake

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

I was craving an apple pancake for some reason, so I made a nice fluffy one. Sitting with my morning coffee and the latest edition of Geist Magazine, I flipped through the pages. My eyes nearly fell out of my head.

My byline. Moi. Published! It was a review of a book I had submitted awhile ago, written by a former class mate. The editor hadn't told me. 

Carumba! Always a thrill. Not sure I tasted the rest of my breakfast. Smiled all day. Really must do this more often. 

Love Coming Home

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Such encounters I find exhausting and may explain why I live so quietly. Being close to nature, especially trees and water is extremely important. Given everything, I made friends with solitude long ago. The pleasure of it, the freedome of it, are a deep well. Especially for nurturing creativity. 

Living in a smaller place, trips to the city are inevitable and I find I procrastinate for as long as possible. It is a thrill to partake of the pleasures offered, the cafes, the restaurants, the shopping, but it is quickly draining and I cannot wait to get home. Upon return, my heart is filled with gladness, and usually it takes a day or two to recover before my energy level fully returns.

I don't know why. It is just the way of it. 

X Rated

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Maybe because of all the fence shenanigans, I found myself in the city on an x-ray table. The technician asked for my name. Three times. After the third time I said helpfully,"Like the angel." He looked at me strangely. "What is that?"

 I lightened the odd response by making a joke. "What... are you working for the other side?"

He ignored this and repeated the question. My first thought was that he was pulling my leg. Then I realized by his expression this wasn't so - not a glint of humour twinkled. I knew he had to be intelligent to be doing his job so that was not the problem. Somewhat flabbergasted I remained silent. Again, he asked. 

"A being with wings," I said finally. Well that did it. He looked at me as though I had just said something extremely peculiar. Incomprehenisible. As though he and I were a culture, a continent, a world apart. Inwardly, I groaned as the writing I am working on came to mind. So many would have no comprehension.

The rest of the examination was conducted in silence. Thank goodness. 

Fence Off

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

I am not going to lie. My garden is a wonder. Allow me to clarify. This claim is not of my doing for I assure you, I could not have achieved such mastery on my own. A master gardener designed it. Now I've become it's proud caretaker. I pant around the shrubberies feeling the weight responsiblity of looking after it - always somewhat behind. 

Being a private sort of person, I've been busy. A neighbour recently positioned all his windows to partake of the view. That is to say of me and my property. So I lost my privacy. After madly cogitating on the matter, I have manifested a solution. A fence. A nice one.

I built it.  Me. Myself. Moi. So my privacy is now restored. Home space is sacred ground. 

Places

 by Maryanna Gabriel 

There are places I remember

All my life though some have changed 

- Lennon-McCartney

I don't know about you, but I often return to where I was. That is to say, places where I've lived, pacing outside like a hungry ghost remembering.  Maybe because I put so much love into them, it takes a long time to sort out bonding. My childhood home is one example. 

"Places with their moments...
I loved them all."

Once I heard that when people repeatedly tell their story, often to do with trauma, it is because they need to release the energy, and with each telling they are able to process and let go a little more. Well, it's the same for me when it comes to places. Slowly, slowly, I let go.

Then the molecules of memory are able to reassemble in a focused fashion as I adjust. Where I live now has become a collection point. It so reminds me of my childhood home. I feel gathered together here. 

Shadow Of Young Leaves

Friend gracing my doorway.

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

        Today, I made a new friend perched amid the bolting lettuce. A sign of luck, or so they say. It is a good omen when tree frogs grace my doorway. The month of August always takes me by surprise. Something about the quality of light, the air an inferno, unexpectedly punctuated by sharp shifts in temperature. Often, I am arrested in my tracks as I stare at the shapes of plants, mesmerized by quiet beauty. The garden has made progress from the damage done by the deer, and my current preoccupation is hunting down green beans beneath vast expanses of gigantic zucchini leaves. Tonight the crickets are out, and I scanned the heavens for meteor showers, early eclipses, planetary parades, but none could I see. Just stars. And so many of them, ever reminding me to look up. This poem is very August, so it seemed appropriate. 

In The Fields
                    - Charlotte Mew (1869-1928)

....under old trees the shadows of young leaves
Dancing to please the wind along the grass,
Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;
Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this?
And if there is
Will the strange heart of any everlasting thing
Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?

Friends In High Places

 By Maryanna Gabriel


Once, not so very long ago, at least it does not feel like it, before rampant inflation, long line-ups at European customs, a fuel crisis, volcanoes, fires, to say nothing of war, I was fortunate enough to tour Provence. Part of that tour was a wine tasting. I don't remember it very well. I do remember admiring the surrounding stone work. I believe I tasted a grand cru, but I'm not entirely sure. It was a hot day. My guess is, a lot was going on, making it hard to focus.

Grand cru. 

This was quite spontaneous. I've been lucky enough to share a Montrachet, which is considered a grand cru.  One has to pay attention to the subtleties.Surprisingly, it had a delicate flavour.

Reason? A very, very, (did I say very?) nice friend brought a bottle. Not only did she bring this special wine from Burgundy, she cooked us a chef's dinner. Reason? Writerly friends visiting - (another brought a delicious assortment of cheeses, the kind to make a woman weep).

Gosh did we have fun. We had so much fun we are doing it again. So my palate got educated, in addition to the stimulation of sharing our writing woes. And joys. One has to fasten special times such as these like a bolster to the heart. A protection against the swiftly changing tides of fortune. Amor fati -  embracing what life brings. 

Tonight I put the contents of my go-to box of wine into the grand cru bottle reasoning the residual fumes from the glass bottle might seep in and transform the concoction to a vineyard elixer. I think it might be working... presentation helps. Raising my glass to kind and generous friends. 

Staying Human

Pink fluffies on the Mimosa. 

      By Maryanna Gabriel

              The Man Who Thinks He Can
          If you think you are beaten you are
            If you think you dare not, you don't
            If you like to win, but you think you can't
            it is almost a cinch you won't.
            If you think you'll lose, you're lost
            For oft in this world we find, 
            sucess begins with a fellow's will
            It's all in a state of mind. 
                                            - Walter Wintle
        

     With the holiday and slow ferries, I got caught in town. So I took myself out to dinner. It was delicious and I loved it. Could not help but notice a couple together, but not together. All they did was stare at their phones while at the same table. It seemed a little peculiar. And lonely.

     Then last night I listened to a podcast from a seemingly aware type of fellow who was wanting to catch a plane. Of the four hundred people waiting at the airport gate, all were transfixed by their phones. Except him. He said he felt like the "only human". It gets like that, doesn't it? A slow creep. An erosion of serenity. Nobody home. All this while reports of artificial intelligence escaping the parameters set by their so-called keepers hits the news. Are we really in charge?

     This morning, I deliberately waited an hour before checking my phone.What happened? An important piece of writing got focused on. Breakfast was peaceful. A day well begun. The recalibration felt fine.

     Tonight I will work on the same goal. It's a matter of focus. Giving my attention to beauty. To the pink fluffies on the tree in the garden. To peace. To a life well lived, one day a time. And preserving my humaness. 

Fourth Printing!

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Well whaddya know.

My book is in its fourth printing today -
 how grief turned into a life well lived. 
My publisher wrote this morning
 and said... "It's a great story."

High praise from a man who knows. 
Gratitude to all who support 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, given her perspicacity. Judging by the state of my booby traps, she has made three more attempts, none of them successful - thank goodness.

Apple tree in recovery from a deer break-in.

Thankfully, I live in a relatively peaceful and unpopulated part of the world, which suits me 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, 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 happening 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 up before dawn, nervously peering 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. So 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 amidst the massacre. 

Supernatural Quality: Update

Maryanna Gabrie

"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

After my last blog post, AJ and I worked hard at blocking the spot where I last 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 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 rock wall beneath the crawl space at this rate. Rocks have tumbled everywhere. 

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.