North of zero

.

Painted ladies

You see them along the shoreline of the island now, butterflies preparing to migrate. This year we’ve see lots of whites but painted ladies are in abundance. Islanders are surprised with the numbers of the lovely creatures.

My husband and I didn’t set out to find butterflies. Our success with photographs of the small winged creatures this year has not been the greatest. This day, we merely wanted to walk a longer section of the trail than we usually do. Cameras at the ready, we always see something different, especially if we haven’t been in an area for a time. We weren’t disappointed.

The border between the boardwalk and the beach is full of wildflowers, some of which are past their summer glory. 

However, there were enough blooms to attract butterflies, especially the painted ladies. A few even stopped feeding long enough to allow for photos. We are happy with the results.

The underside of these beauties is as intricate in design as the top.

The head and antennae are wonders in themselves but the straw-like probosis, which unfurls to suck up the nectar, is visible too. Nature never fails to amaze if we but stop and stare.

The clinging vine

Late summer every year, we watch the progress of wild cucumber plants in specific areas, such as along the Confederation Trail and the Baywalk. The vines, annuals by nature, appear in August and quickly wend their way upward through branches of the affected trees.

They are pretty, with their feathery blooms and the tendrils 

which latch on to everything. Their blooms stand out against the branches of their hosts. The leaves remind me of maple leaves.

The inedible seed pods are prickly spheres 

full of seeds which eventually fall to the ground where they remain dormant until conditions are optimal for their germination. All seeds don't germinate every year and with the number of seeds in each pod, no wonder this plant is prolific.

To rid an area of the plants, one has to pull out the vines before they go to seed. Even then, it can take years to be rid of them, as seeds from previous years would continue to germinate. 

Wild cucumber is invasive and detrimental to native species. They can cover trees, shading them from light, effectively killing them.

A recent article on the local CBC news, tells the story of one yard on Prince Edward Island which has been overrun by the clinging vine. 

The photos tell the story.

Is his house next?

 

Preserves

Zucchini, peppers, onions, cauliflower, chop, chop, chop, chop.

Peppers, onions, tomatoes, chop, chop, chop.

Those vegetables don't include the chopping for the spaghetti, pizza and marinara sauces.  I am a chopping machine these days. Preserves fly out of the kitchen as I label bottles of zucchini mustard pickles, salsa and the rest to store for the coming year. 

I love this time of year and this activity. It harkens back to my youth, when Nan and Mom and all the women of the neighbourhood made preserves. It started in August as berries ripened and berry picking expeditions headed out to areas known for various kinds of berries. I always loved berry picking and when I was old enough, I worked at the preserving as well. 

Wild raspberry, blueberry, strawberry and partridgeberry, also know as lingonberry, patches yielded buckets of delicious fruit, made into pies, puddings, cakes and jams. Much of a woman’s work this time of year was preparing for the winter and preserves were a key component of that preparation.

Pickles were a common preserve as well. Mom always made green tomato pickles or pickled beets. We usually had enough until the next preserving season. 

These days, my husband and I are not jam lovers, so my focus is on pickles, plus salsa, pizza and other sauces, made from my garden tomatoes. Marinara sauce is next!

P.S. While I was chopping tomatoes for a recent recipe, my husband asked, "What are you making this time?"

"Salsa," I replied. 

Seconds later, salsa music filled the air. Chopping to the music made the time fly. Too bad I threw out my back.

In sync

Two juvenile yellow bellied sapsuckers are ready for lunch.

Favourites from the trails

The names are Witch’s Way, Canopy, Sawmill and Prince’s Loop. They conjure up images of their own but the Bonshaw Hills Trails are a delight in more than names. These are our favourite images from a recent exploration of these trails: 

was a giant woodpecker at work here?

Is this a scene from a science fiction movie, the tendrils of an alien hand creeping over the earth? 

Old man's beard covered several trees in one area. 

Dog berries are plentiful but are they a harbinger of a bad winter? 

The hobbit wasn't home on this day.

Mini maples or Canada trees, as our four year old granddaughter calls them, have taken over this forest floor. 

Goldenrod was more than two meters tall in places. 

A rock you say? A rarity on this island!

Remnants of an old sawmill cause us to pause and consider how the forest has grown around the remains. 

Artifacts from an old homestead are exhibited on one trail.

Colour, light and texture are key elements on these trails.

The golden grand-dog insists on waiting if I fall too far behind. She barks, "Are you finished with that camera yet?" Georgie is accustomed to the wait.

Gratitude

We've driven past it several times as we've explored the island. Last week, we decided finally to stop and see the International Children’s Memorial Park in central Prince Edward Island. It is a place of serenity and beauty where families who have lost children commemorate them.

“This place could bring you down,” my husband says as we leave the car. Neither of us speak as we walk along by the Ever Living Forest. 

Trees have been planted in memory of loved ones with each tree dedicated to a specific person. Some contain photos of the child or young person on a plaque as well.

It is overwhelming to see the number of lost children, represented by the trees.

The photo shows a newer section of the forest. We don't look at the plaques or photos. How do families cope with such loss?

Our thoughts went back over thirty years when we almost lost our daughter at six weeks of age and years later, our eldest granddaughter was a reluctant newborn. Those were moments of terror in our lives and we imagined their names in this place. Then we noticed the trail.

It runs along the banks of Scales Pond through a mixed forest.

One’s eyes are drawn upward and on this day, the tall trees sway in the warm late summer breeze. 

Birds sing in the trees and out on the river, cormorants float, occasionally driving for fish. 

There is a boat launch area for non-motorized boats.

Benches located along the trail provide a place to sit and reflect. We listen and absorb the tranquility of the scene and the song of the wind in the trees. We are the only people there. 

The last section of trail is an open area along the shore between the pond and the trees, an untamed area more open to the pond.

Here, the plants bordering the trail are waist high and hundreds of white butterflies 

flit through the vegetation and all around us. 

The tiny white beauties and their free spirits are perfect in this setting, appropriate symbols for this place.

Sadness is not the sentiment as we head back to the car, but rather peace that comes with comfort and gratitude.