Time, Whatever

Retirement is a enjoyable way of life, but for the uninitiated, it can be be a scary thought. What will I do every day? How will I fill all of those hours now filled with work? Will I be isolated with the loss of my work colleagues? Do I have enough money to live as I would like? These are some of the questions that precede the decision to retire.

Rick and I retired in our early fifties. Thirty years in the classroom had worn us down. While we loved our work, the energy which we brought to the profession in the early years ebbed after thirty years. The school system changed with the loss of denominational education and being older, change was difficult for us. We were ready to  retire.

In our early working careers, we worked in the same school for ten years. We enjoyed that part of our careers and worked well together. We spent summer vacations together, the long summer break which teachers enjoy. We knew what it was like to be around the other person all of the time. What some people fear, we embraced. 

Over time, we fell into our new lifestyle and each of us found a balance which we quite enjoy. Rick, a great cook, does as much cooking as I do. He enjoys his life as a host to friends, maintenance of our home, travel, and time with our family living nearby. 

I found a vibrant population of seniors in Summerside which provides many opportunities to do the things which I enjoy, book club, writing family stories, and volunteer work. I venture into the community while Rick maintains the home front.

The best part of the whole process for me is that we live with the "time, whatever" mind set. We determine our agenda, which is flexible. We are available for family emergencies or unscheduled events. As long as our good health continues, we will continue to enjoy this lifestyle.

       

I wish the same for each of you.

From the Rock to the Garden

Every now and then, we are struck by the beauty of our little Prince Edward Island home. It is not that we take it for granted, but every so often, its garden quality is so evident. Being Newfoundlanders, we appreciate it even more. 

           Coastline of Prince Edward Island

On the way to buy some vegetable plants for the garden this year, we passed acres and acres of land at various stages of readiness for planting.

                   Plowing the Fields

The fertile red soil sits expectantly, waiting for the magic of seed, sun and rain to do the work. We live on a garden in the ocean.

                          Fertile fields

 

We compare this home to our birthplace where our ancestors fought for every acre of earth, where soil was a precious commodity, as precious as the cod which brought them to that rock in the North Atlantic. 

                    Newfoundland Coast

Our ancestors worked to accumulate enough earth to grow vegetables to sustain the family through the winter.

        The Rocky Coast of Newfoundland

 The acquisition and maintenance of the soil was a huge effort.

              Newfoundland Coastline

The history of farming on this island is as deep as the fertile red soil which sustains it. 

                    Red soil of PEI

The island is famous for its potatoes of course, and also products of the ocean as well.

                            Seaside PEI

Here the soil is almost devoid of rock however, rich and deep, soaking up water easily. Growing can be as easy as turning the sod.

                  Newly Planted Fields

Canada is a vast country with such diversity of environment. We are island people of the east coast of this country, from two such diverse islands that are less than five hundred kilometers apart. They are each beautiful in such different ways. Their unique beauty is not lost on us.

Time Pieces

The new toy is an incredible piece of electronic genius. Our daughter's new watch keeps time and so much more, such as calorie burn, steps taken, iMessage, among other things, and on a swipe screen. It is a long way from the wind-up wrist watches we used for so long. This watch is almost anything but a time piece, as my grandparents called a watch or clock. It may be the only type of watch that our grandchildren know.

My mother had a watch which her father brought home to her one autumn after he sold the season's salt fish. It had been a good season and Granda settled his account but had more money than usual left over. He bought the time piece as a surprise for Mom who wore it proudly to school that year. 

As a child, my husband, Rick had a new watch and he was so proud of it. He said, "Dad, this must be a good watch because the tick is so loud."

I remember whilst in high school, I wanted a watch with a black suede strap for Christmas. This was in the days when watch straps, bought separately, were not very common. Mom and Dad went all over St. John's to buy that watch for me. The watch outlasted that strap and I still use it today.

Mom and Dad had a new battery-operated watch for my brother, Francis, for his birthday when he was a teenager. This was the first electric watch in our house. Mom asked, "What happens when the power goes off?"

Then there's the clock at my Grandfather Pretty's house. The sound startled you at first, but it grew on you. It was my grandfather's mantel clock, that told the hour with the appropriate number of chimes and the half hour with one. Pop wound the clock every day, not considered a chore in those days because that was what everyone did. This mantel clock had a winding key.

That chime was comforting during the night when you woke. It broke the quiet, so that you did not feel alone. However, the most comforting part was its tick tock. Often inaudible when the residents of the house were busy, the same sound was drum-like when the room was quiet. This audible passage of time filled such moments with company. Sometimes though, depending on your frame of mind, the tick tock sounded like a roar. At such times, one left the room, too preoccupied with the ticking to endure it.

Rick's grandparents, the Mercers, had such a clock on the mantle as well. We have this clock now though it is never wound. We have it for its sentimental value.

Aunt Marie Smith talks about the one alarm clock the Smiths had in their home when she was young. Every night her father, Ern, took the clock upstairs to the bedroom, wound it, set the alarm. In the morning, he took it downstairs where he wound it again. Marie described this daily ritual to her young grandson.   

His response was, "What do you mean by wound the clock?"

Fog-Less

Spring is well under way. The leaves are newly emerged and the temperatures have risen enough to allow for sleeping with the windows open. However, one thing that is missing is fog.

Having grown up in St. John's, Newfoundland, I know fog. When the warm Gulf Stream current reaches northern latitudes and collides with the colder Labrador current, the result is fog, plenty of it. Newfoundland is in its path. Fog rolls into the harbours and bays, over the hills, enveloping everything natural and man made. It impedes air travel and makes highway travel more risky as well. People adapt their lives to pea soup-like fog conditions.

Rick and I spent our married lives in central Newfoundland, as far away from the ocean as one can get on the island of Newfoundland. While there was not as much fog as in the coastal areas of the island, fog was still a part of life.

Now, living in Prince Edward Island, near the ocean again, it is curious that there is so little fog. Lacking the interaction of the warm Gulf Stream and the cold Labrador current, there is little generation of the misty droplets. We notice its absence. 

              Harbourside in Summerside

Here, the ocean view is rarely shrouded in fog. The grey, blue, or muddy dark waters glisten under the sun, at high and low tide. Sometimes however, we miss the fog of home; or is it the connection to our birthplace that we really miss?

              Water Street at Low Tide

Legacy

With the beautiful weather this week, it was time to tackle the vegetable patch again. We had already boosted the soil with some composted sheep manure. It was time to add some seeds. Over the last two summers, I planted too much in the garden box and am determined not to do the same this year. I needed some string and nails to section off the box to help organize the planting. Of course, my husband, Rick had everything I needed. 

While he assisted me, he told me the story of the kite string which we used on the box. Years ago, in the late 1980s, we visited my family in Mount Pearl, Newfoundland in late August. Mom's next door neighbour moved to Labrador that summer and left this reel of string on the lawn. It was there for the entire time we were visiting. The day we left, Rick picked it off the lawn and took it home to Grand Falls with us. It was not used until this day.

Like his grandfather, Ern, and his father, Melvin, before him, Rick keeps things, just in case he needs them another time. This is Ern Smith's legacy, that genetic make-up that causes his grandson to hold on to something because it might 'come in handy' later. And so it did, more than twenty five years later. 

We laughed about the history of the string and thought of Ern while we worked on the garden. It was a great day in every way.

The Miracle of Green

The days are upon us, those few days every spring when the leaves burst from their buds. It starts with that hint of green replacing the bare branches and twigs which weathered the worst nature could muster.

A week ago, trees looked the same as they have for seven months. 

Mere days ago, snow covered the ground at the base of the trees, now just one small patch. 

Suddenly however, the promise of green is evident.

Watching this eruption is one of my favourite natural spectacles. It is slow, not for the impatient or those needing instant gratification. It unfurls slowly over a week or so, resulting is that new green, 

fresh from nature's factory, a mix of molecules which, under the right conditions, renew tree and spirit.

We have the privilege of watching the miracle!

Dancing Spirit

She was a reluctant newborn with a tenuous hold on life. Since that time however, over four years now, Sylvie has celebrated that life with joy. Her very being is a testament to love of life including dance, movement.

At two, she spent hours watching The Nutcracker on youtube with the attention of an adult. Her ballet moves, as she called them, were practiced often and with much enthusiasm. She watched Angelina Ballerina so as to copy the movement.

Then she went to ballet class where she watched for a few weeks, afraid to move to the dance floor, watching from the sidelines. When she finally tried it, she was taken with the music, movement and the group led by the teacher. The classes were not long enough.

Now the group is preparing for the year-end show. She will be one of a group of butterflies, whose wings can actually move. Sylvie is thrilled with the costume and the fact that she will be on the stage where she has seen other performers. Her excitement is infectious.

Witnessing Sylvie's love of dance is entertaining and heart warming. The performance itself will be a bonus.