What is it about rainbows that make us look up with wonder and smile?
Last week, I saw the most incredible double rainbow. It appeared one morning on my way to work and I stopped to take a picture of it. My boss did the same thing and when we walked into the office, there were a bunch of people milling around the glass doors, gazing out at the beautiful arched spectacle framing the sky.
It’s easy to understand why we’re so enamoured with rainbows.
Rare, beautiful, magical, their kaleidoscope of colours are a miracle of nature.
Pure, elusive, we recognize they are a gift from heaven and we gaze at them with childlike wonder.
They teach us that when things are dark and gloomy, light and beauty may be a raindrop away.
They represent hope and wonder and remind us of the importance of stopping to take in the moment, because at any time, their elusive beauty may fade away.
Just like the words in the song, even though they are mere illusions, we are transformed into lovers and dreamers while we remain under their spell.
This week’s #HappyAct is to find your rainbow connection even if you don’t see a rainbow.
A trail beckons Overgrown, almost indiscernible Leading me away from my thoughts Between fallen branches and stumps To the secret waterfall
Silent and barren Still Forlorn Waiting for spring’s rebirth
I gaze up to the canopy above Soft green leaves Cradle the sky Enfolding me in their arms Protecting me
I stop and listen And am rewarded The forest reveals itself Chattering like two old ladies on a park bench
The jays’ jeers and caws Echo through the leafy canopy Overpowering the faint chirps and peeps Of warblers and songbirds
The rustling leaves dance in the wind A lone leaf spirals downward Swaying back and forth Down, down Landing gently on the forest floor
I look down The canopy above is reflected below A sea of scattered yellow leaves An early surrender To fall’s call to arms
This week’s #HappyAct is to spend some time beneath the canopy.
Editor’s note: I wrote this poem in the woods near my house. I’ve always found the woods a very peaceful place and studies show spending time in nature can be directly correlated to a person’s happiness.
I wanted to comment on a recent trend, Forest Therapy Walks. The whole idea of calling a hike in the forest a “therapy walk” makes me cringe, but nomenclature aside, I’d advise against joining a group of people. Group walks are great if you want to learn about the native species or meet new people, but if you truly want to connect with nature, explore on your own.
Me, Danette and Leslie at Hopewell Rocks, New Brunswick
Have you ever wondered what it’s like to walk on the ocean floor?
Last week at this time, I was walking on the ocean floor at Hopewell Rocks Provincial Park in New Brunswick on the way home from an epic two-week vacation to Cape Breton with my girlfriends Leslie and Danette.
Hopewell Rocks is one of the most recognizable landmarks in Canada. It is known for its iconic flowerpot rocks and for being located on the Bay of Fundy which has some of the highest tides in the world. Twice a day, the bay fills and empties of a billion tonnes of water during each tide cycle—more than the flow of all the world’s freshwater rivers combined.
The tides rise and fall between 40-50 feet at Hopewell Rocks. The entrance fee to the park is actually good for two days, since many people like to come back to see both low and high tides, or kayak between the rocks during high tide.
We arrived mid-afternoon and descended the massive staircase to the ocean floor. It’s a bit of a strange feeling to know that the rocks and beach you’re strolling on will be completely underwater in a matter of minutes. The tides rise so fast there, they now have park staff monitoring different sections of the beach to make sure stragglers make it back to the stairs to return to the surface in time.
We arrived as the tide was coming in. I stood and watched two exposed rocks to see how long it would take for the water to engulf them. I probably only watched for about five minutes for the rocks to fully disappear—that was how fast the water rose.
I was fascinated by the shape of the rocks, their unique patterns and colouring and the barnacles that covered the rocks like blankets. They were rubbery and uniform and dry to the touch. Some say the flowerpot rocks will eventually crumble, but they’ve lasted for thousands of years so my guess is you still have plenty of time to see them if you plan to visit.
Many visitors don’t take the time to explore the many viewing platforms from up above, but I highly recommend it. When we first arrived, we watched a young deer trying to manoeuvre its way through the vast dark brown sand to the more lush green vegetation on the banks. It struggled to move through the quicksand and seemed disoriented in the loamy soil left from the receding waters. It was still trying to escape to safety when we moved to the next viewing platform.
There we saw a mother peregrine falcon perched on a tree limb stretching out over the Bay’s waters. This was the first time I’ve ever seen a peregrine falcon in the wild. We were very close, so we got a great view of her.
It’s nearly impossible to see, but the tiny dot in the estuary of water between all the brown loamy ocean soil was a deer trying to find its way to safety
As we were admiring her stately helmet and stature, one of her babies came flying in beside her. They screeched an exchange for a few minutes, then both settled on the limb. One of the park staff later told me there were four babies. Babies often stay in the same area as their family after leaving the nest, flying with them while hunting. The staff member showed me a bunch of photos he had of the falcons on his phone—he said this is one of the first years they’ve had peregrine falcons at the park and the park staff were clearly very proud of their newest residents.
This week’s #HappyAct is to plan a trip to walk on the ocean floor, or visit an iconic park landmark in your area. Happy travels!
I’ve always loved a screen porch. There’s just something special about feeling like you’re outdoors, in nature but without the bugs, and spending quality time talking, playing cards, reading or doing puzzles.
The other night after dinner, I wandered into the front room and asked Dave where the girls were. He said he thought Clare was in the screened porch doing school work.
I went to join her and found Grace sitting on the futon, gently strumming her guitar while Clare sat in the lounger under a fluffy duvet writing out an assignment. I joined them and we just sat there for about an hour, listening to the chords float into the air, the birds chirping outside and watching the cotton candy sky swirl above the leafy treetops as the sun went down.
It was a special moment in a special place and I was so grateful to be able to spend time with my girls, with no phones, computers or devices to take away from the peace, serenity and tranquility of our beautiful surroundings.
This week’s #HappyAct is to spend some time with a different type of screen. Here’s a picture of Bentley after a swim in our screened porch.
At the end of April, we travelled to St. Simon’s Island, Georgia for our annual family vacation. We’ve become enamoured with the barrier islands in the Low Country and this beautiful island south of Savannah didn’t disappoint.
One of my favourite days was exploring Driftwood Beach on nearby Jekyll Island. Located on the northern end of the island, it’s unlike any other beach you’ve been to. It’s quite isolated and stretches for miles and is strewn with pieces of driftwood, each one unique, interesting and amazing.
As I walked down the beach, I felt like Robinson Crusoe or a castaway member from Gilligan’s Island. There wasn’t a soul around, and it was very dystopian. I wandered through nature’s art gallery examining the different pieces of driftwood.
There were ancient trolls guarding the beach, dolphins leaping amongst the waves, sea turtles nesting on the beach, wolves howling into the wind and warriors lifting their swords high into the sky.
While my little lake at home is nothing like Driftwood Beach, I get a similar feeling of being an explorer when I paddle into our back lakes where there are no houses or cottages, just me and my kayak, the sun on the water and the herons, vultures and beavers keeping me company.
This week’s #HappyAct is to get lost on a deserted island or beach. Happy exploring.
Ancient trolls guarding the beach
Two wolves howling at the moon and a dolphin jumping in the waves
For many of us, life is about to get really busy again after two years of discovering a slower pace of life. When things become crazy and out of control, remember to slow down and make the morning last.
You never know what you will see when you slow down. The other day, I was running late and hitting land speed records on my back roads over to Sydenham. I came up behind a farmer’s tractor and had to slow down and follow him around the curves. While I crawled behind the tractor, I looked to the left and saw a beautiful herd of deer in the field grazing on the green tufts shooting up through the last remains of snow. If I hadn’t slowed down to follow that tractor, I would have never seen such a beautiful sight.
So remember,
Slow down, you move too fast You got to make the morning last…
I got no deeds to do No promises to keep I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep Let the morning time drop all its petals on me Life, I love you All is groovy
Still one of my favourite Simon and Garfunkle songs of all time. Here they are performing The 59th Bridge Street Song live.
Have you ever gone for a walk or a drive, and arrived not remembering anything you’ve seen along the way because you were so lost in your thoughts?
It happens to me more than I would like to admit.
I’m conscious of it now, so when it happens, I stop in mid-stride if I’m walking, scold my brain, and start looking at the world around me. I make a conscious effort to be in the moment, listen to the wind in the trees, the birds, see the snow glistening on the pines and just take it all in.
It’s easy to become prisoners of our thoughts. It’s hard work to see past them.
I’ve always had an affinity for log cabins. They make me feel at home. Sadly, they are a dying breed. While custom log home builders are still building majestic post and beam and timber frame homes, you have to comb the backwoods and back lakes of our region to find an original hand-hewn log cabin.
We were having this conversation last weekend at my best friend’s family cottage north of Minden. Her Dad built the main cabin almost sixty years ago and over time, her brother Steve built two more log cabins on the property. Steve said to me at one point, “Nobody builds cottages any more, they’re all homes.”
Their cottage hasn’t changed much in 40 years. Waterskis and lifejackets hang from the wooden rafters in the ceiling. Next to the old icebox in the kitchen filled with baking supplies is an antique Kellogg Wood Wall phone, the kind where you had to hold a receiver to your ear to hear the person talking.
The walls of the cabin are filled with bric-a-brac, antique cookie tins, pieces of driftwood and kids’ artwork from years gone by. The only thing that has changed is the fireplace. About eight years ago, Steve refaced the fireplace, using weathered river stone. The last few years, he’s been working on restoring another old log cabin on the property. It is a very special place.
The newest log cabin on the property
My favourite vacation rental of all time was a 100-year old log cabin set in a meadow on a hillside on 25 acres just outside of Woodstock, Vermont. We spent a week there when the kids were little, and it too, was special.
The kitchen had an old porcelain style sink with a picture above it of the original homesteaders on the property, sitting in overalls with corn straw hats. The interior of the house had an old wood stove, a long wood dining room table adorned with wildflowers in a vase, and a big wooden staircase that went up to a loft that had two bedrooms, connected by a long walkway.
100-year old cabin in Woodstock, Vermont
The best part of the house was its wraparound porch. It was massive, and we practically lived outside for the entire week, eating meals and playing games on the small table with four chairs and sitting in the rocking chairs. On our last day, as Dave and I rocked on the porch enjoying our morning coffee, a deer made his way up the hill towards the cabin, grazing on the dewey grass until he was just a few feet from us.
Yes, if I were going to move, it would be to a log cabin on a lake. For now, I’m grateful for friends who have so generously allowed me to share in the memories of these special places. It has meant the world to me.
Happy Act 