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Showing posts with label British Columbia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label British Columbia. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

O is for Oyama in BC's Okanagan Valley

Posted for
ABC Wednesday


Kalamalka Lake, left, and Wood Lake, right, are separated by a narrow strip of land, site of the BC community of Oyama, population 1000, named after Japanese Prince Iwao Oyama (1842-1916).
Richard Schear photo
Beautiful mixed flower and vegetable garden at Kenola Farm, Winfield, British Columbia.
C. Krebs photo

Oyama and Winfield, along with Carr's Landing and Okanagan Centre,
make up the area known as Lake Country, in the central Okanagan Valley.

Friday, February 24, 2012

For Real Toads: a poet's first two lines

Over at the writers' group, Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Mary (In the Corner of My Eye) has offered us a way to get a poem going. Choose, she suggests, the first two lines of a poem by someone whose work we admire, and use those lines to jump-start a poem of our own.
Your timing is perfect, Mary, because my brain is not in gear atallatall and my head is still stuffed up with a cold. 
I decided to try one of the old-faithfuls from my youth, one of the balladeers for whom I've always had a soft spot. Their rhythms have almost always been able to get my rhythms going.
I chose the Scottish-Canadian, Robert W. Service, in part because his early works were first printed in a British Columbia newspaper, and I spent most of my life working for British Columbia newspapers.
The first two lines are Service's, the rest are mine.
*

Thy life is thine to make or mar, 
To flicker feebly, or to soar, a star; 
To live with honor or to die in shame,
The choice is yours, my darling, all the same.
*
Soaring means to thyself be true,
To be a star means nothing there to rue;
Living in honor means not choosing shame,
The choice is yours, my dear one, all the same.
*
You’ve been given a gift to use,
To use your talent well, and not abuse
The poetry that’s printed with your name;
The choice is yours, my daughter, all the same.
*
(This is written to an imaginary daughter, a poet-daughter I think I might have had.)

Sunday, January 30, 2011

For Mellow Yellow Monday, I want to introduce my friend




                                                                                                                                              Photos of her garden by Carola Krebs
Old friends are often the best friends, and Carola is one of my oldest friends. You know what I mean, I've known her almost all my life. We have laughed and cried together, celebrated together and despaired together. We were in school together, and even though we haven't seen one another every year since then, we have never lost touch, thanks to her letter-writing abilities (before either of us had home computers or even dreamed of home computers). I remember when her sons were born, and when her grandsons were born. She and her husband Ken (whom she met when we were in grade 11 and he was an 'older' man by about 3 years) have a lovely 5-acre property on the hill above the town of Winfield in British Columbia's beautiful Okanagan Valley. Their house is more than 100 years old and they've lived there almost that long, it seems to me. Carola is a great gardener, a fabulous photographer, a creative cook, and a renowned talker. Did I say she's been bossing me around since high school? Well, I've tried to return the favor by suggesting she should look into blogging, but she is too busy being a hands-on grandmother, a talented seamstress, a wonderful quilter and, just recently, a creator of her own greeting cards. She belongs to a book club, plus she and Ken take courses at something she calls SLR. To me that means a camera, but Carola claims it also means Seniors Learning something-or-other. So she doesn't have time for blogging. Ain't that a shame?

Posted for Mellow Yellow Monday, hosted each week by Drowsey Monkey.
To see other mellow yellows met by other bloggers, please click

Monday, August 30, 2010

My World is from Ocean to Prairie







My world, when we're not globetrotting, is still larger than it used to be, ever since I married a man whose work and family are in Alberta.
My world now stretches from the southwest corner of British Columbia to the southeast corner of Alberta, some 1400km (870 miles) across a dozen mountain ranges including the Rockies, and across the prairie "where the deer and the antelope play".
The prairie, contrary to my long-held belief, is not completely flat. In some places there are hills and, in other places, coulees (a pretty word for holes in the ground, or ravines).
The coulees near the South Saskatchewan River start, for us, near our back yard. My husband Dick, and our dog Lindy, usually take their daily walk around the tops of some of these scenic ravines, and they never know who they'll meet: other dogs walking their owners; cats out for a stroll without their owners; or deer who know no owners. So far, Dick and Lindy haven't met any antelope, although we often see them in the fields on the other side of town.
This week, for My World Tuesday http://showyourworld.blogspot.com/ I've chosen some of the photos taken by Dick (Richard Schear) and Lindy (who doesn't have her own camera but is good about waiting while Dick uses his) so you can see a coulee, some of the wildlife, and a lovely coulee cat.

You can see other sights (and sites) from around the world at


Monday, August 23, 2010

MY WORLD SMOKES, and I don't like it





When I look at the current weather conditions on theweathernetwork.com, I see the present temperature and the word "smoke". Yes, the smoke from British Columbia forest fires is still so bad it has become a factor in the weather of southeastern Alberta. It gives me an opportunity to use the words "my world" followed by a verb, but it doesn't give me much satisfaction. I think of all the people I know who have breathing problems, some serious, some less so, and I hope the thunderstorms predicted for this afternoon will come and wash the smoke away, even though the thunder frightens our dog. I think of the lungs of animals, wild and domesticated, who are exposed to the smoke without respite, unlike our dog who spends many hours indoors. And I cry.

You can see happier sights from other parts of the world at http://showyourworld.blogspot.com/
Photos by Richard Schear.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Living Rivers books, by Gordon Davies



Dad's two books,
The Living Rivers of British Columbia;
and
The Living Rivers of
British Columbia and Yukon,
are still available from http://www.ronsdalepress.com


Gordon Davies was the friend of every river he ever met.