Farewell, Tree

We've just had some of the big snow storm that crippled parts of Canada and the United States; some people here lost electricity due to the strong winds but, overall, Montreal was spared the very worst of the storm. But what wasn't spared was a tree we had at the front of the house; it was never much of a tree and for years I had a wire connected from the tree to the wall of the house, to hold it just in case it fell over. 

Now the tree is gone. We planted the tree at least twenty years ago; farewell twenty years of growing, Tree; farewell to 20 to 25 feet in height, Tree. The tree didn't collapse, it broke under the weight of the snow. Then I had the job of cutting it up; which, against my self-doubts, I did. 

I was of two minds regarding losing the tree. I wanted the tree but not necessarily this tree . . . although better this tree than no tree at all which is what I now have. It was never a great tree, it was a good enough tree; it tended to thinning out, but a few years ago I topped the tree and forced the growth to the bottom branches and the whole tree filled out nicely. That improved the tree. A tree, even this tree, adds a lot to the landscaping of a house, remove the tree and you are no longer distracted from the house that needs painting, pointing, and general maintenance. And I am basically a tree lover and don't like to cut down any tree. Farewell, Tree . . .

I wasn't sure I was up to cutting up the tree; I'm not young, but I did it. And then, a few days after the tree collapsed, I noticed from a basement window chick-a-dees walking around under the cut branches of the tree, finding something to eat. They missed the tree. And later, outside, I saw chick-a-dees sitting on the cut branches, I felt like a traitor to the birds, but I wasn't, I didn't cause the tree to break, all I did was cut up the branches. But the chick-a-dees missed the tree. And then I remembered that I used to sit in our living room, just a few feet from where the tree had been outside, and I could hear chick-a-dees in the tree, they'd sit on the branches, they used the tree, they liked the tree, they were happy in the tree, and here I was cutting up the branches. So, now, the tree has to be replaced with another tree.

Farewell, Tree

Farewell, Tree

That's the tree, on the left, in October

That's the tree, on the right

And now I miss the tree. 

Hortus conclusus, the enclosed garden

From the street

From the street

From the street

When my son, who is a Medievalist, saw the fences around my garden he mentioned "hortus conclusus", the concept of the enclosed garden from the Middle Ages; this garden design has its origin and attribution to the Virgin Mary but gardens are also a part of our spiritual history, beginning with the Garden of Eden and the fall of Man. The hortus conclusus is an archetypal garden, it has that special quality of spiritual authenticity that gives the garden a greater significance, as a place that resonates in both our Christian spirituality and the spirituality of other religions. So, this is no happenstance that I have these walls enclosing the garden; this is a way of finding spirituality, or God, in the physical and material world, and it is the reason I find such happiness in having the garden enclosed with these walls. 

And so, the hortus conclusus is a place of peace, and one wants to be there because it is a place of quiet, an entrance to the spiritual, and a place of temenos. All of this is foreign to our contemporary life, but people in the past, especially the Middle Ages, understood the meaning of the enclosed garden. 

"Lines Written in Kensington Gardens" by Matthew Arnold

 

In this lone, open glade I lie,
Screen'd by deep boughs on either hand;
And at its end, to stay the eye,
Those black-crown'd, red-boled pine-trees stand!

Birds here make song, each bird has his,
Across the girdling city's hum.
How green under the boughs it is!
How thick the tremulous sheep-cries come!

Sometimes a child will cross the glade
To take his nurse his broken toy;
Sometimes a thrush flit overhead
Deep in her unknown day's employ.

Here at my feet what wonders pass,
What endless, active life is here!
What blowing daisies, fragrant grass!
An air-stirr'd forest, fresh and clear.

Scarce fresher is the mountain-sod
Where the tired angler lies, stretch'd out,
And, eased of basket and of rod,
Counts his day's spoil, the spotted trout.

In the huge world, which roars hard by,
Be others happy if they can!
But in my helpless cradle I
Was breathed on by the rural Pan.

I, on men's impious uproar hurl'd,
Think often, as I hear them rave,
That peace has left the upper world
And now keeps only in the grave.

Yet here is peace for ever new!
When I who watch them am away,
Still all things in this glade go through
The changes of their quiet day.

Then to their happy rest they pass!
The flowers up close, the birds are fed,
The night comes down upon the grass,
The child sleeps warmly in his bed.

Calm soul of all things! make it mine
To feel, amid the city's jar,
That there abides a peace of thine,
Man did not make, and cannot mar.

The will to neither strive nor cry,
The power to feel with others give!
Calm, calm me more! nor let me die
Before I have begun to live.

A Tiny Garden Near Here

I often walk by this garden on the corner of Nelson and Westminster Avenue, and I always admire it. Every house has a garden and many of these gardens are very nice, but I have not seen people stop to admire other gardens as they do for this one. This past weekend there was an article in the newspaper on the "tiny garden", and this would qualify as tiny. I think of my garden as small but it is large compared to this. The owners must be proud of what they have created.

 

"Late September" by Charles Simic

The mail truck goes down the coast

Carrying a single letter. 

At the end of a long pier 

The bored seagull lifts a leg now and then 

And forgets to put it down. 

There is a menace in the air 

Of tragedies in the making. 

Last night you thought you heard television 

In the house next door. 

You were sure it was some new 

Horror they were reporting, 

So you went out to find out. 

Barefoot, wearing just shorts. 

It was only the sea sounding weary 

After so many lifetimes 

Of pretending to be rushing off somewhere 

And never getting anywhere. 

This morning, it felt like Sunday. 

The heavens did their part 

By casting no shadow along the boardwalk 

Or the row of vacant cottages, 

Among them a small church 

With a dozen gray tombstones huddled close 

As if they, too, had the shivers.

"Dark August" by Derek Walcott

Dark August

     By Derek Walcott

So much rain, so much life like the swollen sky
of this black August. My sister, the sun,
broods in her yellow room and won't come out.

Everything goes to hell; the mountains fume
like a kettle, rivers overrun; still,
she will not rise and turn off the rain.

She is in her room, fondling old things,
my poems, turning her album. Even if thunder falls
like a crash of plates from the sky,

she does not come out.
Don't you know I love you but am hopeless
at fixing the rain ? But I am learning slowly

to love the dark days, the steaming hills,
the air with gossiping mosquitoes,
and to sip the medicine of bitterness,

so that when you emerge, my sister,
parting the beads of the rain,
with your forehead of flowers and eyes of forgiveness,

all will not be as it was, but it will be true
(you see they will not let me love
as I want), because, my sister, then

I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones,
The black rain, the white hills, when once
I loved only my happiness and you.

A garden is an oasis

People talk about their backyard decks as being like an additional room off the house, that it's an extension of the inside of your home. The more comfortable the deck the more inviting it is and the more it will be used. Of course, the deck is there at the cost of your garden, your backyard is covered over with wood, stairs, garden furniture, a barbecue, an umbrella, chairs, and more, maybe a few garden gnomes and a small pond with fish in it and a fountain! If you have children or want to socialize outside then you'll want a deck.   

When I walk around this neighbourhood I see a lot of cars, driveways, roads, parking lots, trucks, front lawns and some gardens, a backyard area behind the houses and between adjacent streets, some birds and some people. Then, I return to my garden and it seems an oasis of peace and quiet, flowers and plants; if you plant a perennial garden you've invited birds and insects and maybe some nocturnal urban wildlife to visit or live in your garden. Mother Nature will appreciate your effort!

But a Canadian cottage garden, like a deck, is also an extension of your home; you can see your garden when you look out of the window and the more pleasant you've made your garden the more time you'll want to spend there. Your garden is also like a room just as a patio and deck are like a room, but they are otherwise different. Our backyard used to have an apple tree (it's still there), some raspberry canes that had been neglected, weeds, and grass; it was not particularly welcoming but it was good enough. It was good enough but you didn't want to spend much time there. Something could be said in favour of a weed garden, uncut grass, a neglected space, a space that has gone to seed (literally). It must have been about six years ago that I began to transform our backyard into a garden and since then it has become what I wanted, a cottage garden, an oasis of sorts, with perennial flowers, a place where many birds visit the bird bath or just fly over, a place with lots of flowers and lots of insects. 

Each of us can make something of beauty, in some way we can restore some peace to life, affirm life, restore some goodness to life. Everyday we are surrounded by change as though change has some kind of merit in itself; I believe that not changing has some merit. Government has taken over many (most?) aspects of life and, frankly, our society is worse today than it was ten years ago when the current government was elected. Are you better off today than you were in 2012? Obviously not if you live in Canada; high inflation, more homeless people than ever before, we're afraid to get sick because our medical system is falling apart, the national debt has never been as large as it is now, a prime minister who has no moral compass, and Quebec moving relentlessly to separation from Canada. We used to discuss things and we respected that other people had differing opinions; however,  discussion is a thing of the past as people are cancelled or yelled at or otherwise shut up. Intolerance and outrage prevail! 

My only complaint about my garden is that it's too shady; I planted hostas where it is most shady. I've learned that many perennial flowers don't need either direct sunlight or sunlight all day; gardeners have to adapt to what they actually have.  

Crow visiting . . .

I played the recorded sound of  crows, a few minutes later this young crow seemed to drop out of the tree above the bird bath. Had he heard the bird sounds? Or was it just a coincidence...

Cardinals visiting . . .

I wondered, if I play bird sounds (found online), will the birds respond? On my IPhone I played Cardinals singing, a minute later I heard real-life Cardinals responding; then, two Cardinals flew over my head and (see way down below) you can see one of the Cardinals sitting in a tree after I played "Cardinals, bird sounds", that's what you Google to get these sites, one in particular, "all about birds", is the site that I used. Cardinals are friendly birds and they aren't particularly shy. The first photographs below were taken when a Cardinal swooped down and sat in the bird bath. The final photos below were taken on the morning of 20 August from our dining room window.  

This Cardinal arrived after hearing the recorded Cardinal singing

This Cardinal responded to the sound of recorded Cardinals, he sat in a tree above me

Honey bees on the corner of Mayfair and Terrebonne

For several years I've seen honey bees in the hydrangea bush on the corner of Mayfair and Terrebonne. I like seeing honey bees having been a beekeeper years ago, and most summers they're in my garden. By the way, this garden on Terrebonne is especially nice, it's probably one of the nicest gardens around here; it's not a typical garden, more of a cottage garden.  

The garden's progress: mid-August

When August begins the days grow shorter; now it's getting dark by 8 p.m. There is also the smell of August in the air, it's something I've noticed since I was a child; that smell of August coincided with shorter days and told me that summer didn't have long to last and then it was back to dreaded school in a few weeks and the end of my freedom. Now, the insects are singing at night, I hear them before bed around 11:30 p.m. and again at 5 a.m. I used to think fireflies were finished their business by mid-July but this year I saw them at the beginning of August; they say it was a hotter than usual summer but it seemed an average summer for heat except for the fireflies. Now we are on the downward slide to fall.

Walking by St. Philip's Anglican Church this morning