Today was one of those days. We didn't get outside enough - it was so hot - and too much time spent indoors with the AC on and windows shut has left my head feeling stuffy. We did walk to the berry patch at the bottom of the garden once early evening offered the shelter of shadows. The marionberries are just coming into ripe and I gleaned several perfect ones which were consumed on the spot, a celebration of the sun-warmed garden. The baby can roll over back to front and front to back now; I think he's pretty happy with this new way of exploring his world.
Yesterday a hummingbird flew up to me and my baby in the garden by the tall poppies and the fuchsia bush. It was magical; the hummingbird hovered a few feet in front of us and we all remained suspended in each others presence for a long moment before it zoomed on. Perhaps the hummingbird recognized us; we sit nursing at the window by the feeder and wander the garden not infrequently. This baby is charmed by the wind as it breathes through the poplars, as am I. In my animal medicine book hummingbirds signify joy and I truly am noticing more and more of that around every day with this little person in my world and the beautiful place we call home.
I reflected on my developed aversion to hot weather, as mentioned yesterday, and have come to realize that I personally can still handle the heat (albeit ideally with a large body of cool water to swim in), but am protectively anxious about my heat-intolerant pet rabbits, my thirsty garden, and now my infant baby as well. Thank goodness for sprinklers, blinds, heat pumps and cool nights; I think we'll get through this.
When did it happen that I began wishing for rain in the summer? I've gone from shameless sun-worshipper to dedicated shade-seeker. We're in the midst of a heat wave here on southern Vancouver Island and I'm thinking fondly of October. Heck, I'd even trade in today's 5:10 am sunrise and 9:18 pm sunset for the dark days of winter in order to have more comfortable weather. Hopefully this heat passes quickly and mildly, and in the meantime I'll content myself with walks in the coolness of evening when the light is at its most beautiful.
This evening I carried the baby in my arms down the hill to the beach. The ocean shimmered smokey blue and silver under brooding clouds. We saw a Northern Flicker, robins and swallows, and two baby cottontails. Baby took this all in with his bright, curious eyes and sucked on my arm a bit. These are quiet days (if you don't count the standard crying). We are still settling in to our new rural home and to life with a charming dependant.
I like mornings. Enough so that I'm glad to be awake for the grey world to slowly be suffused with colour, even if I fall asleep again later once all the light is in the sky. I like seeing the orange squares of light in the window frames of the neighbouring houses. I like seeing the colours, pinks and yellows, flow from the sky into the landscape, and the drained sky to slowly turn blue.
This is kind of a strange place, with gulls wheeling by and the wind always ready to whip up strong and hearty. The garden in the back, all dry grasses and bent plants, is flooded. One night I dreamt that this whole flat area, the garden and the field next to the house, were underwater and there was a great shallow lake with ducks milling around outside the bedroom window. I went out the window into a boat.
Lady Lake's Ginger Snaps a family recipe... 2 1/4 cups flour 1 tsp cinnamon 1 Tbsp ginger 1/2 tsp salt 3/4 cup butter 1 cup sugar 1 egg 1/4 cup blackstrap molasses 1/2 cup chopped candied ginger
In a medium bowl, mix together dry ingredients, then set aside. In a large bowl, cream together butter and sugar. Add egg and continue beating. Add molasses and blend well. Gradually add dry mixture to creamed mixture until incorporated. Stir in candied ginger.
Chill dough overnight. Scoop with a spoon and roll into small balls. Roll these in granulated sugar to coat. Press flat. Bake at 350° for 10-12 minutes, careful not to burn.