Posts Tagged ‘pencil drawing’
Arthur – caution: men working in trees
A milestone of our 2014 summer was certainly Hurricane Arthur (July 5). For an account of our encounter with Hurricane Arthur, see: https://nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com/2014/07/14/arthur-during-the-storm/ and https://nichepoetryandprose.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/arthur-after-the-storm/ .
For six days after the storm we were without electricity and learned to live a different life, deciding how to allocate the power from our small generator and bringing water in from diverse places. The biggest long-term result of the storm, however, was the damage done to our big red maple.
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The maple is at our front entry way. It has grown from a small sapling – my husband could circle it with thumb and forefinger when we built the house 35 years ago – to a huge tree. It is our best producer at maple syrup time and spreads a carpet of red leaves in a perfect circle in our driveway. Best of all, it has a ‘voice’. When I arrive home or leave, it ‘squeaks’ to me, the result of two branches rubbing together in the slightest breeze.
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After the storm, we congratulated ourselves on how few of our trees were damaged. Then I looked out of the den window and saw – the winds had not spared the red maple – one of the big branches had a wide split in the wood.
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At first, my husband thought he could take the big limb down himself. But after removing some of the smaller branches, it was obvious that trying to cut the branch ourselves would be dangerous. The tree is close to the house and power lines and there was no easy way to safely control the fall of the branch.
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We decided to turn to the experts and called Treecologic, since they are fully insured. They also have a trained arborist and an excellent reputation. Their Vision statement is ‘promoting a safe & healthy urban forest’, so they were the tree removal company for me! For more information on the company, see http://www.treecologic.ca/.
Since there have been so many people in the Fredericton area with downed trees because of Arthur, we knew it might be some time before Treecologic could help us. We spent August through October keeping vehicles away from the risk zone under the tree. On Halloween night, we put up ‘Caution’ tape to keep the spooks from danger. And every day I tiptoed to our front door, convinced I would hear a crack as the branch came down on my head!
Then, as promised, Treecologic arrived, ladder, chain saws, climbing ropes and all. They worked for almost three hours, taking down a big white pine tree planted too close to the house and trimming branches from some of our other maples.
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Then the arborist fixed a line in the highest branches of the red maple, put on his climbing belt and hoisted himself into the tree.
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Every move he made was calculated for safety and for the health of the maple. Working his way through the tree, using a very sharp pruning saw, he gradually removed the smallest branches, including some which were scraping against our roof.
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At first I felt alarmed to see a man in our very tall tree, but after realising how carefully he worked, I began to enjoy watching the process. To be an arborist, I now know, requires an understanding of the tree’s biology and health, but also dexterity, strength, flexibility and fearlessness.
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At the last, he tackled the split branch, first removing remote branches, then finishing with the chainsaw from a ladder. Great work, Treecologic !
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Our tree will take a while to recover from it’s adventure with the hurricane. Losing almost a third of its canopy will mean a couple of years of rest before another pruning. No tapping for maple sap for the next few springs! Meanwhile, the pruning has given us lots of hard wood for next year’s wood stove and, once they dry out, lots of kindling and twigs for my campfires! Some will go into our wood chipper to add to the soft surface for our trails.
And, in case you were wondering, the tree still has its ‘voice’ since the branches that rub together remain!
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
crows too
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Grim Women
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1.
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the crows burden the trees
gather their iron grits
criticize one another
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they slip through gaps
in the matrix
and are gone
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their wings are bruises
on the afternoon
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their wind is deliberate
and desperate
hardened to the goal
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2.
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in black
grim women
watch one-another
hide the key
beneath the doormat
and glide
towards the town
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Published as ‘Grim Women’, Women & Environments International Magazine (WEIM) No 86/87 Spring/Summer, 2011, p 8
Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
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October moon
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moon escape
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above the woods
in sunset’s dying
the moon rose –
orange
and terrifying
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caught in the trees
with the night wind’s sighing
drowned in the lake mists –
mystifying
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captured in the yellow
of a barn owl’s eye
escaping on a wild bird’s
flight to the sky
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a pool of light
where the hounds are lying
ghosts on the line
where the shirts are drying
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a silhouette
for a coyote’s cry
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
campfire
I love a campfire. If you visit our property, you would know this because there is a fire pit for every occasion.
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We have a stone fireplace, made from big granite cobbles, for serious fires. We have a chiminea on the back deck, perfect for a quick fire in spring or summer. And now I have a metal fire pit on the front lawn.
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Fire is insubstantial yet so powerful. It can be dangerous but soothing. When I sit in front of a fire, watching the flames, I feel I am sharing community with every person who has ever tended a campfire.
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
harvesting colour – blackberry red and pink
Autumn is officially here; summer up and left last week. My complaints are suddenly of chilly evenings, not too-warm nights! But with this season comes a series of dyeing projects I have been looking forward to – dyeing with berries and autumn leaves.
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At our summer property, we have blackberries in profusion. They ripen slowly over a period of three weeks and we eat our fill. This year I decided to sacrifice a few for the dye pot.
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Dyeing with berries is easy. I brought three cups of berries to a simmer in three liters of water for about an hour. The strained liquid was a bright red, the colour of ripe cranberries …
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I dyed alum-treated wool with a slow simmer and an overnight soak. The result was a pale pink, a welcome addition to my collection of ‘mostly brown’ …
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pink wool dyed with blackberries is front and center … other wools are dyed with (clockwise) oak (dark brown), meadowsweet (orange), bugleweed (brown), tansy (gold), lily-of-the-valley (grey), and beet root (deep pink), and in the center, carrot tops (green)
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I also tried dying linen and cotton with the blackberry dye, and these gave me the burgundy I had hoped for …
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I think I will be using the pink/burgundy cotton as the backing for the small ‘harvesting colour’ quilt I plan to make. I’ll hem the linen and use it in my kitchen.
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
remembering place – Grade Four, part one
School-wise, Grade 4 was a fragmented year. I began the year in Medicine Hat at Webster Niblock Elementary. And then my family moved to a new community forty miles away, and I completed Grade 4 in the school there.
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I have lots of memories of Webster Niblock. First, there was the walk to school (red path in the aerial photo below). On one side of the road were houses, but on the other side of the road was prairie. Today there is a row of houses on that side of the street, but in 1963 the prairie was undeveloped and raw to its very edge. I was not allowed to wander on the prairie by myself, or to take a shortcut to school. Later my Dad told me he was always afraid of rattle snakes when we lived in the west. But I could see the plants that grew at the roadside.
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I still remember the orange-red Prairie Mallow, also known as Scarlett Globemallow (Sphaeralcia coccinea), and the Prickly-pear cactus (Opuntia) with its grape-like berries. At the corner where I turned from Second Avenue to 11th Street (blue star) was an expanse of pineapple weed (Matricaria Discoidea) – I don’t remember picking or smelling them … to me, they looked like a miniature forest of pine where tiny people could walk. I think my interest in plants must have begun during those years, encouraged by my Mom who knew the names of all the flowers.
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I also remember specific conversations with my best friend Laureen as we walked to school, including the disagreements we had. I remember that we talked about my moving away. We decided we would write letters to one another and we laughed that we would probably carry on our childish fights in those letters.
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Another place I remember well is the ‘courtyard’ where we played at morning and afternoon recess (yellow star). Spinning tops were all the rage and my Dad made me a wooden top from an empty spool of thread and a matchstick. We also played marbles and I always lost.
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It was common practice to bring a ‘recess’, a treat to eat at the morning recess break. My Mom usually sent a small square of fudge wrapped in wax paper or part of an apple. When a new little girl joined our class, my Mom, who wanted me to make friends, was determined I would be nice to her. Every day Mom sent a ‘recess’ treat for the little girl. And every day, I would run up to her, shove the treat into her hand and run away. I was generally shy and I don’t ever remember of saying a word to her. I often think about her – today she is a woman of about sixty years who may, from time to time, remember a peculiar child who used to bring her a square of fudge every day and run away.
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Webster Niblock Elementary School rear yard (we played with tops in the area by the red post at the corner of the school)
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
aromatic spring
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meadow aromatic
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ozone lightning, late
waters cede, shoots
of cattail merge
end of day, end of June
fireflies, mosquito nights
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lake-land meadow seeps
wetland meets nostril
marsh musk percolates
half sour, half sweet
methane ooze, decay
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damp fiddleheads unfurl
bird beaks simmer
in duckweed soup
skin of salamander, frog
steeplebush, meadowsweet
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angels crave human years, allow
their pores release, scent imitates
reek of sweat, of work
tears mingle with perfume
aftershave and powder
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
writing weekend
This weekend, I will be attending WordSpring. WordSpring is the annual spring meeting and workshop of the New Brunswick Writers’ Federation. I will be reading some of the poetry from my ‘harvesting colour’ manuscript and I will get another eye on part of my novel at a Blue Pencil Café.
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Preparations for the weekend made me think of a poem I wrote after the workshop in Saint Andrews a few years ago …
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encounters
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on a windy night
in Saint Andrews, a toad
hop-toddies across the road,
bewildered
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and on Prince of Wales, a deer
pauses on the sidewalk, stares
up the hill, and I hesitate
before driving on
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in the Algonquin, a light
switches on, in the room I know is mine
and a couple huddles on the open porch,
and leaves, mottled, skid
along the street
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Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
























































