Family Treasures

This morning I dusted off the top of my wood cookstove’s warming oven where I keep important collectibles.  I had a good time, believe it or not.  Every time I picked up something which needed dusting, I was sent down memory lane.

This hard piece of fungus was brought home by my son Marty in 1997.  He skillfully scratched his name and date into it’s surface at that time.  I’ve kept it ever since as a tribute to Marty’s love of nature.

fungusWM

Driftwood.  I love collecting driftwood from the shores of both eastern and western Canada.  I’ve brought home hunks of driftwood sticking out of my carry-on luggage on an airliner or on top of my vehicle.  This wee piece was picked up on Vancouver Island and rests between a large chunk of redwood bark and a small twig covered in moss and lichens.

driftwoodWM

All over my house, I have artwork created by my children when they were young.  This funky mug was made by my daughter Nellie.

MugWM

Along with collecting driftwood, I like to walk along beaches and collect rocks and shells.  I have baskets of shells and sea glass on my front porch.  When my granddaughters Kalia and Livi were small, they used to love inspecting each and every shell over and over again.  This sliver of rock had fallen off the sheer rock face along the shore beside Percé Rock in the Gaspe where we visited with some of my grown children and grandchildren in 2008.

Perce

In low tide, you can walk on the sand bar out to the magnificent Percé Rock.  Years ago, I picked up a small piece of the rock which had falled off into a large heap at the base of the rock.

PerceRockrockWM

My daughter-in-law Nici painted this seagull in flight on a slice of granite.  Beautiful.

SeagullWM

When I was a little girl, we used to visit my grandparents’ farm on the Gaspé.  We would always go on little day trips to Hull’s River or Percé or down the Line Road to old family farmsteads to pick berries.  This old iron was found by my Mother in an old falling-down farm house which used to be home to a long-gone relative.  For years, my Mother used it as a door stop.

IronWM

I have other treasures that my children made for me or I picked up along the way of my life’s journey – they are scattered around the house where I can see or touch them and think.

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Wild Raspberries

Sorry, but I won’t be making wild raspberry jam this summer.  Or pie.  The rain has been favourable for my wild raspberries – there’s a good area just before the lawn swing along the side of the backyard where they’ve totally taken off this year.  Every time I walk down to the garden, I pause and pick a berry or two……actually a handful or two.  They are perfect with no bugs, mold, or rot.  Better than the cultivated raspberry patch.  In fact, they are so perfect that I can’t seem to get them into the house.  I just keep eating them!  When my hand gets full of raspberries, I just pop them in my mouth and eat while picking another hand full.

WildRaspberriesWM

When I was a young girl in the 1950’s, I used to pick wild raspberries at my Grandparent’s farm on the Gaspe coast when we visited.  My Grandma, Mom, would tell us that if we picked a potful, she would make a pie.  So my cousins, Maureen and Verna, and I along with my sisters Betty and Faye would walk along the back road and pick wild raspberries along the fence lines.  We’d talk and play while we walked and picked a pot full.  Sure enough, Mom had a pie or two ready later that afternoon.

I wish that now I could resist eating all the berries that I pick.

So, again, I apologize in advance for NOT making jam.  Or pie.

handfulWM

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