Saturday, October 22, 2016

Peace - Haiku

beneath maples arms
she is sheltered from this life,
unknown peace at last

Friday, October 21, 2016

Home at the end of the lane

Home at the end of the lane it was to them,
a one room log house with hearth
where bread was baked, milk was warmed
and meat was cooked to feed the family of four.

Centuries later their home was moved
to where adventurers may spend the night,
baking bread, warming milk and cooking meat
to feed their family of four and more.

This log house was the original homestead of the Conlin family. It was donated to the town when their homestead was re-created into the Conlin Farm. A site of baseball, volleyball, and soccer fields; and tennis courts.

Unfortunately the log house has never been truly recognised in the settlement of Perth and so it sadly sits at the end of lane in another park gathering dust and critters and the odd adventurer.  

Monday, October 10, 2016


For the last three weeks I've been playing hide and seek with son of Petit La Rouge. He's a smart one. Always removing himself from the area when I'm outside. I've listened to his rumblings in the attic, the gnawing in the kitchen walls and the incensant skinning of walnuts to store for the upcoming winter.

A live trap was placed in the attic. After a week it was removed with no sign of the offered nuts and peanut butter touched nor no sounds heard. Not more than half an hour after its removal the racing began. The declaration of war was made when he spent an hour in the space above my bedroom. He finally quieted when the book I was reading contacted with the ceiling. Was it my yelling “knock it off!” that did it? I doubt it but I was glad it was a paperback.

I've listened to the lads at work offering their supped up killing traps, pellet guns, and recipes of poisons but I can't. It's just not me. I even live trap mice, take them for a drive to the country and release. Mosquitos are fair game though. I have no mercy when dealing with those blood suckers.

For the life of me I couldn't find where he was getting in until I happened to step outside, saw him scurry onto the roof from the walnut tree, and followed him slinking in under the roof vent. AHA! I caught you, you furry fecker! The next day I scanned the roof and saw a hole in the METAL vent. So that was what the gnawing was all about. And I thought it was the grinding of walnuts.

Later on I heard ping ping ping, and thinking it was someone at the door I too scurried in to the house. Checking all entries and finding no one, I shrugged and carried about me day. The next morning I found a walnut on the basement floor. Looking up, I surmised it had rolled down the chimney, bounced onto the furnace pipes, hence the pings, and onto the floor.  I will admit I stood and laughed.

I re-borrowed the live trap and placed it outside where he gathers walnuts. Filled it with peanut butter and walnuts of course. I'll get you now I thought, and then we'll go for a very long drive into the country side where you can live and play with your kind. A day later I checked and the walnuts were gone. ~sigh~ I'm trying here fella but you are trying my patience!

A local roofer has been contacted and he will “swing by” when he's in town next. Swing by? I told him I need the vent replaced before the house sinks due to the extra weight of walnuts.  All I need is a person to climb the roof, seal the vent, trim the overhanging limbs and begone.  I'm not asking for world peace, geeez

So my two goals are 1. Seal the hole in at least one vent; and 2. Take Petit McRouge for a drive. One thing I surely know is that it is never boring around here.

Friday, August 19, 2016

X marks the spot

A wonderful day was spent at the Lanark Archives researching the family forest. I've decided to focus on the mossie branch for now. The ladies couldn't have been more helpful. One in particular spent hours loading my table without me asking. I felt she was a mini me, give a hint and away she went searching for information.

I finally resolved the original family settlement in 1845. That probably means they arrived in 1844 and spent the winter at Brockville. That will remain to be researched. However! And I'm tickled to discover the reason for the Moss School. It was built on the original settlement
of Thomas Moss which to me means that man believed in edumakation! Yes! I couldn't be happier.

Dear Eliza's last will was found and though it's thorough it's also poignant. She couldn't write so her X marks the spot of her signature. Sad that but in those days it was the norm. Along with the note of anyone having a double S in their name meant it was spelt with FS instead of SS. My head nods too.