drupes, druplets, and dreams

It is October and we are savouring the fruits of summer. Though the blackberries on Denman Island this year were relatively small and the harvest modest in size, my family still managed to freeze enough for our winter smoothies. For years we have shredded our bodies and torn our clothes to harvest this late summer bounty so we can enjoy summer sweetness over the long winter.

One reason for the success of the blackberry bramble is that it can keep producing as long as it gets bee visits. The more the bee visits the more druplets -- juice filled berry bumps -- on the berry. Our relatively small berries this year tell us that our blackberry blossoms had fewer bee visits, most likely due to the very wet -- and cool -- Spring and Summer months.

I love the word, druplets. It reminds me of the poetic term: couplets, as in, rhyming couplets, only for a blackberry poetry "jam" we would compose using juicing druplets. A druplet is the petite version of a drupe -- a stone or seed surrounded by fruity flesh. A peach is a classic drupe. I did't know anything about drupes or druplets until writing this blog entry. How could I have feasted on fruit all these years and and never heard of drupes or druplets?

As the weeks of summer finally came to an end, our blackberry bramble continued putting out blossoms "just in case" it was able to grow through a warm and sunny early Fall. The first photo is one such late blossom that I found just beginning its hopeful cycle amid dozens of neighbouring dead stems that have long since dropped berries to the ground or surrendered its ripe jewels to picking fingers. Unfortunately, with so much rain and cool weather this past September, the bees visits no doubt were too few to allow the blossom to form fruit druplets.

Our valiant blossom -- the blackberries' gamble on warm Fall weather -- grows amongst brown leaves and rotting berries but, nevertheless, dreams of what might be. It does not permit what is to silence its perfumed call to the bees and or diminish its delicious beauty. I am inspired by this blossoms optimism in action. Maybe next year we will have an "Indian summer" and the blossom's gamble will pay off? I hope so.

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Image credits: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood. 

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

Which came first?

Walking on the beach one summer night, I spotted this gnarly oyster shell covered with barnacles. It was obviously bashed up by countless tides and crashing waves. It had a dull, brown patina left over from various sea weeds and slimes. It was ugly. In different mood or rushing through a different moment in my life, I probably would not have bothered to even glance at it. Even now, I am not sure why I found this shell interesting enough to photograph. Maybe I was just itching to experiment with my camera.

In any case, as I crouched down low to focus on my unlikely subject, I was stunned to see that the vertical patterns of the barnacles in the foreground of my photo were remarkably similar to the ferry dock architecture in the background. Now I wonder, which came first, the dock or the shell?

Because I shifted my perspective and was willing to get eye to “eye” with this humble and homely shell, I have a beautiful image that fascinates me whenever I come across it in my photo library. In taking this photo, I feel I have recorded an age-old "conversation" between the ocean and its shore dwellers. Can you hear what each "speaker" is saying?

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Photo credit: Photo by Jessica at Oceanwood.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

moon rise for purple martins

A luxuriously full moon rose over Buckley Bay's resident purple martin birds this past month. As the moment of dusk was upon us, the stubbornly grey day that had been dampening our spirits, finally relented and allowed its moody clouds to slip away on a cool end-of-the-day current. As the final light of the day dwindled, the sky blushed deep violet and russet pink, wrapping us in an atmosphere of peace and beauty as soothing as any velvety duvet. I imagined the purple martins tucked snuggly in their little homes, nodding off as the late summer moon ascended in the evening sky so it could keep watch over the sleeping birds.

That evening, while all we weary travellers waited for the ferry from Denman Island to arrive, I remembered some videos I had taken in the exact same spot the previous year. On that summer solstice day in June, 2009, I had arrived early for the ferry and had some extra time to watch the very busy colony of winged martin families go about their day. I grabbed my old Kodak Easy Share camera from the back of the truck and captured some of the martins' calls and their flights back and forth to their human-made "condos" as they fed their hungry chicks. I have collected together those little snippets of videos into the following 5 minute YouTube.

Though far from ideal, my camera's tiny auto focus motor added many mechanical sounds that sharply contrasted with the gorgeous songs of the martins. Oh well, such is life with an instant camera... I am glad, nevertheless, to have had my handy camera nearby so I could capture this day in the life of these purple martins.

I was very lucky when, half way through my video, a man "who really knew his birds" observed my keen interest in the birds and so taught me ways to identify individuals and highlighted some of their intriguing habits. You will hear some of his comments on this video.

By the way, if you look very carefully into the far distance of this video, you will see a shell fisher harvesting clams at low tide.

I hope you enjoy sharing my visit with Buckley Bay's bustling purple martins.

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Image credits: Photo and YouTube video by Jessica at Oceanwood. See my other videos on my Oceanwood Chronicles YouTube channel: http://www.youtube.com/user/oceanwoodchronicles?feature=mhum

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

my magic flute

The Spirit of Denman Island has a habit of knowing what I need most and arranging for me to get those needs met. For example, my daughter has started learning to play my guitar that I bought with my bus girl wages when I was in Grade 10. Watching her strum along with the easy D and A chords, and then strain and stretch her growing fingers to get the difficult G chord, has made me very sentimental for all the music I used to play in high school. Of course, like every budding guitarist coming of age in the 70s, I played a heap of Beatles, Jim Croche, and Eagles songs. For some reason, I was really into playing and singing along to the love song, “I don’t know how to love him,” from the musical, Jesus Christ Superstar. Go figure...

I, also, played first flute in the concert and stage bands. My Dad bought me the best flute he could afford but it was a mediocre instrument. I had to wrestle with it just to get a decent sound. A year ago, I found my old flute and thought I would get it professionally tuned-up and give it a go again. But the flute technician declared that it was not worth putting another penny into the relic. So I put my flute revival aspirations on the back burner. Then again, a couple of weeks ago, my inner high school teen said, “I wanna play the flute again.” But since my flute was dead never to be resurrected, I put the thought of playing out of my head for the second time. That's when the Denman Island magic took over.

Last week, driving down East Road, my husband and I saw a yard sale sign. On a whim we decided to check it out. And there IT was -- a shining Gemeinhardt flute -- for sale. With tingling hands and a big-time-dread in my stomach that I might have forgotten how to play, I opened the case, assembled the flute; thrilled at its just-right-fit and perfect balance in my hands; put it to my mouth; and blew. It had a gorgeous tone, in spite of my unpracticed muddling. To be sure the price on that flute -- though reasonable -- was more than we could afford on our very limited budget. With a sigh, I lovingly packed up the flute and returned it to the seller, told her it was a “beauty.” On the drive home, my husband, Mr Wonderful, talked with me about how I had been wanting to resume playing the flute. He said it was important to follow my urge to play the flute again. So with his encouragement, I drove back to the yard sale and purchased the flute. Imagine my finding the flute I always dreamed of playing when I was in high school band right there in a yard sale on Denman Island! What are the odds?

The woman selling her flute threw in a copy of “Flute Method: Book 1” (1936). A week later I picked up 2 more flute books at the Free Store: “World’s favourite easy to play pieces for flute” (1962); and “Elementary Method Flute or Piccolo” (which let's just say is so old it could have been used to play bedtime tunes to dinosaurs). And now, with my three antique music books helping me clear out the cob webs that have gathered in the 30 years since I last played, I am playing duets with my daughter. And just like a cobra that is coaxed higher and higher by a snake charmer’s flute, as I am playing, it feels like my inner teen musician rises up, flashes me a Peace sign, and whispers, “Cool!” 


My new "magic flute" has touched a young place in my heart and helped me meet my need to play music -- and that is definitely "Cool!"

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Photo credits: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.
Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2009 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

impossible to be bored

I began my practice of "visual journaling" today. I sat down -- right here beside this tarnished maple leaf caught in some seaweed -- and started to sketch, not to be good, not to produce a work of art, but to be PRESENT -- fully present -- a conscious witness to all that was happening at the beach. I sat for two sessions with my book and pencil crayons sketching and Being Present. I loved this practice.

Here is my journal page. The first day I sketched this leaf in the surf and coloured it in with my water-soluble pencils. Then, the second day I used a brush to blend the colours with water and inked in the text with a fountain pen. This one maple leaf is now forever in my memory -- and heart.

I originally wanted to write, "it is impossible to be bored on the beach," but shortened it to fit on my page. I am endlessly fascinated by the beach and its many tide pools. For me, it is truly impossible to be bored at the beach.

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Photo credits: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

Dandelions

plump bees twirling on small and humble blossoms like hippopotami pirouetting on a lily pads.

We have so many dandelions in our lawn that our neighbours' fret and beg us to mow our lawn before we contaminate their lawns with the weeds. Who can blame them for their weed angst? We have more dandelions than grass. If you can have a "pride of lions" then we must have a "prairie of dandelions," a fact that has not gone unnoticed by our local bees who flock to our plentiful weeds.

"May I have this dance?" asks a hopeful bee.

"Why yes," is the dandelion's reply as its tall and slender stem then bends under the ungainly weight of the bee as the the two dance a bumbling pas de deux. The bee rides the dandelion in a graceful arc --- Doooown -- until dandelion head nearly touches the ground and then springs back -- UP -- as the bee hops off to find its next dancing partner. Waltzing dandelion-bee couples can be seen by the dozens all across my lawn each summer day: plump bees twirling on small and humble blossoms like hippopotami pirouetting on a lily pads.

One summer the wasps were numerous and nasty. We erected a 10 foot square tent (nylon roof, 4 screen sides, and no floor) so we could picnic outside without harassment from the striped snipers. At the end of the summer, when we folded up our tent, we discovered a perfect square of grass in the middle of our dandelion prairie. Every dandelion had disappeared inside our tent footprint! Ruling out differences in rainfall and sun exposure, we determined the difference between the survival outside and the disappearance of dandelions inside our tent was that we had inadvertently screened out visiting bees along with the annoying wasps.

Without the bees, the dandelions simply vanished, dramatic evidence of the interdependent web of life. I don't know whether to be grateful for  this new found, pesticide-free method of weed control or to sit in awe of the fine-tuned relationships between species that abound in Nature.
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Photo credits: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2009 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

Proper use of a hockey stick

At the risk of insulting most of my Canadian country women and men, I will now reveal the proper and ultimate use for a hockey stick - blackberry picking. Oh sure, there is no question that a hockey stick comes in pretty handy for those slap shots and whipping a puck around the ice. But the hockey stick only begins to come into its own subtlety and sophistication in the blackberry bramble.

From use as a walking stick as you gingerly make your way through the uneven ground and trecherous thorny vines, to bringing too high or too low berries into reach, the hockey stick is where it is at. Why flip a rubbery puck to a team mate when you could extend your stick out to an impossibly out-of-reach, perfectly plump, cluster of blackberries and serve them up on the blade of your hockey stick for easy picking? Really this handy picking friend should have been named the blackberry stick -- but don't let the wrong name stop you from using this indispensible tool.




As in hockey, you will need to wear the correct uniform to complete your blackberry picking gear.  My tried and true choices are both fashionable (as in Denman-Island-Free-Store "fashion") and very practical.

1. gum boots for stomping vines and keeping vulnerable ankles safe from giant sharp thorns in the under brush
2. long pants to cut down on vine damage to the legs (jeans work best)
3. short sleeve loose shirt so you can more easily back out of a vine snag
4. yogurt container on a string to catch your berries as you work
5. big round shallow bowl (berries can crush each other in a deep bowl), big enough to hold enough berries for one "batch" of jam.
6. eye protection - vines can snap back into the eye.
7. No iPod or mp3 player. You'll need your ears open and available to hear nearby wasps!

This year is a bumper crop year. So grab your hockey stick and other blackberry gear and get picking. Yum!

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Photo credits: Photos by Jessica and Luna at Oceanwood.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2009 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/