The Christmas tree

December 30th, the last day of my late husband's life on earth, already years ago. I try not to think of it on that day, but can't help it. Not the day that he actually died which was December 31^st, but his last full day on earth. There was this small Christmas tree with its pale blue and gold baubles, its happy lights, its green boughs. There were Christmas cards everywhere, wishing him and me all the best for the coming year. There was his hospital bed in our living room, there were candles and Christmas decorations, the wine glasses and the table laid for one of his favourite foods, delicious Dover sole, which he could not eat, only look at and savour with his eyes. Outside there was the occasional bang of early fireworks. In the house it was very quiet, peaceful even. I slept on the couch that night, for hours, next to the Christmas tree, till I thought it would be safe to go up to my bedroom. I checked on my husband several times. I did not see Death entering our door. He came as a thief in the night, stealthily. When I came down early the next morning, Death was sitting on the bed, giving my husband just a minute to take leave of me, although he was no longer able to speak nor move.

The Christmas tree was there till Epiphany, the arrival of the three Kings, my husband's funeral and the thanksgiving service for his life. When I came back, my neighbours had dismantled the tree, and tidied the room. Is that why since then I just can't get myself to buy a tree and decorate it? I have always loved doing that, while listening to Christmas music, drinking a glass of mulled wine, smelling the fresh batch of cookies, the fruity Christmas cake, all the preparations for that long awaited feast, Christmas. I prefer going away now, to friends where I am welcome. This year I have stayed at home, but there is no Christmas tree in my house. There is a crib, a beautiful one which does not remind me of that time as it was given to me years later. It is a crib which I love and cherish and the first – and sometimes only – Christmas decoration which I will always put in a place of honour. It will stay there till Epiphany.

The twelve days of Christmas

It is still Christmas, in spite of what our preacher – a protestant woman by origin – claimed, that Christmas had come and gone and was over till next year. Clearly she had never been to Mexico where Christmas and the Christmas festivities last till January 6^th, when the three wise men arrived to give honour to the new-born king. Nor had she paid attention to the poem about the 12 days of Christmas and all the gifts bestowed upon an innocent girl by her "true love", including maids a milking and pipers piping apart from a partridge in a pear tree. And also in Great Britain and in the catholic churches in general, Christmas doesn't stop at Boxing Day. So we sang carols in church today, the crib is still in its place and there still is that feeling of joy and expectancy. What we expect, I do not really know. Is it the hope that the world may at last change and become a better place? That this child will bring the world salvation, peace and be a source of gladness? Are we expecting something great to happen? Or have all the lights, has all the music, lifted our spirits in these dark times, when daylight seems to fade almost as soon as it has appeared? For me this time is a magical time. As a child I loved it. It was about security and happiness, about family and of course about Christ. Not about presents. Present giving at Christmas is not a Dutch tradition. We might be given a book, even two books at times, one by the Sunday school and one by our parents. Reading was stimulated all through our childhood.

The saddest thing is to wake up alone on Christmas morning, something many people have to face. There are different ways of coping with this. Being alone and moreover childless means no family gatherings, no happy bustle around the big family table, a repetitive thing, for it also means no grandchildren and no way of experiencing the joys of one's own childhood again through one's offspring, through the eyes of happy children.

After the many carol services, the joyful Christmas concerts, the frequent rehearsals and two magical Christmas Eve services, at last the singing is over, the sheet music can be filed away till next year, and there is time to visit friends and family, to see exhibitions and explore a town or city. Or to go for a walk, weather permitting. As in England and many parts of Europe, the very wet and windy weather hasn't been inviting to venture out into muddy woods and fields.

Late afternoon sun on the tower of the Zuiderkerk, built as a protestant church in the 17th century by Hendrick de Keyser but no longer in use as a church.

Yesterday I spent a day in Amsterdam with a friend from University days, who now lives in Canada. Amsterdam was flooded with thousands of people, tourists, schoolchildren who are having their holidays, concert go-ers and museum visitors. We went to see an exhibition in the Hermitage, a former old people's home situated in a beauty spot on the river Amstel, and now a museum. The exhibits there are usually on loan from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg. This time there was an exhibition of paintings by the Impressionists. It wasn't as exciting as we had hoped, and the museum was far too crowded, but the building itself is well worth a visit. Especially the former church inside the building, which is now used for special occasions as it is a very spacious and long hall. I love the small organ there, but did not bring a camera and had to make do with my cell phone.

The organ in the "Hermitage", the former old people's home

To our surprise the afternoon was beautiful and sunny, so we went for our lunch to a cafe-cum-restaurant with a view of the river Amstel and the Munt tower. We could enjoy this view from our table next to the window for far longer than anticipated, as we had to wait over 30 minutes for our sandwiches due to a faulty handheld computer. I must admit we were given a drink on the house to make up for the long wait. But it is just annoying when others came in a lot later than we did and then left after having enjoyed their lunch while we were still eagerly and hungrily waiting for our modest sandwiches.

On our walk through the oldest part of Amsterdam with its many canals – and unfortunately in certain parts spoilt as it also houses the red light district – we came upon an old, hidden church, Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder, a Roman catholic church built by a rich merchant in the attic of his house during a time that Roman Catholicism was forbidden in the Netherlands. People met in secret and the front of the house did not reveal what was inside. There was even a separate apartment for a live-in priest. Although once a month mass is celebrated there, it is now a museum. I had passed it often, but this time we went in. It is a very interesting place, and the church with its three galleries has been lovingly restored. Because of Christmas it was beautifully decorated with pine garlands and red ribbons, but no flash pictures allowed. And because of the fading light outside, it was pretty dark, which made it even more mysterious. In fact this visit turned out to be the highlight of our day out, an unexpected treasure.

Looking down from one of the galleries into the main part of the church

On our way to the railway station we passed the St. Nicholas, - the big church opposite the station, dedicated to St. Nicholas, patron saint of Amsterdam - hoping to attend Evensong, a service which is regularly celebrated on Saturday afternoons at 5 o' clock. It is an hour of contemplation, peace and beauty after a hectic day in the busy city. Alas, not on this Saturday, as the two choirs responsible for the Evensongs, enjoyed a well-deserved holiday after all the music they had sung during Advent and at Christmas.

Travels through the USA

I am reading John Steinbeck's novel, or rather travelogue, Travels with Charley. Steinbeck decided to take a trip through the USA. He rigged out a truck with all possible necessities, food, clothing, writing materials, camping gear, a stove, just about everything one can imagine. He took his dog Charlie with him for company. Calling his truck Rocinante, the name of Don Quixote's horse, was an appropriate gesture. I am only half way through the book, but it seems to me that his book is not so much about the USA, as well as about himself, his feelings and emotions, his uncertainties, loneliness, homesickness and at times his fear. At the same time I am reading another book, by a Dutch historian, Geert Mak. It is called Reizen zonder John (Travels without John). Geert Mak decided to take the same trip 50 years after Steinbeck did his. Mak wanted to know how America had changed, and what is left of the American dream. The interesting thing for me is that I also went on a similar trip in autumn, although not covering as many states as the two writers did. Nevertheless my observations are not much different from Mak's. It struck me that the heart of many small towns, especially in the mid-west, are dead. The Main Streets are empty, shop windows boarded up, the once proud and imposing bank buildings abandoned, the centres lifeless. 

Former Bank building

If I compare what I saw now with what I saw some 20 years ago, I see a noticeable difference. Then any town would have a motel, now those typical motels are either for sale, boarded up or just left behind, sagging, the paint peeling, the veranda's broken. The many well-known chains of motels and hotels have taken over and are usually found on the outskirts of the towns, next to Walmart, eating places, and shops. Even the banks have moved out to those business centres.

Some towns are still thriving, but that is not generally the case. If a town is still lively, it is sometimes because artists have started living there and there is a bohemian atmosphere. Or a small town near a University campus may be kept alive by the students and their needs. But the hearts of many small towns have been cut out, unfortunately.

In the country it is sometimes even worse. There are churches everywhere, but not always enough people living near or around those churches to keep them open. The emptiness seems worse as most houses are built of wood, and wood can be used for fuel or many other purposes. So dwellings disappear, and often I could not even trace where a town had originally been located. There were just isolated churches.  I saw many sagging barns and abandoned farms and farmland given back to the wilderness and to nature.

 Abandoned houses and cars

A sagging barn

Advent Sunday 1

Time seems to go so quickly. I still have not sorted through all the pictures and the diary I kept on my trip through Canada and the USA. It feels as if the memories are whirling around and haven't settled yet, like snowflakes in one of those glass balls with a scene in it. When you shake one, snow starts falling and it takes some time for it to stop again.

Meanwhile Christmas has caught me by surprise. Yesterday was the first Sunday of Advent. It is weird to begin this Christmas-tide, the time leading up to the birth of Christ, when St. Nicholas is still visiting the Low Countries and the atmosphere is so different. One advantage of St. Nicholas, celebrated on December 5^th, is that traditionally most people give their family and friends presents on that day. Which means that at Christmas we can concentrate on what Christmas is really about, at least if we are believers, and in glad expectation await the mystery of this birth.

For choristers this is a happy but busy time. I sing with two Anglican choirs during this period and so it means a lot of rehearsals and driving between The Hague and Haarlem. For me the Advent Carol service is the most wonderful service of all with the Matin Responsory, the Advent Wreath prayer and the Vesper Responsory, partly chanted.

Advent Mattins Responsory (after Palestrina), sung by the Choir of St. Paul's Cathedral. London

We begin in a dark church, the choir standing at the back and holding candles. The most frightening part is processing in, blinded by the small flame of the candle, holding it in one hand and the music folder in the other, having to turn pages, trying not to trip or set the hair of the singer in front of me on fire! I suppose the Fire and Safety department would be greatly upset by what we do. One by one the candles held by the people in the congregation are lit. It is magical, but nevertheless it is a relief when we can put them out, as space is rather limited so we are very close together next to the small pipe organ. I have added a link to the Advent Carol Service held in Trinity Chapel. Here the chapel is lit by candles only during the entire service. It is a wonderfully moving service which you may enjoy listening to.

Advent Carol Service 1012 Trinity College Chapel November 25^th 2012

This year the service was one we will never forget. While we were singing a carol, there was an awful noise as if the organ case came thundering down. What happened was that one of our singers had fainted and fallen from the podium, in between the wall and the back of the organ. Although he must have hit a table and other objects, the unfortunate bass hadn't broken any bones. After he regained consciousness and had been given a glass of water, he was able to stay in the choir for the rest of the carol service - this time sitting down securely between two other singers who guarded him. It did ruin our concentration for a short time only, and in part the mystery and beauty of this service .

This is the liturgy of yesterday's service:

Advent Carol Service

Choir: Matin responsory (Palestrina)& Come thou redeemer of the Earth

Choir: during procession: Advent Wreath prayer for Advent Sunday   

Hymn: O come, O come, Emmanuel – arr.Rutter  

         Bidding Prayer

Choir: Advent prose – arr. S.Cleobury   

         Lesson 1: The prophet proclaims the good news to a people in exile

Choir: People look east – arr.B.Ferguson 

         Lesson 2: The Lord promises to send his people a righteous King

Hymn: NEH 15 “The Lord will come and not be slow”

         Lesson 3: The Lord promises that the King will come to Israel in peace

Choir: How beautiful upon the mountains – J.Stainer 

Hymn: NEH 5 “Hark, a herald voice is calling"

         Lesson 4: The prophet foretells the advent of the desire of all the nations.

Choir: Never weather beaten sail – R.Shephard 

         Lesson 5: The prophet foretells the glory of the kingdom of God.

Hymn: NEH 14 (tune 341) “The Advent of our God”

Choir: The angel Gabriel – arr.M.Archer  

         Lesson 6: The angel Gabriel salutes the blessed virgin Mary

Choir: Ecce concipies – J.Handl. 

Hymn: NEH 10  “Long ago, prophets knew”

         Lesson 7: Jesus proclaims the coming of the kingdom of God

Hymn: NEH 9 “Lo he comes with clouds descending”.  

Choir: Veiled in darkness  - Rudolph     

Choir: Vesper Responsory – Ph.Ledger   

         Collect and Blessing

Hymn: NEH 30  O come all ye faithful ,  verses 1, 2, 6. 

I was very happy to discover this website, Saturday Chorale, which has links to a lot of well-sung Anglican church music.

Autumn colours

It has been a long time since my last post. Not that there was nothing to tell or show, but the overload of new impressions during my travels through Canada and the USA has confused me. I have seen so many amazing things, been reunited with so many friends, travelled through so many different landscapes, that apart from a day to day travelogue I can find no pattern. I may write more about my trip later, but for now I like to share an impression of autumn - or fall if you like - in my own country. Yes, I have been greatly impressed by the fall colours in Canada and the USA, because of the variety and the many reds. But autumn here in the Netherlands can be quite beautiful too. Last week the colours were just unbelievably bright, it may be a cliché, but the leaves seemed to be made of liquid gold when - to our delight and surprise - we had two days of sunshine and bright blue skies. 

Hoog Soeren

Today I wasn't so lucky. There was an interesting veil of mist in the morning. Hoping the sun would come out by the time I needed it, I decided to go on a photo "safari" in the east part of the country. We have had hardly any wind for the past few days, and as soon as that changes the trees will be robbed of their leaves in just a few days. I used to take my father on a tour each year to see the autumn colours, so I missed his company and his joy. He had the eye of an artist and would take lots of pictures. We shared our love of nature. I took a similar route I would have taken with him, going on minor roads through an area with mainly beech trees which are always majestic, but best in spring when they seem to swim in a sea of strikingly pale green leaves, and in autumn. The oak trees have already lost their leaves, their gnarled bare branches providing an interesting pattern against the sky and against the yellow leaves on other trees. Beech trees are the last to shed their leaves, which have an amazing copper colour, or sometimes even a bright orange. There were many yellows and rusty colours, looking even brighter against the very dark and smooth trunks of the beech trees. 

 Moorland

A typical Dutch smallholding, tucked away in the woods

I took a dirt road across the moors, the heather still showing a faint mauve colour, the tall grasses a pale yellow sea in the slight breeze, changing colour with each movement.

And not only did I see many interesting sheds and outbuildings on my recent trip through Canada and the USA, but in our miniature landscape I also noticed unusual barns and outbuildings. 

 What the English call Dutch barns - and they are!

A gate leading to a track through the woodland

I arrived rather late in the day at Staverden, a castle which has been restored to its former glory during the past ten years or so. According to their website the restoration was completed in 2007. Unfortunately dusk sets in early at this time of year, especially since the sky was overcast, so the pictures I took tend to have a bluish hue, due to the fading light and the slight mist. The parking lot closes at sunset, so I have to go back one day to explore the promising park and gardens. 

 Staverden estate

 The castle, or half of it.

 The watermill

Virginia Beach, October 4th 2012

After a road trip of 3850 kilometers, we are now luxuriating in a beach house in Virginia Beach. Beach house is a euphemism for “palatial mansion” built on the beach of this lovely part of Virginia. It has a southerly feel, because of the heat and the humidity. Not the dry heat of the Rockies or Nevada. 

Dawn

Here I live a life of leisure, taking a dip in the indoor pool, followed by a dive into the ocean which is warm in comparison. Not like the cold and grey North Sea, never warm, never really clear, only enjoyed by masochistic swimmers. It is a joy getting into the water here, being beaten by the surf and swept off one‘s feet. 

Waders, too quick for the camera

Watching the pelicans from one of the decks, the dolphins playing around and cruising along the shore, seeing the little waders quickly running in front of the waves, foraging in the wet sand, it is all bliss. I go for long walks mornings and evenings, just after dawn, when the sun has risen over the water, and the crabs scuttle away into their holes. We could be on the moon, with hundreds of small craters everywhere. 

  "Beach houses" for crabs

The crabs have a sandy colour and the small ones are only noticed when they race away, sideways of course.  They are called sandfiddlers or sandpipers. There aren’t many shells on the beach, but crablike creatures with long tails looking like warriors from outer space are washed ashore regularly. They have no meat to them so are not edible, and they look really weird. 

Extraterrestial invasion?

Because of the surf the air seems misted over. Distances are deceptive. On one side there are the beach houses, veritable palaces, although interspersed with more modest and older ones, weathered and not brightly painted like the new abodes. The houses go on and on, facing the sea and the dawn which comes in many shades of pink and orange. The wet sand mirrors the sky. Walking along the waterline is like walking the sky. It is best early in the morning, when hardly anybody is about yet, except for the anglers who think it the perfect time for a good catch.

The house at dawn

The house fills up gradually, with new guests arriving every day, till all the ten rooms will be occupied and everything will be ready for the big wedding.

Knowing that in Winnipeg where we came from the first snow has fallen and temperatures are below zero at night, makes us all the happier that we can enjoy those wonderful summer days here on the beach. We eat mussels and clams, the shells piling up on the tables on the deck and in the kitchen, use the two big BBQs, eat and drink from the six (!) fridges filled to overflowing, while the bride and groom and her parents chop and peel potatoes, carrots and cabbage, pummel a catering size casserole full of bread dough, slave away preparing everything for their great day. This is how they wanted it, and this is what they are doing. The cupboards are full of home made preserves and pickles, the freezers stuffed with containers of lasagna, the champagne is waiting in the cellar. The bride and groom will be worn out by the time of the wedding, but this is their choice. Among all the family members, I am a welcome guest, although up till now the only one who is not a family member. More friends will arrive on Saturday, but for now it is just family.

Sunset

The house is wonderful with its outdoor and indoor pool, the spacious ten bedrooms all with their own bathroom, the round library with – while I am writing - a view of the moon on the water. But I could be happy in a modest beach house. It is the view that makes me happy, and being among friends and accepted as one of the family.

Canada with its cold days and nights, its stunning autumn colours, its lakes and rocky outcrops, its barns red or weathered, seems very far away. But is was only last week we were there. We stayed with friends in Deep River, a name as poetic as names come, the small town living up to it with leafy streets, nice and well kept houses, a marina in the Ottawa River, and houseboats floating on the water. So different from the marina in Alexandria, where we stayed with friends of mine, a woman once in my charge when she was an 8-year old girl, living in the Netherlands for two years. Alexandria has pastel coloured houses, some dating back to the 17^th century. Not so many trees here, but a busy and lively main street, leading down to the Potomac and the marina, where even cruise ships moor. There is a nice and modern river walk with shops, café s and a park.

In Alexandria the temperature changed. It was our first warm day turning into a very hot and humid one. How quickly one forgets the cold, and how addictive is this life style! I will enjoy it as long as it lasts, as next week we drive north again, towards Minnesota, into autumn, and as far as Winnipeg is concerned into the icy tentacles of winter. 

Thursday September 27

We are now some 1850 km from Winnipeg, and for the past few days we have seen nothing but glorious colours, hills, rocks, and lakes. Many lakes, some so smooth when there is no wind in the early mornings, that the sky and the lake seem to flow into each other and merge. It has been very cold, with frost at night, but that has brought on the autumn colours early, which is a bonus. The Trans Canada is very quiet, and crossing the road is no problems, as long as one is aware of the huge trucks which come thundering down the hills. This is a very vast country, days of just forests, lakes, rocks, hills and the occasional village, called town here, however small it is. We buy coffee and sandwiches in cafes along the Trans Canada, just a two lane road in most places. Here and there old wooden sheds are falling to pieces. Nobody seems to care. We also pass many small wooden churches, some in good repair, others sagging and obviously no longer used. At Batchawana Bay we pass a small white clapboard church facing the bay. It looks idyllic. When we leave to travel on the next morning, bulldozers have taken the church down. It is really sad. Few people live here year round, but there are many cottages facing the bay which are used in summer. Some stay to do ice fishing, a sport I would not appreciate, sitting in a hut on the ice in the freezing cold trying to catch something through a hole made in the ice. I have seen those huts one year around Christmas on the Red River in Winnipeg. They looked like big lit balloons or lampions, lights shining through the canvas of the tents.

We see so many colours, so many lakes, such beautiful vistas, it s difficult to get an impression of all of them.

Here are some pictures taken in Thunder Bay, before we saw all the glorious colours.

I will try to post some more pictures if I have a good internet connection. But usually we don’t. 

Thunder Bay

The second day we drive on to Thunder Bay. We have plenty of time to explore the back roads, drive along some of the lakes and take pictures of small churches, in good and bad repair, have a leisurely lunch at a café/shop/ lunchroom/take-away where the locals gather and chat. From Dryden on we see more logging trucks, heavily laden. The landscape also changes and is less rocky. I think I prefer the rocky outcrops the road cuts through at regular intervals between the Whiteshell and Dryden. But here we get more vistas. And more showers, although not till we cross the watershed. From there it is downhill, towards Lake Superior, which is the cause of the rain.

Before that we admire the silvery light on the lakes, W. admires a water plane, an old one, the type in which he was transported into the bush when he had a summer job. Canoes were tied to the drivers and thus transported. It is a nice, bright yellow plane, an Otter.

We also stop at an outfitter at English River, a nice spot also on a lake. As it is in between seasons – the fishing is over and the hunting hasn’t started yet – the place is closed. When open there is a coffee shop with a view of the lake – and of any piece of game hanging out in the trees opposite. Once W. and J. faced a moose hanging there. There are trucks in bush colours, one even creatively painted with tiny leaves and flowers, which are used to drag the killed animals home. It is not exactly easy to carry a dead moose!

In Thunder Bay we stay for a few days, enjoying the hospitality of my friends’ relatives. On Saturday J. takes us for a drive to Silver Islet, on the Sleeping Giant peninsula. Here we see beautiful autumn colours, vivid reds and yellows, especially in the undergrowth. On the map the distance is negligible, but in fact the distances are deceptive. Besides, we only have road maps which give no indication of the landscape  at all. Everything is just white with red or black roads. National Parks are green. Altitude is not indicated. So it is a surprising trip, the map being coloured in in my mind, unfolding as if building up the landscape.

The shop cum cafe. Below some of the shelves of the shop

Silver Islet is another surprise today. It is a quaint old place, on the shore of Lake Superior. It was once a mining town, as silver was mined on a very small island off the shore, not very far away. How they could build shafts on that island, and a mine, seems a mystery. But the mine was successful. Many of the houses facing the lake are original, some dating back to the 1880-ies. Theylook very picturesque, but it is also clear the will be very cold and uncomfortable in winter with the wind blowing down from the lake. It is cold now, only 7 degrees. We meet some people who tell me that a bear cub is in a tree nearby, so we take the car and carefully drive further along the road. But all we see is a doe and a stag with antlers, grazing in between the houses.

There is an old-fashioned store which sells anything one can possibly need, and with a tearoom, attached to it which opens this Saturday at 2 o’clock. It is marvellous, as an old couple is serving us, making coffee and soup. By the locals it is used as a pub, a place to meet and exchange the news, gossiping about this and that and the other.

The shop is painted a bright blue, which reflects in the water of the lake.

On our way to Quimet Canyon

We go back via dirt roads and on to Quimet Canyon, an amazing canyon with lookout platforms hanging over it. We can see the lake, the autumn colours and the awesome granite rock formations. But the wind is very cold and we wouldn’t mind a pair of gloves. So we walk back via the boardwalks. It is an hour’s drive from here via the Trans Canada to Thunder Bay, where we arrive just before 6 o’clock. It was a wonderful day, and we warm up on red wine, a lovely meal cooked by our host, and enjoy each other’s company.

 Some views of the Canyon and the road towards it.

Winnipeg to Virginia Beach: Day 1

Thursday September 20th; Winnipeg-Dryden

Today we have started on our trip to Virginia Beach. The first stage is the Trans Canada from Winnipeg to Thunder Bay. Since our start wasn’t as early as planned, we decide to take it easy and do the 700 kilometers in two stages, so that we can enjoy some photo stops. The dire forecast of heavy rainfall hasn’t come true. It is sunny weather, although there is a cold wind. But as long as it is dry, that doesn’t matter. We stop off the Trans Canada at West Hawk village for a look at the lake and a cup of soup. The village is deserted, as the tourist season is really over. Work is in progress on a new sidewalk.

The Trans Canada is very quiet. Vistas are wonderful, especially because in the East the sky is spectacular with dark clouds. The colours, mainly yellow with bright red and orange in the undergrowth and the low bushes, form a wonderful contrast with the dark tall pine trees and the water of the many lakes. Some of the rock formations along the road are yellow and beige, some very pink. Supposedly it is granite. I love this landscape, with the small rocky islands dotted across the lakes. It is amazing the fir trees can grow on those rocky outcrops. We stop often along the way, and I also try to take some pictures through the windshield. They may be a bit blurred, but at least they give an impression of the road with its many turns and dips.

We visit Rushing River National Park on the way, just off the highway. It is closed for the season, but we can have a hike there. The colours are stunning, and getting deeper every day. It is cold though.

We find a motel in Dryden, a place which from the road doesn’t seem interesting, but which actually turns out to be a very pleasant town. When we go out to explore it at sunset, we are surprised by a wonderful spectacle. The red sun which is low in the sky behind the ugly pulp mill, transforms the plumes of steam into clouds of liquid fire. It doesn’t last very long, but is unforgettable. As dusk sets in over the lake, deer seem to appear from everywhere and roam the streets. Thus this town which most people will pass on the Trans Canada without giving it a second thought, all at once has a magical quality.

Being with friends

Relaxing with friends, having leisurely meals, drinking home made wine - and very nice wine too - , discussing music, religion, especially Mennonite theology and doctrines, playing around with two new cameras, walking in the park, going on some trips nearby, it is all enjoyable. Even in the few days I have been here, the colors have changed dramatically, as if overnight. Also the temperature has dropped from 30 degrees to less than 10 degrees in one single day, and the wind coming from the north is cold. I am happy to be here, where I have no responsibilities. Perhaps that is the nicest thing about being away, seeing much loved friends and being carefree. 

 Lower Fort Garry. An old boat used by the trappers who came from the North down the Red River to Winnipeg, their boats loaded with pelts

 

 Entrance gate to the main house of the governor

 Back into the past

Fishing in the Red River near Lockport Dam and Bridge

 Assiniboine Park, Winnipeg

 Sculpture Garden, Assiniboine Park