Mornings

A brilliant part of my life here on Gabriola is the amount of time I spend outdoors. And outdoors here is better than outdoors in a city. The silence (except for the Roosters), the fresh smell of the air infused with the fragrance of the forest and the privilege of privacy give me a spectacular feeling.

My every outdoor morning fills my head with fabulous memories of mornings in India and Africa. Only in those locations did I experience the smells and sounds alone in nature just as I do here every morning. Sensual memories of my trips fill my brain as soon as I step outside every summer morning. 

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I’m seventy-one years old, I have asthma and I’ve been doing five hours of rather heavy physical labour almost day for five weeks—work that makes me sweat and pant much of the time, and work that is very often dusty. Thank goodness for my inhalers.

Still, I rise each morning keen to do more. I’m as invested in this landscaping as I was when I was making my paper dresses. I got a lot done yesterday so I’m very keen to see how much more I can do today. Tomorrow I won’t be able to do any; I go to Nanaimo to see the eye surgeon for my final check-up.

Once the landscaping is done, I’ve the Fern Garden to finish. Plus I’ve my incinerator area to tidy up and I have to decide whether or not to remove a patch of existing turf or not that remains in section three. Mr. OCD may want his entire backyard to be the same type of grass.