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Beauty is everywhere a welcome guest.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

A week or so back we had house guests – in the shape of one of The Girl’s cousins and a friend who had come to Victoria to walk the challenging West Coast Trail. We (The Girl!) picked them up from the airport on the first Saturday and dropped them at an ungodly hour on the Sunday morning (me!) at the Victoria Central Bus Station. The following weekend we met them from the bus on the Friday and spent the weekend with them before their return to Toronto.

Amongst other delights we enjoyed a splendid lunch at the Church and State vineyard, as a reward for the morning’s sun-drenched exploration of Butchart Gardens. Whereas I have certainly posted images from Butchart’s on a number of occasions it is my opinion that one can never have too many photos of natural beauty.

Enjoy!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Like everyone else’s our lives changed dramatically and unexpectedly a little more than two years ago when the rapid spread of the COVID-19 pandemic required us to re-evaluate how we lived – what might yet be possible and what no longer was.

How we saw the outside world changed almost overnight and our relationship with it became suddenly completely different. Where once we would have thought little of hopping our way around the globe with the insouciance of seasoned travellers the outside world had abruptly become a dangerous place from which – once one had sallied forth – one might not return unscathed.

Entirely logical fears about exposure to infection meant that the bounds of our existence became dramatically narrowed – like the walls closing in on one. For a while we found it hard to countenance the thought of venturing outside our own neighbourhood – let alone of leaving the island. It was more than a year before we plucked up the courage to cross the Georgia Strait to the mainland for the first time. We mostly found ourselves only too happy to remain safely in our own little cocoon.

Further the thought of sitting for hours cooped up with other people in a metal tube over the Atlantic filled us with horror – not helped by the lurid reports of increased incidences of ‘air-rage’ over such trivialities as mask-wearing etiquette. We were clearly nowhere near ready to venture forth again into the great unknown…

…and yet – this year something has shifted.

In part this change came about because we had visitors from abroad – not once, but twice! In the first instance (as trailed in this post) dear friends from England called us with the news that they were coming to Victoria in February for a job interview. We were excited at the prospect of seeing them again but also of the possibility that they might eventually once again become neighbours. As it turned out that didn’t happen – the job opportunity proving not to be all that it was cracked up to be – but we did spend a very happy few days entertaining our friends and being briefed by them as to the essential aspects of international travel in a post-COVID world.

We then had another most pleasant communication from an old theatre friend of mine. I had not seen this particular thespist since he moved to the US way back in the last century, though we do still trade yearly Christmas newsletters between Victoria and New York. He and his partner (and his partner’s mother) were planning a trip to visit friends in Seattle and – having ventured so close – would have considered it a shame not to come that little bit further to visit us. We were – naturally – completely delighted and once again enjoyed a wonderful few days of sightseeing, dining, making (or re-making) acquaintance and – of course – of much reminiscing.

These two visitations did wonders at bringing us out of our shells a little bit and enabling us to contemplate actually heading back out into the wide blue yonder. An invitation to an event on the other side of the pond simply added to a growing conviction that it is – perhaps – once again time to think about travelling.

As they say – watch this space…

 

 

 

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Regular readers of this cybernated chronicle will be aware that I like – on occasion – to share experiences of the interface between (wo)man and nature that inevitably occur as a result of living in this verdant wilderness.

In other words – I post stuff about the wildlife that we see in our garden!

Having a decent sized plot and being surrounded by trees we are routinely visited by all manner of birds. I posted earlier in the year on the subject of some of the more annoying of these, but we are also graced with visits from larger and more impressive avians. I recorded, for example, the visit of this eagle back in 2017 – a vulture last year and this blue heron earlier this summer.

Our most recent visitor was this beautiful owl – who decided to rest for a considerable period in one of our trees before heading off again to get on doing whatever it is owls fill their days with. Now – owls have virtually no natural predators and thus are afraid of practically nothing – particularly aging gentlemen armed with nothing more offensive than a camera, so this one just sat and watched me whilst I meandered ever closer – taking snaps of him/her.

And now – as is my wont – here are some examples for the gentle reader’s edification. Click on the images for the bigger picture.

Enjoy:

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“Creativity is the Blue Heron within us waiting to fly; through her imagination, all things become possible”

Nadia Janice Brown

We had an unexpected but most welcome visitor to our back garden the other day, the which we are pretty much 100% certain was a Blue Heron. Hello – Blue Heron!

Could be a male – could be a female. The main difference between them (according to the InterWebNet) is apparently one of size. You see our problem! It looked pretty big to us…

Anyway – he (or she) spent some hours sitting up in one of our fir trees. For the longest time he/she had his/her head tucked under one wing – presumably catching some well-deserved (not that we would know!) sleep – but that doesn’t make for such a good picture.

These are the photos that came out the best. Click on the images for the big – er – picture!…

 

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“Fear the vulture, and the vulture will come. Fear nothing, and you are the vulture.”

Suzy Kassem

“By the time I got to kindergarten, I was surprised to find out I was the only kid with a turkey vulture.”

Jean Craighead George

We had an unexpected visitor in our garden (yard!) today. He arrived out of nowhere in a rush and settled on top of the post that holds our weathervane – and that many mistake for a gibbet!

Appropriate – in a way, I suppose…

I was in the studio working on something and my attention was captured by the big shadow that crossed the window. I rushed upstairs to alert The Girl (who was just about to climb into a bath) so that she might also view the bird… before it had flown!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe need not have worried as our visitor was clearly not in any hurry, settling itself in and busying itself preening. I imagine that it had recently frequented the Roadkill Diner and wished to rest a while so as not to suffer from indigestion.

What the heck is that thing?” – I queried the expert. For sure it was a vulture – but what sort of a vulture?

We rarely see Turkey Vultures in the garden, but if we did they would be easily recognisable by their distinctive red heads. This one – as you can see – was conspicuously lacking any sort of crimson.

Black Vultures are as rare as hens’ teeth in these parts. We did hear tell on the InterWebNet (well – The Girl did!) of just one such feathered friend that had escaped from the Raptor sanctuary in Duncan some three years back…

Could it possibly be? Could it?…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe were reluctantly persuaded that it could not – and that it was almost certainly an immature Turkey Vulture – the which have not yet morphed into red-headedness. Shame!

Pretty big bu**er for a baby, though!

The other birds took a pretty dim view of the visitor and all manner of squawking arose. The little hummingbirds – those most territorial of creatures – bustled up, jaws jutting – spoiling for a fight. The vulture simply ignored them and gave its tail feathers an extra polish.

Finally the crows figured that simply making a racket was not going to get the job done, organised a drawing of straws and nominated the unlucky loser to see the intruder off the premises…

…which it duly did!

Sorry that the images are not any better, by the way. I had only my phone to hand and I had to push it to full zoom to get anything at all. Double-clicking may help to make out some detail…

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Image by Sacha Grosser on WikimediaMy sister and nephew (her son) have both been involved for a good number of years with the Scout movement in the UK. They lead a troop (probably not called that any more) in the area not far from where we all grew up.

I was in the Scouts myself – as a nipper! – and then stayed on to become an assistant leader for a few years back in the early seventies. I learned a great deal from the experience – how to read maps and charts and to use a compass for navigation; how to build things out of ropes, pulleys and spars; how to get by in the great outdoors; how to cook and care for myself in less than optimal circumstances… how to pitch a tent blindfold!

I also learned how not to do a fair number of things – including how not to try camping even in the summer months using just a mountain survival bag and a sheet-sleeping bag. That was fun!

I parted company with the movement because I didn’t like the way the bureaucracy was heading. This is probably covered by ‘Health & Safety’ nowadays – closely allied, of course, to ‘Child Protection’, ‘Risk Management’ and so forth. I expect that there are loads of statistics available that demonstrate just how much safer it is being a young person involved in such activities now than it was back in the early seventies… should one care to look for them. If you sense a touch of cynicism in my tone it must surely just be down to cultural differences… or something!

I do, however, recall being able to decide on a Thursday evening (with a bunch of other guys) that we would head for the Welsh hills for the weekend. On the Friday night we would all pile into the back of a long wheelbased Land Rover and head down the M4 to the Brecon Beacons (or the Black Mountains, or wherever) where we would happily spent the weekend ‘yomping’ up and down mountains and indulging in ‘ham radio’ (youngsters won’t know what that is, of course!). The paperwork for doing that sort of thing now takes considerably longer than does the activity itself.

The final straw came when a group of our Scouts turned up at a summer fete for an annual tug-of-war competition (in which we were defending the trophy we had won the previous year) only to be turned away because we weren’t in uniform. When we pointed out that the Scout uniform was entirely unsuitable for such an activity the man in charge told us we should have changed after we arrived!

I had by then had quite enough of such petty tyrants! Well – I am a child of the sixties!

But where – you might reasonably ask – is all this going?

Well – my sister and nephew recently brought a party of Scouts (girls as well as boys!) to BC, to indulge in the sort of adventurous outdoor activities for which this province is known. Whilst they were here they managed to make time in their busy schedule for a visit to our North Saanich home for a relaxed lunch.

Not only was it good to see them both, but – given that my brother has already visited us here – the occasion somehow completed the circle, making yet another important connection between here and there.

…and to me that feels oddly important…

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