Sunday, December 11, 2016


I am once again posting this from last year. With all the best wishes for a wonderful holiday season! I have added an addendum in red near the end.

Do you know who the the real St. Nicholas was? I didn't. I was deciding what my Christmas post would be about this year - and I got caught up wondering how a man who was a priest, then a bishop and after death, anointed St. Nicholas, ended up being Santa Claus? Are they one and the same? So I looked up Saint Nicholas. Apparently so. In a way.....

So, the next question is: How did we go from this....

to this....

The "real" St. Nicholas was a Christian bishop born in Patara, (once part of Turkey), around 280 BC. After his wealthy parents died, Nicholas, a priest by then, used his inheritance to give gifts to the poor people of Patara. A devout and dedicated Christian, he later became a bishop of Myra, a city now called Demre. His gifts were usually money, food, and other necessities needed for survival by the poor.  After his death and sainthood, the legend of this gift-giving creation became very popular around the Christian world. Portrayed as a bearded bishop in canonical robes, Saint Nicholas's feast day is still celebrated in many countries on the anniversary of his death, December 6th. 

Here is a depiction of San Nicola (Italian version) with the saintly bishop dispensing gifts to children.

He is called 
Saint Nicholas in France, Father Christmas (Britain) San Nikola (Malta), Naomh Nioclás (Ireland), San Nicola (Italy), Sankt Nikolaus  (Germany), Sinter Klaas (Dutch)
. All using the "real" name, except in Britain  - and North America where he morphed into Santa Claus.

How did that happen? And this is more or less how it happened...

Over time, St. Nicholas was transformed again and again  - very often physically. Because of this, the actual man became more obscured in "homespun" legends developed by various countries. 

In May, 1843, Sir Henry Cole commissioned the first commercial Christmas cards in London. They were illustrated by John Callcott Horsley. These cards began with a variety of versions representing of the saint. And there are a huge number of very strange images of St. Nicholas to be found at the. Like these two from France.

What is really interesting to me is that despite all these images of a saintly gift giver, St Nicholas was initially portrayed as a tall, slender stern bishop who visited children to dispense not only gifts, but to dispense discipline. 

In the countries of Austria, Bavaria, Croatia, Czech Republic, Hungary, Slovenia, and Northern Italy there was another character introduced as part of the Christmas "festivities". His name is Krampus and is believed to be a pre-Christian "devil" of some kind - and for some reason he became the shadow of St. Nicholas.

It was this devil-like character who was to be the actual dispenser of punishment to naughty children, and (one assumes) to scare the wits out of children who might be considering becoming naughty.

Many of the images I found on antique cards show that Santa was involved in the punishment side as well.

The first Christmas cards (perhaps as a form of bizarre humour) show Krampus punishing children with great glee. And St. Nick doing his bit as well. Here are a few examples of 
Victorian Christmas cards showing this tag team punishing naughty children. Not a very happy Christmas for some! Note that St Nicholas/Father Christmas dressed in various forms of clothing and in one is also dressed in red and has a long white beard. The transformation is beginning.

Greetings from Krampus. Ack!

A Merry Christmas????

Now that is just plain child abuse....

"Loving Christmas Wishes" 
More like, "Leave the case of ransom money 
beside the church stairs!"

So how did this formidable and rather nasty Victorian St. Nicholas with a "vicious devilish sidekick transfigure into a "right jolly old elf" with a belly that jiggled like a bowl full of jelly?

Well, it appears that that Dutch settlers in America were largely responsible for bringing the legend of their Saint Nicholas - known to them as Sinterklaas  around the end of the 18th century. According to their folklore, Sinterklaas (or Sinter Klaas) rode a white horse and left gifts in wooden shoes. He could also be quite sinister and even had black ravens who could turn into Black Moors called Zwarte Pieten. (But as these characters are now very controversial which involves using "black face make-up) and they can also be sinister - so I will leave that to you to look up!) 

Anyway, it seems that the evolving American version of Sinter Klaas became a blend of both the Dutch and British versions of Sinter Klaas and Father Christmas. Does Sinter Klaas sound a lot like Santa Claus? Yep. The Dutch name name was eventually Americanized to “Santa Claus.” And although there were songs and warnings about being naughty or nice, by the middle 1850's many American and Canadian children began to see Santa Claus as the cheery and benevolent character created in A Visit from St. Nicholas - which weaves a vision of Santa as a "jolly old elf" with a twinkle in his eye. (No idea where all his other helpers elves and Mrs. Claus popped into the myth/legend.) 

 "A Visit from St. Nicholas" was first published as a poem in New York in 1823. This poem really started the big change from the more austere St. Nicholas and his buddy Krampus into the Santa Claus kids know today.  

A friend of the "supposed" creator Clement Clark Moore anonymously sent Moore's poem to a publisher. Moore, apparently, had no idea it had been sent. Mmmm. (Moore's legitimacy as author is under scrutiny as some researchers and scholars believe it was actually  written by a distant relative of Moore's wife - a man called Henry Livingston. (But I will leave that one alone as well!) 

By 1837 Moore had "claimed it" as his own work and gave quite an elaborate description regarding how the inspiration came to him while going to town in a sleigh to buy a turkey, On hearing the jingle of on the horses and sleigh as they moved over the snow, he said the entire poem just "came to him" and he wrote it then and there. He also claimed that he styled Santa after a Dutchman who worked on his estate and was presumably the driver of the sleigh. 

In any case, the poem was first published anonymously in the Troy, New York Sentinal on 
23 December 1823. Because it was anonymous, editors from many different publications grabbed it and printed it, and its popularity spread quickly. It's not clear which was the very first illustrated version, however, it appears that the first actual separately published and illustrated book was put out by Henry Onderdonk (love that name!) and illustrated with engravings by Theodore C. Boyd. And, of course, Moore's name was included as the author.

So here it is as it looked then  - followed by the final transformation of St. Nick into Santa!

p. 2
p. 3


by Clement C. Moore, LL.D.
With Original Cuts,
DESIGNED AND ENGRAVED by [Theodore C.] Boyd,
New York:
Henery Onderdonck,
10 John-street.
p. 4
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by Wm. H. Onderdonk, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New. York.
p. 5
p. 6
Nestled all snug in their beds
p. 7
TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And Mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap;

p. 8
A little old driver
p. 9

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny rein-deer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
p. 10
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound
p. 11
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof—
p. 12
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back
p. 13
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedlar just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
p. 14
And fill'd all the stockings
p. 15
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself,
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And fill’d all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
p. 16
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

Its title, as most of us know, was later turned into "Twas the Night Before Christmas". 

No one really knows how the reindeer ended up attached to a flying sleigh. You would think snow geese might have worked He's drawn, above, as an old bearded uncle in Georgian-style breeches, buckled shoes, smoking a pipe, and carrying a sack over his shoulder - readying himself to climb down the chimney to fill children's stockings. Rather than the big guy in red that we know, St. Nick was a “little old driver” in a “miniature sleigh” decked all in fur from head to foot. Well, he has a fur hat anyway. 

But, whomever actually wrote this poem, it appears that their vision of him might have come from the 1809 Knickerbocker’s History of New York, where Washington Irving described St. Nick flying over the treetops, bringing presents, smoking a pipe, and ‘laying his finger beside his nose'! Plagiarism and mystery galore... 

Thomas Nast - transformer...

At least we know for certain that Santa finally became today’s large, red-suited hero, thanks in big part to one Thomas Nast's imagination. He was the 19th century cartoonist for Harper’s Weekly. In 1881, Nast drew a very round and jolly character in a fur-trimmed coat with a stocking cap. He had done a couple of earlier drawings of Santa - as early as 1863, but this is the one that fit the bill! Even Coca Cola used this image and tweaked it into a "brand" Santa for advertising their product. So I can't give credit to the CC company for their Santa which is often portrayed as THE "Classic" Santa. Clearly that Santa already existed, in my opinion.

There is a cynical side to all this love and gifts. The sugar snow melts a little when looked at closely.  It is rather sad in some ways, that this "kindly and generous" Santa swept the world in the early twnetieth C. and was soon perverted into a commercial give-away creature who lives hidden away all year making toys for girls and boys .... and wives and husbands and nieces and nephews.

Not that I would want the second version with his horrible Krampus dressed in devil red, but let's face it, Santa is out of control.

Yes, the Ho, Ho, Ho, Santa has become TOO generous. He gives far too many gifts - and now the simple nature of a candy cane, a fresh orange, socks and other necessities, and one lovely little toy has been gone for a long time now. Forever, actually.

It is now about wild shopping by millions and millions of people, out-beating each other's gifts and has turned into a cynical and exhausting event in many many ways.

Each of us can try to have a more simple sharing of holiday spirit without going into a year of debt. But will that ever happen? It is like a child's Christmas train running out off the tracks and no one has the energy or will  to stop it.

Santa Claus, Thomas Nast, Harper’s Weekly 1881

                      Coloured version of Thomas Nast's Santa Claus 

Here's a few red coated and rather sweet Santa's that followed using Nast's vision as part of theirs....

Frank A. Nankivell in Puck, v. 52, no. 1344 (December 3 1902) 

Norman Rockwell, 1920 and 1922

A Victorian Christmas card and on one my favourite Santa faces

A final few cards of Santa Claus just for fun.....

It is hard not to love him, isn't it?
So... be good! 

Sunday, October 23, 2016


One cold morning in a late August,  I woke up at 5 am and looked out the window of our veranda. The light over the lake was luminous, misty and so inviting - how could I go back to bed? I dressed quickly, stuck my flat-topped straw hat on my head, my sneakers on my feet, grabbed my cameras and paddle, and headed for the canoe. 

At first, I was only going to paddle 
on the still water through the mist into our two bays. I wanted to catch the full sunrise, which can often be stunning and each one is unique. So I paddled around, followed a beaver for awhile as he headed home from work, and when his tail smacked the water and he went down, I turned the bow toward the eastern far bay where the sun would rise from behind the wall of trees.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie
The creek is behind the mist, middle right, 

I paddled slowly toward the pink glow through the mist. The sunrise was very slow coming up or I was just impatient. It was chilly out and the mist was refusing to scatter. My hands hurt from the cold, so I pulled my sweater over them and kept paddling toward the third bay  - in silence  - except for the slow dip and swish of my paddle. 

Half an hour later, I was a third of the way into the eastern bay. Ahead is a wide creek that cuts deep into the marsh at the far end of the bay. The creek connects eventually to a wide beaver dam, and behind it is another watery marsh, and not far off is a nearby lake which one can reach via a very narrow waterway and an old walking trail.

But ... I had not left a note for my family. Two days earlier I had had a freak accident with my canoe when I stepped into it off a rocky ledge and realized the rope holding me in place had somehow loosened. I did the splits over the water, with one foot the canoe and the other on a rocky ledge. I fell into the water up to my shoulders, banging my calf on the gunnel of the canoe, and tipping the canoe over, so it took in gallons of water. My weight took me down. I tried to stand up, my head just above the waterline, but my feet were sinking down into the muck. No life jacket. Yes, I have learned that lesson. Finally.

I saved myself from going under and drowning, by wresting one leg out of the muck while holding onto the full and wallowing canoe. By then, the water was past my chin.  I finally found one flat rock underwater a good stretch behind me and was able to stabilize my drop into the muck - then, I was able to pull the canoe toward me as wobbly ballast. After a long struggle, I finally balanced both feet on the rock. Now what? I saw a 4 litre plastic bottle in the canoe that I use for ballast and by using my big pocket knife I cut off the base of bottle to create a good scooper. I bailed the canoe for what felt like hours. To make a long story shorter, I fell in once more, trying to get off that rock and into the bailed canoe! So, I bailed it again. This story would take too long to go into here, but thankfully one of my family members heard my shouts (no one heard my emergency whistle which seemed deafening to me!) and I was finally rescued by two family members in a small fishing boat. My husband and family slept through the whole thing, of course.  

Back to the third bay:  Paddling to the creek reminded me I had not left one this morning, so I knew I could be in trouble if I crossed over into bay three and vanished down the creek. But I was halfway there  - one of my favourite spots on the lake. So now what?

Go back? Go forward?

Maybe it was to prove to myself that, as an experienced canoeist, the near drowning was a fluke.  I somehow had to put it behind me behind me with a solemn promise that I would never again take the chance of getting off on a ledge to pick cranberries without a life jacket on .... or maybe it was me getting back on the horse in hopes that the nightmare I had during the night wouldn't come back and haunt me.

No one in my family ever gets up before 8 am, except me,  so I gave myself 2 1/2 more hours to be back at our dock. And I dug my paddle in.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

The opening to the creek just ahead.

I took the photo below after I left the creek and the sun was up. You can see the entrance to the wide creek  was full of huge clots of beaver debris, and chunks of marsh that had broken away during a big flood earlier in the summer. The flood lasted a few weeks  - and in the wind and rising water, the marshes on the lake released large pieces of  flotsam "islands" of marsh plants and bog that, in this case, closed the creek off to anyone except a canoeist.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

After battling over clogs of flooded marsh, 
I headed  down the beginning of the creek.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

You can see the mist rising and the bend ahead. I love this photo. 

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Just  around the corner should be the beaver dam. The lily pads are thickening.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

The beaver dam stretched across the span of water 
and surrounded by marsh plants.

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Alien world

On the other side of the beaver dam is an alien world. There are waterways that lead past low grassy areas where I once saw a moose standing in one of the open ponds eating lilies. It is a dreamland with beaver dens, deer, water fowl and that strange silence you get in the mornings with only faint chirps and songs of small birds in the distance. 

If I'd had a partner with me, I'd have hauled the canoe over the dam and gone further, but I was still injured from the accident the day before and ... I hadn't left that promised note, so I turned around. and paddled back home, happy as a beaver with a nice juicy lily pad rhizome to chew on. Memories. And photos. And there is always next summer!

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Saturday, August 20, 2016

WHAT I AM ....

"Unconradicting solitude
Supports me on its giant palm
And like a sea-anemone
Or simple snail, there cautiously
Unfolds, Emerges, what I am."
Philip Larkin

Photo copyright, Margaret Buffie

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Return to Twin Bays

Finally I have returned to Twin Bays, after a long cold winter away. 

Sunrise OverTwin Bays. © Margaret Buffie

(I imagine this is what the recent fire in our area would have looked like if 
it had actually made it to the shores of our lake. So glad it didn't.)

We were not allowed to return to our cabin until just a few weeks ago because of a fierce wildfire that came very close to our lake. The fire was caused by something called dry lightning - striking an old part of the forest which had many old decaying trees  - waiting, like tinder,  for a chance to explode into flames. Dry lightning is just what it sounds like. Clouds full of fire and no rain. 

The photo below is not mine, but was taken by someone at a nearby lake and used in the media (no credits given that I could see) to show the wild fire moving closer and closer. This photo has almost a painterly quality to it. 

We were, of course, extremely concerned for almost a month. Not just for the wildlife, and the destruction, but also for the looming possibility of losing the old log cabins my dad and grandfather built, my paintings, our gathered treasures over the years, the journal my husband has kept about the lake since we were married, and many more things that meant so much to our family. 

Eventually the fire stretched to about 20 miles in length and licked against outbuildings on the lake next to ours. At first the fire was too hot for water bombers to get close enough to spray it  -  and of course ground crews were not allowed near it. People were evacuated from four different lakes, including ours. But eventually with cooler weather and some rain,  water bombers were finally allowed to fly over. Ground crews then moved in and used water devices to pump water from the lakes onto cottages, cabins and the homes of permanent residents in the area, as well as trying to clear-cut areas to keep the fire at bay. Finally, after weeks of worry, the all-clear was called for the lakes, including ours, even though the fire was still burning in an uninhabited area. 

When we arrived at the marina at the end of the lake we were so happy to be back! We were told by another camper loading his boat, that they had had what is referred to as a"pollen" storm a few days before we arrived.  A hard winter, a slow spring, and many of the species of trees released their pollen at the same time. The pollen waves covered homes, cottages, boats, docks, and waterways.  When we arrived at the end of the lake in our boats, remnants of it had been driven by south winds into one of our small bays. The next morning, I took a shot of it. It covered everything in the marsh, beaver dens, trees,  lily pads, the water .... and as the wind picked up, me! I sneezed my way back home in my canoe!

Pollen on the water in Bay One © Margaret Buffie

As soon as I could, I explored my usual paths, and paddled my canoe each day checking out my favourite places and celebrating that we still had our beautiful lake intact.

Early that first evening, I paddled toward the largest beaver lodge I have ever seen. I had noticed the previous September that an energetic beaver was starting on a new den. And it appears that during the nice autumn weather, he worked diligently to show the other beavers how it is done! It's huge.

Giant Beaver Lodge © Margaret Buffie

Usually in that bay the lily pads are so thick I can hardly paddle, but in early June they are rising up from the clusters of leaves growing on the thick layer of mud about four feet below the surface. The beavers create these wide ledges of mud as they groom and plan their own deeper secret waterways - something that I have learned how to find so I can move more easily on the water. Most of the lily pads are red below the surface but once they rest on top of the water, they turn green.

Lily Pad Rising © Margaret Buffie

Everything seemed to be in bloom in both bays. After a good rain most of the remains of the pollen had washed off the plants. Bog Rosemary below is a sturdy and pretty plant - and its buds are round and a pale pink shade with tips that look like pursed lips (with a darker lipstick). Sadly it does not have the fragrance of domestic rosemary.

Bog Rosemary © Margaret Buffie

I suspect that a lot of of the pollen on the lake came off big Jack Pines like this one in Bay One. In spring the cones from the previous year are hard and dry or cracked open and seedless. In spring, however, the new male ones look like pale baby corn or teeny bunches of bananas. It is the male cones that create the ripe pollen. Apparently there are also female cones on the tree. I did not know this until I read up on it. As a kid, I wondered at the sight - on slow blowy days - of gusts of yellow pollen wafting off Jack Pines trees and drifting over the water. From the centre of this bunch of cones, you can see the beginning of the new needle growth in the middle, which will soon grow long and more upright. They call this stage "candling" and when they are all pointed skyward, they look like candles on a Christmas tree. The females fruit in May and look like tiny reddish pink pineapples. 

Jack Pine Candling.  © Margaret Buffie

Below is the lovely Bog Laurel. One of my favourites. They are gorgeous flowers and the buds are as pretty as the flowers. These plants were all around the edge of the marshes when I was a kid, but one year, the trappers were allowed to trap the beavers on our lake because they kept rebuilding a dam that interfered with the level of the lake. After that, to my eyes, the marsh became static - the lily pads slowly began to thin more and more. After a few years, we rarely saw laurel bushes. Now we have a different way of keeping the lake level, the beavers are not being killed, and with four active beaver dens in our twin bays, the bog laurel is appearing again, as are other plants that I haven't seen for a long time. The marshes are clogged with huge and varied lily pads with their white and yellow flowers. It is as if the marsh has come alive again. We now have muskrats, and swirling families of otters as well. The beavers are cutting into the marsh, moving it around and refreshing it. I sometimes wonder if the beavers will be taken again  - but so far, they are left in peace. I think the awareness now, that beavers actually keep lakes and marshes alive, is part of the reason why. Live and let live seems to be the consensus - which makes me happy.

Bog Laurel © Margaret Buffie

Here is another plant I had not seen in a number of years and was excited to see this year. The elegant Marsh Calla (Calla palustris) or Water Arum 

Marsh Calla or Water Arum in all its beauty. © Margaret Buffie

The flowers below belong to the Leather leaf plant. Its leaves are thick and leathery. It blooms very early in the spring , so these blossoms are almost ready to drop their petals. And when they do, they leave rather attractive seed pods behind. This plant is at its most beautiful in the fall  - when its leaves turn a variety of beautiful subtle fall colours. The third photo in this line up I took last fall. 

© Margaret Buffie

© Margaret Buffie

Leather Leaf  - Chamaedaphne calyculata © Margaret Buffie

When you walk past an old stump, stop and look closely at it. It can hold some amazing little treasures that look like they come from the bottom of the sea. I paddled past a stump that I've watched age and break down over the years. As I drew closer, I spotted a sun dew plant smack in the middle of it - which means the wood is succulent enough now to carry a water plant! It is also encrusted with various lichens, as you can see. I  usually search and find sundews embedded in the wet water mosses along the marsh. They are a carnivorous plant, with sticky tipped "tentacles" that trap small insects. The tentacles are highly sensitive and the leaf will then fold over, bringing the insect into contact with the sticky balls of the plant's digestive secretions. 

Sundew plant and lichens on an old dead (but very alive!) stump. 
© Margaret Buffie

© Margaret Buffie

Old Bearded Stump. Isn't he a beaut? © Margaret Buffie

After my canoe visits around the bays, I went for walks in the woods. I almost stepped on this tiny cluster of mushrooms fruiting across the old trail.  I recognized them, but didn't know their name. I have a new book I bought about Ontario mushrooms and after some discussion with my daughter, and a bit of an autopsy on a few I'd removed, I am sure, now, that this is the Omphalina ericetorum mushroom. No common name that I can find. Like pretty little umbrellas in the misty rain. It had been raining for a couple of days, so they are quite translucent. They fruit on moss and wood. Not edible. Apparently they are very bitter. 

Omphalina ericetorum  © Margaret Buffie

This is another fruiting plant I found on the same day as the umbrella mushrooms. The rain that day brought out all kinds of surprises - mushrooms, mosses in seed and more. These are the seeds or fruiting bodies of the pretty juniper moss. It is called Juniper Polytrichum or Polytrichum jiniperipun. They look like lit birthday candles to me! Eventually the white and orange tips will dry and send out seeds with long white tresses. This group of seed heads has a thread of water drop silk from a spider swung across them  - if you look closely. It was so quiet in the forest. No wind at all. Just the sift of light rain.

© Margaret Buffie

There seem to be a plethora of moccasin slippers (also known as lady slippers) this year. The one below is in its early stages of growth and is a soft green and looks fragile and new. I almost missed it because it blends so well into the foliage around it. But further along the higher path, I found a few more - dotted with pollen - and wearing their grandest colours.


© Margaret Buffie

© Margaret Buffie

Later, I slowly paddled into Bay One again. It has some logs laying half in and half out of the water. I took photos of a male and female Mallard standing side by side on this very log last year, looking rather like an old married couple posing for a photo. But this time, I found someone else visiting the log. I call this photo "A Reflection on Turtles". Heh, heh. "I've looked at them from both sides now from up and down and still somehow....." sorry Joni Mitchell! .... I really don't know turtles at all. 

We have a friendly turtle with a deep gash in his shell, clearly from a propeller accident, who comes to visit us when he feels like peckish, but he also comes up to us if we splash the quiet water with our hands. He's been floating into our shore for many many years. You see his head go up and down as he moves in for the food. He gets oatmeal and whole meal crackers.His name is Timothy. But this sleek beauty has a lovely shell. I wonder if they know each other? And if so, do they swim together? Have baby eggs together? She was clearly reflecting on me, too. She slipped off her log after I passed her by.

© Margaret Buffie

And this little creature greeted me as she always does every year - buzzing every window in my cabin ordering  to me to get that hummingbird feeder set up. NOW!

© Margaret Buffie

Hope you all have a great summer!