No kids at our house going out trick or treating this Halloween, but I did buy a pumpkin. The photo is of someone else's house, but I'm sharing it just because I like it.
Take care!
Mary Soderstrom's blog
It's always nice when people that you write about like what you write. I'm no musician, and one of the big unknowns about River Music was what musicians might think. In fact, I was so unsure that I went out of my way not to ask musicians I knew what their opinion was.
But to my great delight, the reaction of musicians has been spontaneous and very positive. Here are three:
From pianist Jana Stuart:
"Mary, I just finished River Music. I could not put it down. I related so much to the character of Gloria Murray and the plight of the young pianist. I loved it to pieces. "
From Madeleine Owen, lutist and artistic director, Ensemble La Cigale:
"Gloria, is tough and not always likable and yet, I had to recognize some of her difficult choices as merely typical of what a musician, especially a woman, has to do in order to succeed in the competitive world of music."
And Cléo Palacio-Quintin, flûtiste-compositrice says:
"River Music nous emporte dans le flot d'une vie musicale riche en émotions. Dans un rythme fluide, Mary Soderstrom transcrit avec finesse la passion intime d'une interprète pour sa musique...difficile de poser le livre avant la fin."
The Walkable City: From Haussmann's Boulevards to Jane Jacobs' Streets and Beyond
Take care!
Using the church building as a library was a great thing to do, and the fact that the library now bears the name of Montreal's legendary Jewish novelist is either wonderfully eceumenical, ironic or simply classy. Certainlly it shows the resilience of several aspects of society: urban planning, cultural continuity, humour....
But the photo shows another sort of resilience: the sunflower growing in the gutter on the roof. Tried to get a better photo of it, but was too far away and messing with Photoshop doesn't help. That flowers will grow so far up is really great...
So well, in fact, that some of them have sprouted off spring, including this little flower that seems to be overflowing with life. You can bring beauty nearly everywhere--or at least take a stab at it.
Nevertheless, while I'm far from a believer, I think it's a very good thing to stop now and then to realize just how many good things have come my way. I invite you to do that this weekend, even if I can't invite you to supper. Doing so puts everything in perspective....
What makes the difference is whether the watercourse flows into the sea. If it doesn't, it's a rivière no matter how bit it is.
A fleuve, on the other hand, goes directly into the sea. The St. Lawrence is a fleuve but all its tributaries are rivières.
The photo is of a small stream that drains one of the fields along the St. Lawrence. In this summer of drought, it was very small indeed.
![]() |
Although storm surges can cause damage along this stretch, the gradual slope of the flats and teh plentiful vegetation mean that much of the waves' energy is harmlessly expended.
Turning other seaside landscapes into tide flats may well be a key technique in cutting down damage caused be rising sea levels.
Summer was unusually hot and sunny here--not as dry or as hot as other places, but nevertheless the weather is enough to worry about.
At the moment though it is coolish and I have decided that sometimes the better path is live for the moment...
Note: this was such a good trip I'm posting it twice!
Down in the Bas St-Laurent recently to see how people there cope with rising sea levels. This is the walkway on the top of a dike built to protect some very fertile fields--in other words, an aboiteau.
Had a great walk, and was much impressed by the way it was built. Much to think about here.
Spent a great few days in the Lower St. Laurent, including walks on the batture, the dikes constructed to keep back the tides and make the Kamouraska lowlands ready for planting.
It was very hot, but that meant there were few people, and we had this great landscape mostly to ourselves. It is indeed a tamed landscaped, but very thought-provoking as the techniques used here might be used elsewhere against the rising seas the climate change will bring us.
It helps that there are several bee hives hidden around, so in addition to the native bees we have some honey bees. It also helps that gardens tend to be of two types. One has no pesticides because the owners don't care for their yards. The other has none either, because the owners more or less have bought into organic gardening.
In this period of far too many premature deaths, I offer my condolences to those who loved, and who now continue living. The hole in the heart never fills...
Spent a lovely few hours last Sunday at the Parc des rapides on the St. Lawrence. These rapids and the St. Mary's rapid to the east effectively blocked sailing ships from going up the great river. The first canal around the rapids was built in the late 18th century, and since the 1950s all ships have avoided them by using the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Living in the middle of the island of Montreal, it's easy to forget just how powerful the river is. Standing next to the rapids and watching the terns fish in them was a good reminder of that. There are forces bigger than us, even if we try to get around them.
The Technoparc is a a parcel of land that some would like to develop but which so far has lain fallow. It's tucked right up next to Trudeau airport, which would at first glance seem to be not the best place for a bird santuary. What's more, there must have been times in the not to distant past when parts of the ponds were partially drained for some kind of project. But at the moment, the 215 hectares are a refuge for a wealth of bird life. Some animals also call it home: we saw a lot of rabbits last week, so many that I wonder if the ecosystem couldn't use a fox or two.
The grass and reeds are as tall as I am right now, and the mosquitos are as big as my fist--no, that's an exaggeration included only to warn the wary. Great space to spend a few hours on a Sunday morning.
|
|
|
The gate in the photo is closed, and who knows what lies on the other side? Not I. Like everyone else, I go forward, hoping for the best.
The culprit is the Gypsy Moth caterpillar. We saw them all over the pavement, and jogging friends have said they've been covered with them after running through stretches where the beasts are munching away.
Dreadful things, but, I'm told, not quite the disaster that they appear to be. Most of the trees will survive, many will leaf out again, and this kind of infestation cyclical. Not quite the 17 year cycle of the cicada, but nevertheless something that comes around every 5 to 10 years.
The fact that we're in a very dry spell won't help the trees' recovery. Rain last night was encouraging, but the jury is still out. So is my desire to go walking in the cemetery--just too disturbing to see, perhaps.