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I didn’t know that I cared about daffodils until I realized that by the time I returned to Canada the daffodils in my garden would likely also have flowered and frizzled, and I would have missed out on daffodil season.

January 25th was Robbie Burns Day and all around the world us Scots gather to celebrate the poet, to eat haggis and maybe to dance a reel or two. I decided to post this account of my recent trip back home , so pour yourselves a wee cuppa tea, and sit and sip as you read this blog…..

Be kind and unwind.

As I tore back the bindweed that morning, I was contemplating being a new grandma…I was trying to locate my usefulness, re-establish my relevance.

While it was pretending to be congenial and pleasing, I knew that November could well have a few nasty characteristics hidden up its sleeve, especially 4000 ft up in the sky. It may have been acting like it was September, but I wasn’t fooled.

In the spring and autumn stories of this land, a land of dense forest and the rocky remains of a primeval mountain range, the maple trees and the black bears are intertwined. 

It is said, nature is a healer and I feel that every day, surrounded by nature’s beauty with the fields and the woods at my doorstep.

As summer comes to an end and routine stares us in the face, the Wandering Wakefield bloggers are resurfacing to a new blog format which we hope allows for greater … Continue reading Notice-new format

River swimming means learning the river’s language, means knowing where the counter-currents are strongest, where in the spring you can be swept back to the General Store despite swimming hard as you can in the opposite direction.