In contrast to Monday’s post about urban noise, I’m featuring a more tranquil scene today, and I only have to swivel my head a quarter turn to the left (and plug my ears!) and I eliminate those digging machines from the cityscape. . . I love the way the morning sun tracks over our terrace garden, and yesterday, its winter-watery light was so sweet, so promising, so magical really, that I grabbed my phone and scooted outside barefoot. No time for shoes when the light source is moving . . .
(And while there was a crackle of ice on the roof opposite, the terrace concrete was dry, so no toes suffered unduly in the making of this blogpost).
This corner of the terrace holds a collection of artifacts invested with memories. That iron “It All Began In A Garden” plaque, for example, which I purchased in a little metalworking shop at least ten, perhaps fifteen years ago. It wasn’t rusted when I bought it, and it hung for years on the white wall of our kitchen, linking indoors with out. Here, rusting beautifully on that bench, it does the same thing in reverse, drawing my eyes outward through the window. . . .
I spotted the green bench the day I drove 90 kilometres home from the university where I’d just Passed (with distinction) the oral portion of my comprehensive field exams, and thus become a Doctoral Candidate. I’d studied over six months for those exams, spent a gruelling seven hours ten days earlier writing feverishly in a small closed room, so much, it seemed, at stake. Exultant and relieved on the scenic drive back, I’d just begun thinking about how I might celebrate this milestone, when I saw those uplifting, simple green arches of the vintage Doukhobor bench siting outside a store. My car seemed to drive itself off the highway and into the parking lot, and I left the shop ten minutes later with a slightly complicated moving project for the coming weekend. . .
The bench sat on our deck, facing the ocean, for sixteen years, and it seems to have adjusted happily enough to its new home. Once, it may have hosted members of a rural congregation. These days, it hosts a plaster cast we brought home from Bordeaux five or six years ago, an interpretation of one of the many mascarons that adorn that city’s architecutre.
Like the ceramic crow you can see above this aged face, in the third photo above (a gift from an artist friend who was experimenting with sculpting corvids in many, many postures), this fellow is showing the effects of weathering, and I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to discern his features.
But I’ve come to think of him as the primeval Green Man, so it seems altogether fitting that he should demonstrate the transformative power of Nature this graphically . .
As well, I suppose, since the building we now live in is almost new and constructed from contemporary materials more resistant to weather, I’m very appreciative of any element that points to a longer history and that testifies to the beauty of decay. . .
Back inside, and my toes are completely warm again. My sympathy to the many of you who are hunkered down against the Polar Vortex right now. I sincerely hope that my post from the currently mild climate of the Pacific Northwest doesn’t smack of smugness or, even worse, of gloating. . . Just trying to share some sunshine and tranquility. . .
xo,
Frances
What is your Ph.D. in?
I love your Bordeaux man, especially the photo looking down from above.
You are so lucky to have such an outdoor space in an urban environment.
It's in Canadian Literature. . .
I do feel very lucky, especially given Vancouver's housing issues (Demographia's annual survey has just established Vancouver as the world's second most unaffordable housing market!!) . . .
I would love to read a post from you about how you managed to teach piano, raise 4 kids and go to school to become a professor. That truly blows my mind. I could barely keep up with the homework of 1 child (admittedly, she did everything in her power to avoid it).
Yeah, that was ambitious, right? Lots of prioritising and delegating, I tell you 😉
But I'll think about doing that post. I think I see it as a bit dangerous, now, to talk about it from my retired position. . .
Your urban terrace is sublime…..even if you have to wear ear plugs. There is something that speaks to me about rusting and decaying artifacts.
I wonder if you realize what an amazing role model you are to your grandchildren.
Ali
It's a good terrace, isn't it? Makes up for the restricted indoor space considerably.
I love your little altar to history, personal and natural. xoxo.
And I love this description!! Thank you!
Your urban altar……yes,well said…. Your outdoor garden is the connection to your pastoral "old" life on a small island,no?
I like it,because it is so real,authentic (!) ,not something to photo for others and instagram. And I like the story about your bench and it's "keeper"( how did you bring it from Bordeaux,I wonder?)
I miss to comment your (excellent) last post: your sketch is perfect,catching all the cacophony around you
I've learned,with time (and soundproof windows lately) to completely ignore sounds,as well as sights, outside my house (when I'm in ,of course-otherwise it could be lethal). I'm also not in the centre,so it is easier
I agree that you have found a perfect balance between privat and public (although it is a very thin line and I can understand your feelings)
I like Linda's Wright Instagram,luckily I don't read comments there
As for combat boots-I love them,am happy that I've found the new and perfect pair in Milano last fall,wear them with everything during the winter,when it is snowy or icy,,especially liking the contrast with dresses or silk skirts(and warm leggings!). I've noticed that a lot of people (including some of my friends) don't approve the look-but they will, next year or in a couple of years…….or never
Dottoressa
Isn't that a great description of Lisa's? And yes, I do feel as if that space and its artifacts connect me to my last home, its more tranquil setting.
The bench came from a small town about an hour from my old home; it was the plaster face that we brought from Bordeaux.
I wish our windows were soundproof — they're not bad, but could be better — and the condo "envelope" is not up to us to change.
I know you're right — those combat boots will catch on and by the time your friends are deciding they need a pair, yours will be already beautifully broken-in.
…"with distinction". Thank you for not omitting those two words from your post. Even at this late date, it deserves to be acknowledged. Well done! And my first thought seeing your well aged primeval green man is of Poseidon emerging from the deep, with his hair and beard covered in green seaweeds. A three prongs spear will complete the picture. Just saying…lol. I love all of your treasures! Amelia
laughing at my lame joke, sometimes I forget how old I am yikes! 🙂
Thanks Amelia — yes, we can "own" all our lame jokes and enjoy laughing at/with ourselves 😉
Now where can I find a three-pronged garden rake?
Isn't it lovely to be surrounded by things which have a past and carry our memories? I often feel that it is a great privilege to have the space and the safety to own and keep these witnesses of (personal) history.
Yes! I think it's a great privilege. I've been thinking this so much since even before we moved, about how much these markers of family history are governed by class and/or economic circumstances (not to mention military and environmental trauma)
Love your urban terrace and all the individual items that contribute to a lifetime of memories. Must say I sometimes feel like your Green Man–weathering and with features perhaps not discernible in a few years. Hopefully, when that happens, someone nice like you will prop me up on a lovely bench to age with distinction. 😉
Oh yes, Mary. That thought (our faces' features crumbling as they weather) occurred to me as well. We can share that bench, okay?
Front page of today's Winnipeg Free Press: 'They call it a Polar Vortex. We call it home.'
I'm hungry for pictures and stories of gardens and signs of spring at this time of year, so I say bring it on…
Ha! That's a good line. I've only spent a few days in a Winnipeg winter (my sister 's family lived there and I visited) — and then only at the tail-end, temps just around freezing, not much snow left on the ground. . . (they also spent time in northern Manitoba, brrrrr!)
Your bench and the moss covered sculpture look very cozy on your deck.
I heard that there is snow ❄️ in the forecast for Sunday! It would be beautiful to see these pieces dusted with snow.
You’ve accomplished so much, you are a remarkable woman in so many ways…a wonderful role model…and you keep challenging yourself.
I enjoy your heartfelt and honest posts.
Thanks, L. Such kind words.
I've heard whispers about snow as well — so much prettier these days when we don't have to get to work, right?!
Oh my, your remembrance of your doctoral exams brings back memories I have not thought of in years. All that study, the small room, the hope and fears that the faculty would understand…I was too poor to buy anything commemorative then, but I just might this April. I hope I have as good taste as you did.
It mattered SO much at the time (although I was a mature student, mid 40s, and had some balancing perspectives outside academe). Those seven hours writing, shut up in that room not much bigger than a closet and the keen awareness of an absolute assessment, it seemed, of my intelligence, my thinking. . . . Well worth commemorating jumping that particular fiery hoop!!
Love this post, a perfect melding together of objects and history and memory and the way they all interleave to make us the people we are in the places in which we exist.