Addition Update

       What joy to arrive home from work daily and find significant changes in the addition on the back of our house. We are well past the lock-up stage, insulation as thick and impenetrable as a cast-iron frying pan. My favourite day so far was the one last week where I arrived home and found the old outer wall between the present mini-kitchen and its new partner knocked down - the only barrier existing now a sheet of plastic to keep out as much dust as possible. Finally I got a glimpse of the size of the new kitchen! What fun! Closing my eyes, I see family and friends gathered around a new harvest table enjoying an elaborate meal, lovingly prepared by me! In the corner a new dishwasher waits for all those dirty plates....an excellent end to any meal. (No more dishpan hands for me!)


       My husband has been my champion in all of this. He fought for the best materials, the most secure form of insulation and drainage. He traveled far and wide to choose stylish tile for floors and the perfect bathtub. He has been the one to communicate to contractor and workers, inspectors and tradesmen. A detail man, it will be perfect if he has any part in it at all. I sit back and watch, trying to hold my tongue, be appreciative and not be a contributor to stress. (I’m learning, sometimes the hard way!) We made a trip to IKEA on Saturday and laughed as we concocted a wish list. We agreed on everything and my husband had inspired ideas on how to make the kitchen functional. What an imagination!

        So....all is well in the addition department. Chaos still reigns as we live with dust beyond what I could imagine and many belongings in the living room. I hear it’s about to get worse....next it’s the bathroom! Time for faith that soon our home will be livable again and more than that supremely more functional. Thank you, Lord for this great opportunity.

Tornado Tree

by Michele


       On a wide curve on the Charleston Sideroad between Airport Road and the village of Caledon stands a lone elm tree. About ten years ago, on that road at dusk, my husband had drifted off to sleep in the passenger seat. As we rounded the curve, in some hazy dream state, his eyes opened, he shuddered and belted out, "Tornado!" The elm, standing alone by the roadside in the dusk, had been mistaken for a twister. Ever since then we've called it the "Tornado Tree."

       This living monument was somehow overlooked when the road was put through and the farmers cleared the land. Or perhaps it remained a lone survivor in an outbreak of Dutch Elm disease. Why it is there is beyond me, but I am grateful. I drive that road many times in a month on my way to visit my elderly dad, and it is a marker and reminder.

         Isaiah 55:12 comes to mind:   "You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands."       The elm, branches raised toward heaven and spreading over the earth seems to be reaching toward its creator and at the same time pointing the way. I've imagined it worshiping, standing, roots firm, for over a hundred years. It fulfils its purpose: it provides shade, it houses birds and insects and it is a living testament to its Creator, a thing of beauty put there for us to enjoy.


          I want to be like that Tornado Tree. I want to fulfill my purpose, thrive where I'm planted and point the way to the Lord of Creation. I want to worship Him with the gifts He has imparted and bless others. When storms come, I want to stand, even if I'm standing alone.


         That is the lesson of this elm tree for me.

Back to Woodland

by Michele
      Traveling to Woodland Beach on the Labour Day weekend was bittersweet. I love the area on Nottawasaga Bay: the breeze off the lake, the crashing waves, the smell of oak and poplar trees.


      When I see acorns on the ground, I'm a kid again. My mom took us by the hands and we filled paper sacks. We spread them on the picnic table, gave them characters and drew faces on them. We'd laugh as she took off their "hats" and made them dance.

Mom and I at Woodland

      We spent endless hours daily on the shore. Only hunger persuaded us to head back to the cottage for suppers. We would load into the car, bathing suits itching where sand had intruded to make its mark. On top of the old car, the giant tractor tube perched. My father drove at a snail’s pace and held it with one hand on the short drive from water’s edge to the cottage, but it was worth it to play on that tube. After supper, we'd head back down again, ice cream cones in hand to feed the seagulls and watch the sunset.

The Old Cottage

       My grandpa Pete built the first cottage the year I was born. Apparently, on Sunday morning when the whole family was off to mass, Pete stayed behind with me. At six months old, he'd tie me onto the old rocking chair with a bed sheet. He'd go about his business, sawing and hammering and give the rocker a push when I'd start to squawk. That cottage was magical to a small child, filled with secret spaces and steep stairways. The oil-burning furnace on the main floor was actually open to the bedroom loft. We were not to go near it, but could peer inside and see blue flames. In late October of 1967, some hunters borrowed the cottage and drying their socks on the oven door, set it ablaze. With the area deserted and no volunteer fire department in place, it burned down in minutes, the cutlery falling to the ground in neat rows. My heart-broken grandparents were in Montreal at the time they heard the news.


       For love of Woodland Beach and in hopes of retirement there, a new cottage was constructed on the same site. This one was home-like, insulated and winter ready. We spent many family years there before it was sold. By that time, I was long gone from Ontario.

Second Cottage

       On Labour Day weekend, I was saddened to think of how many family members are gone. Those sing-a-longs around the fire pit seem like eons ago. Familiar cottages are now timeworn, some ramshackle. Even the beach itself is changed. Gone is the white expanse of sand; in its place are weeds and rocks. My son and his cousins will never know that place and this saddens me. Time, as they say, marches on, and I remain grateful to God for time well spent at Woodland Beach.

Woodland Beach now...

The Fish that Started it All

by Michele


        Four summers ago on Lake Kashagawigamog, a five pound smallmouth bass started my love of lake and river fishing. My husband had received a top of the line reel for his 50th birthday and a trip to Bass Pro added a near mortgage payment of supplies to it. A solid rod, many lures, jerk baits, hooks, a net, sinkers and bobbers filled up an old tackle box. He was ready. Oh, and of course he paid for the necessary license!

        Our friend and cottage owner Jane, seemed a bit skeptical as he cast from her dock. Seems her father and brothers didn’t catch much in that location in years gone by. Standing there on the dock, I decided to give it a try. In the shed, I found Jane’s old fishing rod and a “hula popper” - a glob of painted wood with a fringe and a nasty hook. I figured out how to cast with this bait-caster type reel and let it fly. It felt powerful to hurl this thing way out into the water. I did it two, maybe three times. I had just said to my husband, “What sort of fish would be stupid enough to think that the hula popper is food?“ And it hit. I felt a thunderous tug and started to holler, “Fish, fish, fish, I got a fish!” My husband was trying to keep me calm and finally I just hurled the pole to him. I didn’t want to lose the fish. I wanted to see what kind of creature was on the end of that line. It was all flurry and commands and I got the net and lifted it onto the dock. My first Ontario smallmouth and it was a five pound, eighteen incher! Jane ran for the camera and was surprised to see a fish that size on her dock. It was the opening day of bass season, 2006, and that was the biggest bass I have caught to date. We cooked up the fish, added some Lays and had “fish and chips.”

         That bass was not the only one that was hooked. I was too. We made another trip to Bass Pro, but for me this time. I wanted my own equipment. That summer we caught dozens of fish, took hundreds of photos and learned where every fishing hole was within a two hour drive from our home. Not being boat owners, we discovered unsuspecting fish under bridges over rivers, streams and connectors between lakes. We fished from riverbanks, concrete wharves and old wooden docks.


       My husband purchased a book for me called, (of course), Fishing For Dummies. I loved how in the opening paragraph it said something like, “A fish has only two goals, eat and not get eaten.” I learned a lot from that book, but most of what I know comes from imitation. I watched my husband. If he jigged the line, I did. If he just dropped the lure and it sank to the bottom, I did the same. He advised me on what bait to use and when to use it. He unsnaggled many bird’s nests of line that caught around my spinning reel until I learned to use it properly. And though he tried, with patience, on many occasions to teach me how to take the fish off the hook, I still can’t do it. It freaks me out! I’ve since adopted the use of barbless hooks. This cuts down on how many times I have to interrupt my husband to unhook my fish.


        Fishing, for me, has been a delight. Catching a trophy fish is a thrill, but other benefits outweigh this. We’ve gotten off the couch and outside. We spend long hours in the car, having “car moments” of intimate conversation and fellowship. We’ve rejoiced together when the catch has been good and we’ve voiced prayers of thanksgiving for all that God has given. I'm so grateful for the bass that started it all!

At Cragleith

Write Like There's No Tomorrow

Dear Writer Friend,

       It's in you to write because you are a writer. There's no need to walk down any other road of thought. It's who you are. It's what you've been given. So write dear friend, write. Don't waste another moment thinking that you're not good enough. No one is "good enough", whatever that is. Write for the sheer hilarity it brings. Write funny things. Write things that you love. No one need ever see it. You won't sell everything. You won't publish everything. But not writing - you won't publish anything. And my friend, that's just not acceptable, because it's in you to write.

        Why not take a precious few moments of each day to get alone and love those moments by doing what you love to do---be a wordsmith. Close your eyes and type. Tap into that beautiful source, that flow of God's thoughts and inspiration to you and just let er rip! As you turn to Him, you will always have something to write about.


        Sweet friend, talented friend. Don't quit. Don't give up. Don't give place to thoughts of doubt. You've been given a gift, and to store it in a jar in the nightstand to collect dust is unacceptable. Use that gift, even for a few moments a day. Honour your Father in heaven by using what He gave you. He loves that and He loves you!

Bigger and Better

We are putting an addition on our wee house. I joke about our home being the smallest one in our community, but I think it actually could be in the running. At 700 square feet, it's pretty small. We sleep in the basement. It's dry, warm in the winter, and cool in the summer, but the multitude of trips up and down the steps in the night is getting old. When I fell down the steps in the middle of the night a couple of years ago, and broke my toe, I started to dream of a bedroom on the main floor. So an addition it is.




Three hundred square feet will be added to the back of this house. This will give us an eat-in kitchen, a larger bathroom, a closet and hey....a bedroom on the main floor! Not large rooms, not swing- your- cat dance halls, but a little more space for us old folks to enjoy.



I got to thinking about the process. First we had to pack and store all the junk in the little mudroom off the kitchen. This is a gleaning process...what do we really need to keep? There are some things of value out there, but much can be tossed. Treasures must be boxed for the day when the big kitchen emerges - bake wear (not used since 2006), small appliances, boxes of tea, more boxes of tea...



Then we had to go through all the junk in the office. Actually, it's all mine. My other half doesn't need to be around to witness the purge. I have plastic drawers filled with little things. Little things that I might need "someday." How does one sort and part with the daily minutiae that make life easier? Paper clips, push pins, ribbon, old picture frames, gift cards, stamps, labels, Westjet headphones, watercolour pencils, staples, wrapping paper and highlighters? Old glasses cases, cassette tapes, liquid ink, family photos, income tax forms, wrist weights and binocular lens caps?



Throughout the process, I keep asking silly questions. My first was -Do the builders just come and chop the back of our house off, leaving us with a gaping wound of siding and insulation? And more importantly, I queried - What about the air conditioner? Sorry, but the thought of going through a complete Southern Ontario summer without AC is a little daunting. God bless the builders, who moved the air conditioner and booted it up and we’ve not been one day without it!



Happy to report that after only 13 working days, we are at the lockup stage. Windows and doors are in and the roof is on. But the partition between the actual house and the addition is still there. My questions continue.....What’s next? When the walls, come down, will there be workmen wandering around in my stationary 700 square feet? When I am working at my desktop, will some guy with dirty jeans eating a sandwich and drinking coffee from a thermos be lurking behind me?



Yesterday, one of the workers told me that it would probably be two more months until completion. My dreams of a rather large turkey dinner being prepared as I gaze through the skylight at that deep October blue sky are dashed. Guess it will be more like Christmas when we gather in the new kitchen and breathe deeply, having survived the “Great Building Project of 2010.”



More to come....

Our neighbour's cat sneaks a peek.

Off the Bench!

"Your greatest fulfillment in life will come when you discover your unique gifts and abilities and use them to edify others and glorify the LORD." Neil T. Anderson


It's time. Time to get off the bench and into the game! That was the message I heard in church Sunday morning. The speaker talked about his time of training for teams in High School and not caring what happened. He just wanted to play. He knew he had the goods, he just needed the opportunity. One day in the midst of playing varsity with older, bigger guys, the coach gave him his chance. He said it was like watching "trees go by," the guys were so much bigger than he. But he was playing, actually playing. He may not have been the best on the team, he had a ways to grow, but he was in the game.

So now it's my turn. I may not be the best and surely I have miles to grow in this pursuit, but I'm writing. I'm in it. I long to worship with words, bring glory to my saviour and hopefully enjoy the process, so here goes.... Bear with me. Pray for me, friend, as I walk in what I feel called to.


A Little About Me

First and foremost, a lover of Jesus Christ. Nothing, I'd be nothing without His life breathed into me. He is my closest friend, my champion in all things. He gets me when no one else does. I owe him everything.


That said...I'm a wife of a gentle man, a hero, a man of God, of humour and creativity. A mother of one son, a passionate, caring health worker. And as of 18 months ago, a mom-in-law to a clever, funny, beautiful girl. I spend time with my 81 year old Dad and my brothers whenever I can. We entered into a new life when my mom passed away two years ago. I am an elementary school teacher, a lover of art history and watercolour painting.


And in my spare good weather times, I am a fisher. I love to fish. The tug on the end of a taut line is like nothing else. Seeing a fish surface is like opening a birthday gift. You never know what's in the package till you open it. Unlike the "good things that come in small packages," when fishing, the bigger the better! More on all this later.