Boulton

Part of the beauty of the seed exchange that took place this past weekend at Market Square was the variety of heirloom seeds available from attentive gardeners who collect and package these treasures.

There’s been a few lovely changes for me this past month, and of them, my most favourite is that I’ve carved out some major time to focus on my writing.

I am a lover of hand-knits. Sweaters, toques, leg-warmers, mittens — if it’s handmade, I pretty much become enamoured with it. But I don’t knit.

The e-mail said simply: “Have you ordered your seeds yet?” and I knew then and there I had better get a grip on the real business of sowing. I mean, I had sown here and there. I do a few packets of Morning Glory every season.

The only decent way I can think of whiling away the long days of February are by gettin’ on up off my butt and getting active.

If you are lucky enough to have a tight-knit community with neighbours that “call,” wave, give advice, lend tools and cups of flour or an egg or two, and collect your mail when you’re out of town, then you may be one of the few.

When the lake freezes over and the path is carved along Ramsey’s shore, I feel an intense longing to stroll along those edges, or walk boldly across the bay, into the open icy air.

I’m going to let you in on a secret of mine — some of the best vintage pieces in my house are found. That’s right. Once lost, they were retrieved from their final resting place by a well-trained eye and a deep trunk.

We live in a charming old house. The floors are wood, the baseboards are high and the doorways are curved. The trees out front are at least 70 years old; their branches cascade across the lawn and make a fitting home for blue jays and red squirrels.

I’ve been feeding the neighbourhood birds for the last year now. A real commitment it is, since once you begin to set out seed, the birds come to rely that it will continue to be there and build their nests close by.