The delay in posts should give some indication of our lives since September. Gone are the days of seven-day work weeks (now we're down to six), though the days are still ever-demanding. But amidst all the activity one of us is always home with Sebastain, and on my days I try not to get anything done, but just sit with him and read, go for walks, stand with him as he explores the trails around Lower Gibsons, talks to dogs, and collects maple leaves. Every day I'm home with him is like a deep breath.
The days Alex is home with him I'm in Vancouver, commuting commuting, or I'm at the Shed down on the wharf enjoying the view and the suddenly lessened demand for burritos and tacos. I've got this eclectic jumble of days and I like it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm missing out on some aspects of the MFA program at UBC because of all this juggling and commuting (mostly the drinking aspect, although I think I've done okay thanks to the last ferry option), but I'm doing the best I can and I think I'm doing a good job so far. I just got a job as a "mentor" for a writer through Booming Ground which is exactly the sort of thing I needed more experience with when I'm thrust out of the university nest and looking for freelance editing work, should I head down that path. I've also been working on a series of Montreal poem for Rhea Tregebov's class which I'm really enjoying. I should also say that I owe all the manageable days to Alex, who has been extremely supportive of this whole Masters thing.
I think life has felt a bit chaotic because of the extra energy we've been giving our housing situation. We've been having some conflict with our landlord, which has reminded me of the overwhelming power human-drama can have on otherwise calm and satisfying days. The house came with some heavy personal and financial baggage that we were only peripherally aware of but has escalated to an uncomfortable degree. We've had to pause from our demanding projects and to-do lists, and take some time to really think about what's important to us, where we want to be, what kind of house we want and what kind of sacrifices we can make to get it. When we took this house we didn't know how committed we were to the Sunshine Coast, I didn't know how many days I would have to commute into the city, and we didn't know if we would be content here coming from Montreal. Now we have a better idea and are happy to stay on the Coast. The house is beautiful, and we've had an amazing summer here so close to the beach, swimming off the dock after work, having fires outside and gardening. But it's not a place we can stay long-term, and now we know we'd like to be somewhere with long-term in mind. So, come spring, if not sooner, we'll be finding somewhere to put some roots down for a while.

For a few days now Sebastain has been doing some serious work out on the deck. This work includes: a tin bucket of water, a stick, leaves and petunias. Someone's gotta do it. Aside from dismantling the (non)hanging basket and splashing the water, there has been a lot of sniffing the concoction, sniffing the bean plant and sniffing the flowers. But there have also been breaks to eat tomatoes off the vine and chew on tough bean stalks which were not left there to be eaten but to dry out for next year's seeds (ahem).
But this concoction business has lead to a lot of signing practice. This is the typical "conversation" we have out on the deck these days: patting his chest,  point to palm, finger to mouth which translates to... "help! more! water!" The "help" and "book" signs seem to be his favourite these days. We read so.many.books a day. I guess that makes sense if you know his parents...

 

   

Sebastian is starting to sign, which is exciting, although it doesn't seem like the dam has broken, so to speak. I remember when Olive learned to sign, seemingly all of a sudden, and as though she suddenly understood something wonderful about communication. I remember one day babysitting her and she just signed for food constantly. I think all we did that day was eat and eat and eat because it was a remarkable cause and effect for her. I think the fact that someone other than her parents understood and responded to sign language helped her understand the implication of a sign. But Sebastian is more of a pointer and yeller. I guess it's an effective form of communication on it's own; he usually gets what he's after pretty quickly despite our efforts to always show him the sign first. His "sign" for milk is to wiggle down in my arms as far as he can or just shove his hand down my shirt. His sign for "eat" or "more" is, like I said, just pointing and whining or yelling. It's funny teaching him to use the signs instead because although they are less annoying and somehow more impressive, they're likely less effective. I don't always catch his signs, but I do always hear him when he yells. Sometime I question whether or not it's worth it. I guess if he ever learns more sophisticated words like "cat" or "diaper" it will be worthwhile. Right now he signs "all done." It's an interesting first sign because in signing all done he's not asking for more, but just acknowledging the situation and shows us that he understands. Occasionally he seems to be signing for food. It's a tricky one to recognize because his fingers are often in his mouth. Today we stopped off at the Jean's, the food co-op out in the boonies, and he signed "eat" and pointed at the building. So I took him inside and bought him some strawberries. Lucky kid. 

It's late August. It's blackberry season. We're fortunate to have a gold mine of a laneway and property-boarder absolutely thick with blackberry vines. Coming from the west coast, it baffled me to see blackberries in plastic containers at Montreal and Ottawa markets selling for four or five bucks a pop, not only because they are such invasive weeds here but also because the blackberries out East actually taste nothing like blackberries. I've been trying to take full advantage of the season by getting out with Seb on my back in the Ergo once a day. He loves them, and is usually content to chill out there for an hour or so as long as he can graze on the fruit. Most of my clothes have dark purple stains down the back as a result of little sticky hands.
But we have competition! There's the old guy with a full body get-up, neck brace, handmade vine-grabbing tools, ladder, bucket-clipped-the-belt, and shears. It's intense. In the last few days he's been replaced by the industrious old Chinese ladies next door who done modest leather gloves but seem to be freakishly apt at this whole berry business. They're into making wine, and some sort of blackberry vodka mixture. But amidst the neighbourhood hunting and gathering there is enough to go around. We aren't as diligent as maybe we should be, but we still have at least five big freezer bags full and we aren't done yet. Alex even made some delicious jam the other day.
Other than the berries, the garden needs lots of daily harvesting attention. It's sometimes challenging to incorporate handfuls of kale, chard, calendular, squash blossoms and lettuce into every meal, especially when all we're craving these days is sushi or halibut burritos from The Shed. We also to have a never-ending supply of purple beans, basil, zucchini and new potatoes courtesy of our backyard, my ma's and the Roberts Creek Farm Gate market. But I've been determined to eat as much fresh backyard food as humanly possible and find ways to preserve the rest for less abundant days. Alex made and froze a big batch of fresh pesto last week from garden basil, kale and parsley. I've got a calendular infused oil experiment going on in a jar and paper bag on the porch. We're also trying to harvest as many seeds as we can for next year. It's not the simplest task. I feel like there's a lot to know; each fruit or plant has a different story. Right now I think I safely have a few packets of calendular and borage seeds. The last of the beans are drying on their stalks waiting to be harvested and preserved. The cilantro has gone to seed and we're waiting for it to dry out so we can have homegrown coriander seeds for curry and soups.
Meanwhile, I wait for and fawn over the squash in the garden. The plot they are in also holds some mammoth sunflowers and literally the most intense, prolific, sprawling tomato plant I've ever seen. Yesterday I stripped it of all it's remaining flowers and even tore off most of its fruitless branches and leaves to speed up the ripening process. The branches and leave filled half a five gallon bucket. We have them soaking in water near the fire pit for fertilizer. The squash on the other hand seem to be withering. We neglected to feed it, and judging from the health of the tomato plant I'd say it's leaching all nutrients right out from under the poor things. So I collected some seaweed from the beach, added some comfrey leave and compost and have that brewing as well, hoping the rich sludge which I dilute and water with each night will give some life to these sprawling plants.
I'm kind of in love with the garden right now. There's something so satisfying about watching the little fruits grow each day, knowing that I can help them if I pare here and there etc... Sebastian and I head out a couple times a day just to check things out, and some days when he is napping I just sit on the slope of the backyard amongst the sprawling vines with a book, or not, and feel utterly content.

The last few days have brought a subtle yet undeniable change in season. We've had almost nothing but beautiful sunny days here for weeks, and it continues, but something is evolving. The sunlight is a little different; it hits the garden differently, it's duller in our rooms at five am when Sebastian wakes up briefly for milk. The sea breeze is heavier somehow, weighted with something more than salt air. It's a strange time of year. There's always mild regret for all we haven't done this summer, and an excitement for what's to come. I love autumn. At this time of year I force myself to enjoy the last weeks of summer without thinking too intently about the changes ahead. The fall is rich with complexity, such an intriguing time. We've been fortunate to have so many people visit this summer. I wasn't sure what being immobile would be like after so much moving, but friends just keep passing through, seeking us out. In the last month or two we've had at least a dozen house guests, and several more in the next couple weeks. This week we had five alone. Some days we're tired, crave solitude but mostly we're happy to have people here, aware that the winter likely won't be so generous. We've been trying to spend as much time as possible at the beach, in the ocean, outside by the fire in the evenings. Sebastian and I wander out to the hilly garden every morning to see how things are growing. The peas, herbs and borage are done. The squash is just beginning. The strawberries never did happen, but the weed-like plants double and triple and quadrupled in quantity. The rest is in between. As the sun changes and the prehistoric-sized squash plants and sunflowers cast shadows on the rest of the plants we have to make tough decisions about what we want to survive the most. The zucchini, carrots, beets are hidden in the mass of cabbage and squash, and in the shadows of the pretty but otherwise useless (or should I say useful only with labour-intensive processing) calendular and sunflowers. Leaves are developing mildew because they're not getting sun. But it's amazing, really, how plants adapt. Their will to survive, the competitive nature when it comes to sunlight. We've crammed a hell of a lot of food into four small plots and I think it's all doing alright.
Right now I've got a one year old strolling around the house (he doesn't crawl anymore) singing, maybe a little bored, patiently waiting to go to the beach.

It's been a momentous week or two. We've gone from a baby who throws fits when diapered to a baby who sits happily on his mini toilet seat and pees while simultaneously requesting a story (we got him accustomed to the toilet through books). He is successfully going to the bathroom in the toilet almost every time when he's diaperless. Sometimes he crawls to the bathroom himself when he needs to go. I thought it would take so long, and that it would be difficult for him. I worried for a while it was traumatic for him and was really wary of continuing because I know a transition like toilet training can make such an impact on and be emotionally taxing for children. But after less than a week of struggle he's adapted really well. I still diaper him occasionally throughout the day, when we leave the house and while he sleeps, and I probably always will until he's toilet trained.
Meanwhile, the little guy will be one year old in three days. I'm sure there will be plenty of photos to post a la grandparent's cameras (ours is still broken). We also seem to be stockpiling little videos as he walks more and more so I'll try not to let the blog become devoid of images.

And just like that, the kid can walk (well, sort of). I think I'm almost as ecstatic as he is; I guess his enthusiasm is catching. All it took was five hours of driving to and from and around Powell River to see my good friend from Montreal Jessica and her boys Maxim and Benjamin. Benjo just learned to walk. He's a month older than Sebastian. They were roaming around the Laughing Oyster, Jess's family's restaurant, and something must have clicked in Sebastian because that night when we got home he took about five steps. There had been one-step attempts the day or two before and of course months of cruising and the occasional stiff-legged stand alone in the middle of the room. He's got places to go, this son of mine. He wants to move bad.They say it's great for a kid's left and right brain to crawl for as long as possible. It helps them with things like math later in life. But what can you do.
In one week it will be his first birthday. I'm so so excited. He doesn't have any baby friends in Gibsons yet. There are some acquaintances and likely candidates but so far his best buddy is three year old Uma. So there will be no birthday party. Instead we're going to have a big family dinner for him. Mary and Bob (Alex's parents) have been slowly making their was across the country from Ottawa in their Subaru and will arrive tomorrow for ten or so days. They're staying at a B&B a block away. I expect to find my son kidnapped as of tomorrow. I am prepared for that and hope I can be as generous as possible to make up for their missed months.
We've been having a pretty mild, cloudy summer so far but the last week has been sunny. The garden is exploding: tomatoes are ripening, the seventeen-pound-squash vines are looking prehistoric and trailing across the yard, the carrots are actually growing (for once) and we've been having garden salad at least once a day for a long time now. Alex, Sebastian and I try to swim at the beach every night when one or the other has finished work. The tide is always high, we walk down to the dock and take turns jumping in. It's paradise, truly. There's nothing like a swim in the early evening as the sun is hitting the last of the beach and the mountains and the water is calm and warmed from the day. I'm in awe of this place even after twenty-odd years.
There's been a big black bear hanging around the place. He sauntered through the neighbour's yard last week and Alex just returned from a walk at dusk and ran into it two streets over. He (and others who have run into it) says it looked about seven feet tall which for a black bear is pretty damn big. The coyotes, oddly, are still hanging around as well. I've run into them a couple times and we often seem then outside the house or lurking around the neighbour's yard at night. It's not abnormal, but it's something you look out for in a condensed populated neighbourhood like Granthams. At my childhood home it's not as big of a concern despite the wilderness of it because there's plenty of space for everyone.There's been a big black bear hanging around out there as well. Maybe it's the same one, who knows. Apparently a couple years ago there was a bear in the house next door's kitchen. The owners are away for months at a time and somehow a bear got in and helped itself. Ridiculous.