Category Archives: support for writers

Just Little Bits

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A little bit of patience, and the hardest task is done; a little bit of cheerfulness is brighter than the sun.

A little bit of courage and the burden lighter grows; a little bit of sacrifice and the stream of friendship flows.

A little bit of happiness and off goes black despair; a little bit of kindness will soothe a troubling care.

A little bit of thoughtfulness will ease another’s pain; a little bit of giving will help him rise again.

A little bit of sympathy, a little bit of love, will banish clouds of darkness and set the sun above.

A little bit of humour, a little bit of song, these are the best of tonics when everything seems wrong.

–from Homespun, by Wilhelmina Stitch

Made squash soup

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I made a big batch of squash soup today. It is just cooling now so I can put it in containers and freeze it.

Two years ago, I bought three acorn squash plants from a local market. However, when the squash appeared, they weren’t acorn squash. Last year I bought plants from a roadside stand along a country road. But when the squash appeared, they weren’t acorn squash. This year I bought three plants from a garden shop. Thankfully, they turned out to be acorn squash. I have a ton of them.

You wonder why I insist on acorn and don’t use a different squash for the soup. But the acorn squash has it’s own flavour. The recipe I use is from the Butchart Gardens website and everyone who eats it loves it.

What did you get from your garden this year?

A Late Spring

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The new buds on the branches of the fir trees are bright green this year. That’s not always the case, but it has been a slow spring, still very cool. It is 6 to 8 C degrees/ 43 F in the morning, rising seldom past 10 C/ 50 F in the afternoon. All the colours seem more vibrant.

Even the azaleas are stunning in their intensity. I don’t know if it is the cool weather or what is affecting it.

What is it like where you are?

HOME

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Voice of encouragement at break of day: “Pickup your pack, O Pilgrim, and away!” This doth the voice of Home each new dawn say.

Those who go daily forth are blessed by her, feeling their spirits rise, their pulses stir, for Home is both a magnet and a spur.

She sends us forth each morn with strength to fight, yet draws us to her loving arms at night. O Home! thou art the temple of delight.

Thou art the very heart of beauteous life, a fortress armed against invading strife, love’s citadel for children, husband, wife.

Thou art a garden, fragrant, peaceful and fair, wherein grow blossoms, humble ones and rare, ideals, hopes and dreams all flourish there.

And when the sun is sinking in the west thou art a voice that bids us take our rest against they loving understanding breast.

This is a page from “Homespun” by Wilhelmina Stitch, an old book I found in my mother’s bookshelf, Third Edition, printed in 1933 in Great Britain.