I met my sisters for lunch this week. They ambushed me with a wonderful homemade birthday cake and presents. (My birthday is in July)
Blooming sunflowers from their gardens.
Many lovely hand stitched cloth bags to hold whatever I need.
I teased them– asking if this was last year’s birthday celebration or next year’s? The answer– last year’s. If it was for next year, they would have waited a few more months.
How blessed am I, to have such siblings.
I went for a bike ride around the Victoria airport yesterday. It wasn’t too hot, nor crowded– a perfect day for a ride. I love to go out there once or twice a week and ride the perimeter. Not doing much writing these days, too many distractions and events in our lives at the moment.
This is the small park at the top of the rise across from the airport buildings. Those are copper eagle feathers standing beside the trees, quite lovely. It takes me about 45 minutes to do the ride, I usually stop to drink water and huff and puff. My husband does a longer ride on his bike and meets me partway through this trail.
You can see the mountains on the other side of the water of Patricia Bay. Here is the harbour down below.
Pat Bay is home to a Canadian Coast Guard base as well as a seaplane port known as Victoria Airport Water Aerodrome . The bike path is paved (thank you, Lord) which is much easier for me to navigate, even though there are some significant hills, than many of the trails near us that are former train routes and covered with gravel and dirt. When the gravel is freshly poured on those trails, it is a real chore to force your bike tires through it.
Dear Friends,
Summer is here. The clouds have finally cleared in our valley and the sun is ripening the tomatoes and the raspberries. So much to do, so little time ?
Summer makes me think of the story Moon Shine. Julia is raising her children during the 1930s depression, and her garden is very important to their food supply.
Excerpt:
“Oh, Wagsy, please stop!” Julia stripped off her canvas gloves as she walked up the grassy path from the garden. The collie studiously ignored her, continuing to bark as he pawed at the entrance to the root cellar. He stopped and growled low in his throat, then threw himself at the door, attacking it ferociously with his claws. “What’s got you so excited?” She paused to push her hair off her hot forehead. “Is your ball in there?”
“I don’t think so, Mummy,” seven-year old Maggie contributed from the side yard. “He did that this morning, too, but his ball is over by the porch. I was throwing it for him before.”
As Julia drew near, Wagsy turned to swish his tail at her, but immediately went back to growling and digging at the ground in front of the root cellar door.
It was a beautiful clear sunny afternoon, end of summer weather with clear skies and less intense heat. The garden was producing well, and a lot of it was already at the stage to be gathered in, for storage or canning. Julia had just finished digging the onions, piling them in baskets and dragging them into the shade to be braided and hung in the root cellar to air dry. Maggie liked to help with the braiding. She carefully pleated the onion tops and tied the ends with string, her tongue pushed to the side of her mouth in concentration. Years ago, when he’d first dug the cellar, Julia’s husband Stephen installed a rope that ran along the roof like a clothesline to hang them from.
Julia swallowed a lump in her throat at the thought of how she missed him, and pushed her hat up with the back of her hand. She looked at the dog, and sighed. “Well, there must be something in there, if he was barking this morning. Maybe we had better open it up and take a look.” Dropping a basket of onions on the ground, she put her hands on her hips. “We should be airing it out anyway, before we have to start stocking it up for fall. It’s probably a rat, best get it out or it’ll eat our winter food.”
Then she hesitated. “Oh, I see, the bar has been taken from across the door.” That certainly put a different light on things. It meant someone, not something, had meddled with the door. There could be someone in there even as she stood here in indecision. She turned to her young daughter. “Maggie, I want you to go in the house. Where is Jims?”
Maggie squinted at her against the glare of the sun. “He’s on the porch, right there.” She pointed to her younger brother who was on his knees dragging his wooden fire engine with its two red-painted cars across the boards of the verandah.
“Then get Jims and go in the house. Tell him this is our Plan, our Special Plan.” She gave Maggie a pointed look, and watched her young mouth fall open. Her fearful gaze darted to the door of the root cellar, and Julia put her finger to her lips. “Remember our Plan?”
Maggie nodded her head exaggeratedly and darted away, looking nervously back over her shoulder as she ran.
After Stephen died, Julia knew things had changed forever. No longer could she rely on the strength of her husband to handle events as they occurred. Now everything was up to her, whether it was decisions or actions. One of the things she worried most about was their isolation, especially after so many men became unemployed and began wandering the roads looking for work or food.
By the end of 1930, she’d decided more vigilance was needed. The house was only a couple of miles from town, but a young woman and her two small children were pretty isolated by those miles. The few houses they passed on their way into Creston were set far apart along the North Road. Since Stephen’s death, she’d come up with the Special Plan. She trained the kids in the Plan often, reminding herself to go over it regularly to enforce it in their minds. It became a game, but she knew that the more they played, the more likely her children would remember the important details. It had been as much for her own peace of mind as any thought of needing to protect them. But now, suddenly, it was a game no longer.
The first step of the Plan was for the children to go into the house and lock the door. Julia had hidden a couple of weapons outside in case they were needed, in places where she hoped they would be close at hand if she was caught unprepared. There was the pitchfork in the barn, and a few other tools she’d identified, items that could be used to make her feel more empowered while confronting an intruder. Ever since the economy crashed, lean, hard-looking men had begun to wander the byways, their skin a deep nut-brown on hands and face.
As the years went on, the men were thinner, browner, their clothing more threadbare. They didn’t often come right into her yard, usually just walking by in an effort to get to the next town. But when they did stop at her gate, she fed them and sent them on their way. They were, as a group, generally very respectful and especially careful around the children. They were often fascinated by them, liking to sit and watch them play. This both touched Julia’s heart, and scared her in equal measure. They were likely just lonely for their own families, but she didn’t want anyone to get too attached to her children.
She checked to make sure the kids were in the house, hopefully with the door locked. Then she found the sharpened stick that lay in the grass at the side of the root cellar, and heaved the first flat door up and open. Wagsy leaped past her and into the gloom, growling low. Julia pulled up the other door to let in more light and stood uncertainly on the top step, the staff in her hand pointed down into the dark. The dog barked louder, bouncing on his back legs. Julia could hear a voice, it sounded small and frightened.
“Who’s there?” she called. “Wagsy, hush. Who’s there?”
“It’s just us,” a little voice called. “Please don’t let the dog bite us.”
5 stars, Amazon review, Hooked. I loved the story and characters, they were all rich and well developed. Could not put this book down and must say, I am now a fan.
Amazon.US B01NAESO6Y/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i9
The weather is cooler and I went for a long bicycle ride yesterday. I ride along the road to get the best exercise—up and down the hills, some that are quite steep where I have to stop at the top of the hill to catch my breath and have a drink of water. Then I ride back home along the trails, which go up and down at a much more sedate pace, which suits me well as I’m tired by then.
Fall is definitely in the air. The huge maple leaves are falling heavily. Some of them are more than a foot in width. The colour is neat, but not as intense as in the east where the leaves turn a delightful red. Ours are more orange and yellow, depending on how fast the thermostat sank in the last few weeks.
I’m working on a new book—Book Six of The Last War, but it is coming slowly. There has been a lot of ‘life’ that has gotten in the way. None of which I regret. We’ve had family birthdays, family visits from near and far. We’ve had a new driveway put in, which is great because now the wave of dust from every vehicle is gone—what a relief.
So, as Queen so ably put it—
I want to ride my bicycle,
I want to ride my bike.
I want to ride my bicycle
I want to ride it where I like.
DEAD WRONG is available. Get it now! https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07G6YZ3BR/ books2read.com/DeadWRong
Like any new book, reviews are needed. Post a review, then send me an email with the link at – sylviegraysonauthor@gmail.com . You then let me know which of my other books you’d like for free, and whether you use mobi or epub. I will send it out to you right away. Easy peasy!
Excerpt from Dead Wrong—
He drove into the shadows of the old parking lot and drew his battered black pickup to a halt near the building entrance. There were a few cars scattered across the cracked blacktop but no one else was in sight. The apartment building was old, a three-floor walk-up with battered stucco-clad walls and a flat roof. It had clearly seen better days.
The sky was heavily overcast and it looked like rain was imminent. Maybe that’s why everyone was indoors on this dreary February evening. He stepped out of the cab of his truck and stared at the building, hoping Billy was home. It was time to sort out a few things that had been left untended too long. He was in no rush to begin the encounter. On second thought, knowing how Billy operated, he was better safe than sorry. He reached behind the driver’s seat to grab the tire iron.
Billy Zach was an unpredictable man. Tonight, he wasn’t going to take any chances with how this played out. But he was going to deal with the bastard, one way or the other. Why had no one stepped up to take control? This situation had gone on far too long. There were lots of people who should have challenged him over the issue of how he treated his girlfriend, but surprisingly no one had. Well, tonight there was a different agenda, and it was going to cost the asshole big time. He’d take care of things now, because it couldn’t be left any longer to chance.
As he approached the entrance, the front door opened and his target stepped out. Billy wore his usual worn denims low on his hips, feet stuffed into a pair of laceless runners. A faded green tee shirt showed beneath his heavy wool jacket. Most surprising was the bright red bruise forming in front of his left ear. Perhaps someone else had already tried to sort him out. A feeling of satisfaction settled in the man’s gut. Good timing, that’s what it was, remarkable timing to find him here like this.
“What do you want?” Billy snarled, glaring angrily as he came down the stairs. “Are you just hanging out here waiting for me? Coward! Couldn’t even knock on my door?”
“I’m no coward,” he said, determination rising in his chest. “I’ve come to give you a warning. You’d better take it to heart if you know what’s good for you.”
“Take it to heart?” Billy put back his head and laughed derisively. “What heart?” He was staring at him now, a strange penetrating gaze that sent an unwelcome shiver down the man’s backbone. “I don’t have a heart. And no measly warning from you is going to change that.”
“Forget it,” he said. “I’ve come to tell you it’s going to cost. Pay up or else. You owe me and you know it. This is your last chance…”
He suddenly lost his words because Billy took a long step forward and hit him square in the face with a closed fist. His head snapped back and he staggered as blood spurted from his nose. Before he could react, Billy took another heavy swing. At the last minute, he remembered the tire iron in his hand and aimed it squarely at the side of Billy’s head.
Zach fell, whirling in what seemed like slow motion toward the ground. The back of his skull connected with the concrete step behind him. There was a sharp crack like the sound of a hammer on tile. Billy Zach lay still.
*******
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Best, Sylvie
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