From this valley they say you are leaving....

 

We have a few more boxes to pack, then we are on our way. I will be in the dark for a couple of days. See you on the flip side.

Late February

Do you see the heart shaped patch of sunlight on the mountain?

I walked the dog this morning and though it is -17C the sun is warm, beautifully warm like the thermal blanket they through over me after the birth of my daughter, so comforting and embracingly warm. The Columbia river is filled with translucent ice chunks that crunch/tinkle as they move north following the current. The moment was so calm but promising, the river a milky dark pthalo green. How do I capture that feeling in a painting??

Fiona, my walking companion.

Like Ghost Lake

I went out to help Bruce mark some lots on a project that he has been working on. This is looking down on the camping area. We had to borrow a canoe and paddle across the lake to finish marking a few spots. My stupid life belt wouldn't zip up and I was so terrified paddling across that cold void I kept splashing water in my face from paddling too fast. If I hadn't believed in Bruce's canoeing ability, I would never have been able to even attempt that crossing. The line from "Ghost Lake" (and the outcome of that poem) kept running through my head..."Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold"

On the return trip, I whipped off my bear spray belt and notched it over the preserver. That made me feel a lot better. 

 
I don't like for Bruce to go out there on his own. There is no cell phone coverage and he is ambling through a 3000 acre tract of land. If something happened (predator attack, moose attack, canoe tipping over, breaking a leg) I wouldn't even be able to find him. If he doesn't arrive home by a set time, I would just call Search and Rescue. I think he lets me go with him because he's convinced he can outrun me in case of bear attack. Fiona LOVES to go with us.

In case you are not familiar with it, here is the beautiful and haunting poem:

The Skater of Ghost Lake
By William Rose Benet

Ghost Lake's a dark lake, a deep lake and cold:
Ice black as ebony, frostily scrolled;
Far in its shadows a faint sound whirs;
Steep stand the sentineled deep, dark firs.

A brisk sound, a swift sound, a ring-tinkle-ring;
Flit-flit,--a shadow with a stoop and a swing,
Flies from the shadow through the crackling cold.
Ghost Lake's a deep lake, a dark lake and old!

Leaning and leaning with a stride and a stride,
hands locked behind him, scarf blowing wide,
Jeremy Randall skates, skates late,
Star for a candle, moon for a mate.

Black is the clear glass now that he glides,
Crisp is the whisper of long lean strides,
Swift is his swaying--but pricked ears hark.
None comes to Ghost lake late after dark!

Cecily only--yes it is she!
Stealing to Ghost Lake, tree after tree,
Kneeling in snow by the still lake side,
Rising with feet winged, gleaming, to glide.

Dust of the ice swirls. Here is his hand.
Brilliant his eyes burn. Now, as was planned,
Arm across arm twined, laced to his side,
Out on the dark lake lightly they glide.

Dance of the dim moon, a rhythmical reel,
A swaying, a swift tune--skurr of the steel;
Moon for a candle, maid for a mate,
Jeremy Randall skates, skates late.

Black as if lacquered the wide lake lies;
Breath as a frost-fume, eyes seek eyes;
Souls are a sword edge tasting the cold.
Ghost Lake's a deep lake, a dark lake and old! 

 Far in the shadows hear faintly begin
Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin,
Muffled in mist on the lake's far bound,
Swifter and swifter, a low singing sound!

Far in the shadows and faint on the verge
Of blue cloudy moonlight, see it emerge,
Flit-flit,--a phantom, with a stoop and a swing . . .
Ah, it's a night bird burdened of wing!

Pressed close to Jeremy, laced to his side,
Cecily Culver, dizzy you glide.
Jeremy Randall sweepingly veers
Out on the dark ice far from the piers.

"Jeremy!" "Sweetheart?" "What do you fear?"
"Nothing my darling,--nothing is here!"
"Jeremy!" "Sweetheart?" "What do you flee?"
"Something--I know not; something I see!"

Swayed to a swift stride, brisker of pace,
Leaning and leaning, they race and they race;
Ever that whirring, that crisp sound thin
Like a string pluck-plucked of a violin;

Ever that swifter and low singing sound
Sweeping behind them, winding them round;
Gasp of their breath now that chill flakes fret;
Ice black as ebony--blacker--like jet!

Ice shooting fangs forth--sudden--like spears;
Crackling of lightning--a roar in their ears!
Shadowy, a phantom swerves off its prey . . .
No, it's a night bird flit-flits away!

Low-winging moth-owl, home to your sleep!
Ghost Lake's a still lake, a cold lake and deep.
Faint in its shadows a far sound whirs.
Black stand the ranks of its sentineled firs.

Wet, early snow!

Woke up to a fresh, early, wet snow.

fiona was much more excited than she appears here.

fire pit

I decorated the garage this weekend. Hillbilly chic.

Outdoor gear. Not fashionable but serviceable. Have to go shovel the steps now.

Last Paddle?

We have had six glorious weeks of warm, dry, autumn weather. I went out for a paddle the other evening. I wanted to take advantage of the warm, still day as it might be my last chance to take the kayak out. The lake just north of the boat launch was smooth as a mirror. I was able to paddle very close to a herd of 40 Rocky Mountain Bighorn sheep who were enjoying the pasture by the waters edge. Half a dozen fierce rams kept a wary eye on me as I admired the many nannies and silly kids. It was blissful.

Hunter's Cabin

 Not far out of town is a man's hunting cabin.

 It is quite rustic but so appealing.

 A little bridge over the creek. 

 A wood supply.

Golden autumn trees.

 A hard working string of trail horses enjoy their well-deserved rest.

Wish I could stay there with them.

Bear Alert!

 I was just finishing breakfast, getting ready to walk the dogs when I saw this at the back gate!

He posed for a couple of nice photos but when he heard the camera clicking, he began to get nervous. I yelled at him to take himself off and he complied. Now, I have to go walk the dogs.....!

Monday night paint out

A beautiful Monday night....

some

friendly

painters.

Ok, I never claimed that my painting attire was pretty.

A good start..

Most important, painting and having a good time. Next time, bring wine.

Rosy Dawn on the walking trail

We had fresh snow yesterday. Facing north.

It has the cosistency of sugar. Facing south

The sunrise was beautiful reflecting off the mountains. Facing west.

Tough old snow dog, Kirra.

Sore footed Fiona, ready to head home (unusual).

I love when the mountains glow.

Autumn

The temperature is dropping. There is fog coming from the lake until nearly noon.

Yesterday there was hoar frost on the landscape. You couldn't even see a mountain. It was crystal, grey

and cold.

But when I was walking the dog's Sunday morning the sun was out.

The larch are beautiful in the late fall sunshine.

To-do Tuesday

Windermere lake evening SOLD

I must get out and do some plein aire paintings this summer. I always say I will and the summer always zips by before I do it. I even have a companion for painting if I can just remember to pick up the phone and call. I really like the pink icing on the mountains when the sun is setting. And this year we still have LOTS of snow!

Columbia Valley Christmas

Finally, I have made myself sit down and paint!! This is for a christmas card competition at one of the galleries I show work at. I LOVE this old1938 power wagon. It belongs to a valley resident. It is beat-up and tough as nails and I would love to own it.

Columbia To-do

This is one of the first paintings I made upon arriving in the Columbia Valley. I was intrigued by all the bones I was finding while out walking my dog. And the notes are all pieces of to-do lists that kept cropping up. It was supposed to be an impression of my new life in the valley.

COLD! WET! DARK ! GREY!

The photo shows my grim reality. It is miserable out. You should be able to see mountains behind the trees. Bruce just informed me that a slushy snow is beginning to come down. It is dark until 8 am. It gets dark at 5 pm and it will get worse before it gets better. I can hardly wait to become a snowbird.

Jinx was overseeing my typing and bugging me, so he gets to be on todays blog too.

One hour later: