The tiny musings found below will perhaps provide you an opportunity to pause and reflect on our world and our place in it. You can subscribe to receive posts in your inbox (approximately once a week)! Note: all writing and art is © Christopher Buddle.
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the woods
through quiet spruce
the shadows dance and lead me
never lost
I just finished the novel North Woods by Daniel Mason*. I loved it. It was sweeping, intricate, and covered so many themes, from apple orchards and ecological succession, to art and the afterlife. It was at times confusing, and wandered here and there, and then at times was crystal clear, and focused. I was especially fond of the ways the author weaved in the patterns of tree disease and the ways the woods of the north-east have been shaped by blights, beetles, and various kinds of fungi.
I feel that one of the underlying themes (at least for me!) was about the mismatch between a human’s life in a forest compared to the life and death of trees, and how once stood Chestnuts and Elms, and soon we will say farewell to Ash trees, and our Hemlocks are under siege. Yet we forget so quickly and assume sometimes the forests of today have some resemblance to the forests of yesterday. I mean, they do in some ways – there are trees, canopy, undergrowth.
We are the here and now, yet a tree’s here and now is decades longer than ours. Slow change is still change and only those who watch carefully might notice the details. If you stand in one place for long enough, these differences become apparent. Mason’s book uses an 18th century house in Massachusetts as this foundational character that watched the world change.
The watercolour above is bookmark size, and one that I did several years ago. It’s an attempt to capture a forest scene, but not one I know directly, but rather one from perhaps a memory or just made up completely. I love that “The Woods” is something people know even if they are highly variable and made of such different species. Forests are forests – we know what they are even it’s a thicket with spruce or other evergreens, or a young patch of trembling aspen. Everyone knows a single tree in a field isn’t a forest, but once you bring together enough trees – just enough – you suddenly call it a forest. Maybe when it’s big enough so if you stand in the middle of the woods, you can no longer see the edge? Maybe it’s when the tree canopy is big enough and full enough so that the interior of the woods is truly shaded?
Forests are magical places, and we should not forget that.
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*here’s a review of the book, if you are interested: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/sep/16/north-woods-by-daniel-mason-review-an-epic-of-american-lives
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
art, book, drawing, environment, forest, ink, nature, north woods, pen, poetry, reading, succession, tree, trees, Watercolor, Watercolour, woods -
Light your way
through the fog
beacon of hope emerges
lost in time
I posted about my trip to Nova Scotia recently, and wanted today to share another story from there. For one day on that trip, I visited a friend’s place that looked out towards “the salvages”, and in the distance the square form of the salvages lighthouse was just visible. Like the other lighthouses of the region, this one no longer has a permanent lighthouse keeper and instead is automated.
Lighthouses are symbolic of so much – in the literal sense they warn sea-going vessels of the rocks, shoals and dangers ahead, ensuring chances of running ground are diminished. But their steady, solid presence also represent a beacon of hope in dark, dreary times. One can imagine being in a terrible place, scared and lonely, and then seeing up ahead in the distance the blink of the light – letting you know that shore is near – helping you get your bearings.
Probably 25 years ago or more, I had a very vivid dream about a mystery associated with a lighthouse and the lighthouse keeper’s family. This dream came to me as I was sleeping in a hotel room in Spokane. Just I was waking up I heard, on the radio, an interview with the author of the story – a novel. Upon waking I jotted down the title of the book and filed that. I looked it up some time later, but couldn’t find the book. There was so much detail in the interview – I could almost smell the coastline and hear the waves. This was a narrative set in perhaps Nova Scotia, or maybe off the coast of Maine – those rocky, howling coastlines. The places where the full force of the Atlantic crashes relentlessly during the winter months.
The dream was so vivid it took me years to come to the realization that the interview with the author was just a dream. I just could not find the book title.
The lighthouse of my dreams was on a rocky island, much like the Salvages Lighthouse – only accessible by boat.
Whenever I see lighthouses my mind is therefore filled with stories, myths, ideas, dreams and symbols.
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Dragons in the sky
darting dragons
over frosty meadows
light slowly fades
There are some species of dragonfly that are active well into the autumn months, including the Autumn Meadowhawk, loosely depicted in the watercolour above. That is just a perfect common name – hawk of the meadows – quickly flying over the fields, snapping flying insects from the sky. Dragonflies are ancient insects – with a body plan that has changed little for millions of years. They are brilliant fliers, but also very effective hunters during their aquatic larval stage.
I featured the Autumn Meadowhawk in a Portrait of Astonishing Nature, a book you can purchase and help support the Creek 53 Conservancy Trust – special wild lands near my home in Quebec.
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
art, autumn, dragonfly, drawing, entomology, ink, insect, Insects, nature, poetry, Watercolor, Watercolour -
A touch of autumn
take a deep sigh
look to trees as they show us
a touch of autumn
September is a perfect month, in my view. Cooler nights, warm days, and senescence starts – this being defined as the slow and gradual process of ‘deterioration’, but I associate the word with leaf senescence, and accompanying leaf colour change.
In early September we are still technically in summer, but trees are telling us what is coming, and tips of some branches start to show their autumnal colours: yellows and golds or reds, or even lighter greens. It is a bit bittersweet too since we are heading away from the lazy days of summer and towards the shorter and colder days. But there is something comforting about the shorter days too, whether grabbing your best sweater, sipping that perfect cup of tea, or snuggling into bed (earlier than normal!).
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Home
enter the side porch
tea at the kitchen table
woodstove, apples, home
Last weekend we travelled back to my parent’s house for a visit. It is a late 19th century Ontario farmhouse (although located in a small town), and my parents bought the place when I was just a baby, so it’s the house I grew up in. I have strong, wonderful memories of the place. It was always a little spooky (the place creaked all the time, floorboards, doors, etc.; and the unfinished basement with its cobwebs and critters and low ceilings and dark corners certainly creeped me out sometimes!), but at the same time, was warm and welcoming. Everyone feels the good vibes when they enter the house. You can always sit for cup of tea.
On the weekend my Mom asked me about what it felt to return ‘home’ now that I am all full grown and since do don’t get back all that often. The house (and yard) has changed quite a bit, but the character is the same, and I responded that feeling I have walking into the kitchen from the side porch was one of positive nostalgia. There is a lot of emotion walking into the house, and sometimes it makes me long to be a kid again.
My sister and I commented about how the wood stove (an old Elmira one) was strong in our memories, and while the stove has been replaced by a gas one, somehow the house still smells faintly like wood smoke. Dad used to get up early every morning and start the fire, and we’d come down to the kitchen to its warmth and comfort. The autumn months included the smell of apples. In winter we would sit next to the first place and have hot chocolate and warm our toes after cross-country skiing*. I can close my eyes and take myself back there, immediately.
I left that house in the mid 1990s, and have lived in my current home longer than my childhood home, yet I also think of that house as home. Home can be multiple places. We can hold space for more than one home. One might be a faraway place, in time or space; another one might be immediate. When I am asked where I am from, I can answer in two ways: “I grew up in…”, and “I live in…”. I can love my parent’s home and my own home. There is comfort and satisfaction in that.
And, of course, a house is only a home because of the loving people who inhabit it. Certainly a reason I love my childhood home so much is because my parents still live there, happily.
* Reading this one might wonder if I grew up in the 19th century! Somehow my childhood home and my childhood generally has a timeless, forever quality.
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Seaside
in the protected cove
gentle waves crash softly
lazy seals
I was in Halifax last week for work, and I also took part of the weekend to head out of the city to see and experience the Ocean (the watercolour above is a depiction of a cove at the Kejimkujik National Park – Seaside). The seaside of Nova Scotia is stunning: the shoreline is wonderfully diverse, whether soft sand beaches, cobbles, or giant rocks that jut straight into the cold Atlantic. The bird life is tremendous (even in late August), the seals can be seen popping up here and there, eventually finding a rock upon which to rest. I was fortunate to have perfect weathers, light breeze, bright blue sky, and warm.
Thank you, Nova Scotia!
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Reach for the sun
this dizzy, spinning world
look to the sun
for a warm embrace
It’s been rather rainy here, and a bit dreary, and some people need a hug. The sun can provide a warm embrace. Hope you all stay well as we transition towards the end of summer and I’m thinking of you if times are tough right now.
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Northern lakes
lonely cries in the night
on northern lakes
I know loons are found all over North America, but I associate them with northern lakes (which are their breeding grounds). Their lonely, haunting calls, perhaps early in the morning or in the middle of the night, fills me with a strange mix of sadness and joy.
Their calls (cries?) take me somewhere, perhaps sleeping in a tent, lakeside, when I was eight or ten years old. Perhaps somewhere deeper, older. I have distinct memories of canoeing, slowly approaching a loon only to see it dart under the water, to avoid being too close to us, but also to fish. Seeing them emerge from the water is incredible – they are such large, impressive birds, graceful and sleek. They are perfect.
By the way, this is the first in the ‘postcard‘ series. These are small-ish (5×7″) watercolours done with a black border, and with a typewritten haiku or phrase. These will be gifts but some of them will also be shared on this blog for all of you.
The loon one ended up with a different haiku than what is written above, here it is:
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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the dog ate my art
I’m working on a new project/series, tentatively called “postcards” – small watercolours, in which some poetry or other writing will appear on the piece. These postcards will likely appear on the blog, but will also be given to someone who might enjoy them. Details are still being worked on (stay tuned!), but it’s fun to feel the energy for something new and different.
I was working on a pine cone as a draft for this project, and well, the dog ate it:
It was my fault, of course. I left the piece on a chair, and I had gone to the garage for a minute, and when I came back Quincy had happily grabbed the art and munched away on it. So it goes, I suppose.
Art is meant to be shared, right? Sharing is caring. Sharing is eating. Eating is what is on the mind of dogs, a great deal of the time. Woof. Woof.
And, oh, Happy August to all!© Christopher M Buddle 2024
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Crow friends
watchful, curious
soar, hop, caw for a peanut
backyard feathered friends
Some (partial) quick pen and ink sketches of crows We have a family of crows in our neighborhood -five of them, which I suppose is a true “murder” of crows. They talk to us, make their way around to different houses, keeping an eye on their world. They are getting to know me, and I am getting to know them. They occasionally get a peanut from me, and they are quick to find me if I’m out walking, knowing this peanut fact. They are smart.
Yesterday evening I left a few peanuts in the backyard, and they showed up a few minutes later. They were caw-caw-cawing, delighted at the treat. After a careful assessment of me, as I stood on the back deck, they converged on the peanuts. Hopping, investigating, assessing. Some of them would take a peanut in one foot, hold it against a hard surface (paving stone or backyard chair) and peck peck into the shell to extract the nut. I noticed one crow taking a peanut to a big dish of water in the yard and soaking it for a few minutes. This, I assume, is to soften the shell so it’s easier to get through it. Smart.
If there is only one crow around, I notice they it will enjoy a peanut in silence, because any noises will attract the siblings, and the competition will commence. Smart indeed.
It’s a well known fact that Corvids (crows, ravens, jays, and their relatives) are among the most intelligent of all the birds. A lot has been written about this, but the book “In the company of Crows and Ravens” is highly recommended (it has lovely art in addition to the natural history writing being very good). Watching the neighborhood crows really confirmed this for me. I simply adore making friends with this family and I am learning a lot from them.
Once again, the avian world delights.
© Christopher M Buddle 2024
Nature's Reverie 