Archive for June, 2012
Life continues here in the wake of Sabrina’s death. That is one thing that I know much about – life goes on regardless of what we might think or feel. New paths lie before us. We can choose to investigate, or just stick to the beaten track that we know so well. If you’ve been reading this blog for awhile, you’ll know that the safe, well-worn, mundane trail holds little of interest to me. With Sabrina’s passing, there are now some new possibilities that could not be considered so long as I was caring for an aging dog. I’ll write more about my autumn plans in a few weeks. For now, the most immediate and practical change is that Sage and I can venture off on longer hikes without concern about getting back to the house to check on Sabrina. It took a couple of weeks for me to break out of recent habit and feel like taking off for the day, but we’ve begun doing just that.
Yesterday, Sage and I went for an afternoon ramble along a section of the old decommissioned railway line that runs parallel to the south shore of the Annapolis River. The trail is bordered by hedgerows of hawthorn, elderberry, blackberry canes, apple trees, lupine flowers, and other dense vegetation. We hiked an area that is roughly behind my property where Round Hill Brook flows to join the Annapolis River. From about the point of an old railway bridge, the brook becomes tidal downstream before the confluence with the Annapolis.
The trail varies in width from being little more than a cart track to that of a gravel road frequented by farm equipment bound for fields out on the great loops created by the meandering Annapolis River. It’s an easy hike with the exception of one obstacle — an old railway bridge which is now somewhat precarious – although it looks worse than it actually is. However, Sage was not in the least deterrred as she clambered onto the rotten sheets of chip board meant to make the gaps between the huge squared timbers less daunting. I attribute much of her intrepidness to last winter’s adventures scrambling up rocky mountainsides, or crawling into caves with Larry. After just a couple of sniffs at the boards, Sage hopped over the most crazily slanted spot and away we went across the bridge, dodging the worst of the gaping cracks.
Above is a photo of Round Hill Brook as it appears a short ways downstream from my property. At this point, it is tidal, so twice a day, the water level drops considerably during low tide.
The above photo was taken from the south shore of the Annapolis, where it makes one of its huge meandering loops around a meadow on the north shore. The tide is close to being as high as it can be. At low tide, the waters recede, exposing a shoreline of sandy vertical walls. The hills in the background are the North Range and just beyond them is the Bay of Fundy with its spectacular tides. It is to the Bay that we owe the great difference in high and low tides on these rivers.
Turning away from the river, we walked up a quiet country lane, stopping to take photos of the ruins of an old house that is gradually being claimed by the rampant vegetation. Among the bushes and canes is a beautiful white rose that is painted here and there with pink and red. It has a wonderful old rose fragrance that is the equal of any of the very old roses that we collected and grew in our garden at the farm back in Ontario. The old roses were one of the plants that I most hated leaving behind, but I have since been planting other roses here at the Round Hill house. In any case, I picked a rose from one of the canes and carried it with me to occasionally sniff as we walked the rest of the way home. It was a good hike and just one of many that we’ll be taking in the coming weeks. After all, the opportunities for hiking were a large part of the reason for buying the old house at Round Hill.
I know that some of you have been concerned about how Sage and I would get along on our own without Sabrina. True, it has been difficult as, for the past few years, my world seems to be narrowing down — sort of like one of those songs where there get to be less and less of some entity with the passing of each verse.
And then there were two.
But come winter, like the geese, we will take wing — and once more we will be three.