Late afternoon sequestration in the garden has the aspect of subdued quietude appropriate to those of advanced age, declining zeal and settled enterprise. Indeed it is so. And I say this without immodesty or temporizing. It as an unsurpassable mien as natural as the balmy summer air, as uncalculated as a soothing sense of accommodation and accomplishment. Once having molded one’s carcass into the lounge chair, facing directly into the disinfecting western sky, projecting the limbs to unfurl the deteriorating spine, removing the spectacles and quelling one’s overall demeanour, the anodyne produces a state of indisputable serenity and lubricates unrestrained imagination. From this heady atmosphere flourishes a curious and barely perceptible descent to fundamentals.

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Contractual arrangements are normally not subject to the weighty chains of restrictions and government advisories such as we’ve lately had to endure throughout the COVID-19 pandemic. For some businesses the repercussions have been blunt and damning; viz., the collapse of general stores along the Canada/USA international border closed for non-essential travel. Further abroad the limitations have also stifled tourism between the two countries.  What once were cheerful preparations have been shrouded beneath the veil of uncertainty and emotional distress.

COVID-19 is an acute disease in humans caused by a coronavirus, which is characterized mainly by fever and cough and is capable of progressing to severe symptoms and in some cases death, especially in older people and those with underlying health conditions. It was originally identified in China in 2019 and became pandemic in 2020.

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Stretching into a disputed area between India and China, the Lhasa-Nyingchi Railway is just a small part of China’s rapidly-expanding high-speed network.

Close to 40,000 kilometers of lines crisscross the country, linking all of China’s major mega-city clusters. The network is expected to expand to 70,000 kilometers by 2035

Much like Japan’s Shinkansen bullet trains in the 1960s, the Beijing government views its high-speed railway as symbolic of the country’s economic power and increasing prosperity.

For China’s ruling Communist Party and its leader Xi Jinping, high-speed rail is also a powerful tool for social cohesion, political influence and the integration of disparate regions with distinct cultures into the mainstream.

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Life has so many complications that one hesitates to attach oneself too gleefully to any particular scheme or adage to guarantee happiness. Yet in spite of this caution it is generally accepted that there is substance to the maxim, “Know thyself“.

The Ancient Greek aphorism “know thyself” is one of the Delphic maxims and was the first of three maxims inscribed in the pronaos (forecourt) of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi according to the Greek writer Pausanias (10.24.1). The two maxims that followed “know thyself” were “nothing to excess” and “surety brings ruin”. In Latin the phrase, “know thyself”, is given as nosce te ipsum or temet nosce.

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On a magnificent day such as this it is quite impossible to resist the nescient swell of buoyancy and well-being!  Even the sweeping fluffy white clouds that occasionally block the sun and momentarily darken the earth are marvellous! In addition the air is dry, the wind is mild and the tingling sunshine is golden. The burgeoning emerald corn stalks provide a luxurious labyrinth adjoining the swaying yellow wheat fields. The cornered agricultural landholdings across the flat horizon are like rising walls from beneath the sea showcasing the now archaic demarcations of the earliest settlers and land surveyors. Everything – past, present and future – is exceptionally clear!

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Having endured the often diaphanous though always limiting consequences of the COVID-19 pandemic for the past 1½ years I am not disposed to describe the sufferance as anything approaching either ideal or perfect. Indeed the travesty came upon us mid-March, 2020 rather precipitously. We were as a result unprepared for what followed. It has proven to be a steady though almost imperceptible declension, one which for me at least has succeeded to erode my erstwhile hospitable view of the future; that is, until now. Though I am reluctant to proclaim complete removal from the gnawing inhospitable circumstances, I have seemingly graduated to a more comfortable stance.  For one thing – and perhaps the most critical – my overall health has improved. This dramatic anomaly is as much a peculiarity to me as it may be to anyone else.

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What it is precisely that changes the flow of things is not always identifiable. Sometimes it’s an action. Other times it’s a reaction. And at other times it seems no more than the change of the weather. Whatever the cause it is assured that things will change one way or the other for reasons sometimes no more relatable than chance or fortune. Depending upon the consequence of change, the overall outcome may or may not be sustainable or pleasant. One presumes that the backdrop to change is the alteration of events.  It may on the other hand amount to something just as significant though no more visible than a change of mood. The governance of one’s internal rumination and one’s external behaviour, while inextricably entwined, is just as volatile and unpredictable as trying to control the weather.

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Playlisting can be a significant factor in the career of a recording artist. I can’t imagine the algorithms which govern the royalty payments from Apple Music! From the vantage however of the listener the object is as forceful, as complicated and as prophetic. Though the listener’s commercial interest does not compare to that of the artist, the settlement of what constitutes one’s personal playlist is not meaningless nor any less expressive. From my perspective playlists evidence an anchor of all that is preferred in one’s life. The evolution of the preferences is gradual but perceptible.  Many of us no doubt flatter ourselves to conclude that the process resembles distillation; that is, refinement and clarity, elimination of garbage and inadequacy, achievement of purpose and ambition. And for the most part, I’d agree that it is. But whatever the transition, identifying its singularly beguiling characteristics is always relevant. There are two ways to get down a river; viz., either you know where to go or where not to go.

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We stalwart adventurers of the Northern hemisphere enjoy but an attenuated expression of superlative summer weather!  Today was one of those magical golden days with fluffy white clouds clustered beneath the azure dome, a light wind at times almost still, emerald green corn stalks wavering in the fields and the site of laden passenger vehicles with attached trailers carrying boats and canoes. Though I always recall with fervency the advent of the summer solstice on or about June 21st each year, it is more probable that the most popular mark of summer’s brilliance surrounds the two national holidays in Canada and the United States of America celebrated almost contemporaneously (by no coincidence I am sure) on July 1st and 4th respectively. Those latter dates convey recognizable clarity to the holiday and temperate purpose.

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Bartley McGregor

When I was a boy aged 10 years approximately I met a chap of about the same age named Bartley McGregor. His family in addition to having a large home at the top of the hill also had a colony nest for Purple Martin birds.  One of the hatchlings fell from the nest.  Bartley – who had been looking for the chick before we arrived for a visit – led me to an ancient wooden shed near the colony nest.  There was a slopping boardwalk into the shed.  I looked under the boardwalk and found the chick. When Bartley and I howled into Dr. McGregor’s drawing room to share the news of our find he referred us to his neighbour Nobby Wood, a naturalist who lived next door.  Mr. Wood took one look at the chick and pronounced its doom because there was no way to mount the height of the pole on which the colony nest perched; nor he said could we possibly feed it because it had to be fed constantly. He said the bird ate bugs.  I took the chick home with me and my mother spent a good part of the night by the outside porch lamp collecting bugs and moths to feed the gaping yellow beak of the chick.  The chick thrived. I would take bicycle rides with the chick on my shoulder.  I returned to Mr. Wood and showed him the chick.  He wrote an article about it in the Red Deer Advocate called “Billy’s Bird“.  We agreed it was best to release the chick among the hundreds of other Purple Martins about the property.

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