Bare branches scrape the sky 
and the ocean spits out and 
pulls the rocks back
Fingers made of ice 
Scream. 
Lay down with the waves
 and let the sea scrape me in.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods; / There is a rapture on the lonely shore; / There is society, where none intrudes, / By the deep sea, and music in its roar; / I love not man the less, but Nature more... / - Lord Byron

I think the key to truly enjoyable blogging lies in the ability to tell and convey stories. And I'll be honest with you. I'm a lousy story teller. I forget the important details, tell the middle before the beginning and bumble and pause through the whole thing. But maybe, its not the way you tell it, maybe its the way you live it. Maybe its the way not even the best camera could capture the look in someones eyes when they realize that they are loved and accepted. Or the way it feels to throw paint at paper because art doesn't always have to have rules. Stories are told through bellies that ache with laughter, stories are lived through tears and through cold rocks, bright stars, smoky haze and warm bodies. Our bodies are etched with our stories. That fresh scar above your knee, that old one on your cheek. Maybe we just don't look hard enough for each others stories, too often expecting to be told, not asking enough, observing only the surface. And if someone gifts you with their story, do we really listen? Are we too busy pushing our own agenda to really allow ourself to submerge in the story?

This summer was one filled with stories. Stories that were hard to hear, stories with no answers and beautiful stories.Some stories were told, some were read, some were the greatest stories ever to be told and many stories were written. Lived.

Yours,

K

Camp Film

August has been a long hot month with many changes, but its been good to us.


Yours,

K

(More words coming soon, I promise)

Scattered thoughts from the lake

"They say the truest  beauty is found in the harshest land and God can be found there by those with open eyes"- Alice Hoffman, The Dovekeeper

Its difficult to explain what jumping from a semi dry year in the city into a deep well of community really feels like. Like the cool blue water of shoal lake, this place draws you to it, it begs you to take the risk and jump in, to completely surrender to the depths but to trust that lessons learned long ago will allow you to be pulled to the surface. Little feet patter on the board walk and bigger hands find smaller ones. The soft but yet powerful sound of a paddle pushing water, and the mournful call of the loon becomes the part of the song of our hearts and the deep longing of our heart for God and  to know his voice.

Everything is bigger here, relationships are more powerful.  We come to this island with wounds, badly stitched by time. But gently and slowly, this place opens them, letting the infection bleed out and then soothes it with love and patience until God closes the wound and only a scar is left in its place.

To Imogen

  

To my little sister on her 10th birthday.
Today you are a decade. I remember when we found out about you, I too was approaching a decade, excited to finally be two hands worth of digits  But even more clearly then that day , I remember the night we almost lost you.  You were a a tiny being, not yet completely formed, but I knew that I loved you and that my heart was already connected to yours. Something was wrong , a small tear that might have decided your fate had a bigger force not been working for you. I remember the tears and the prayers. And when we found out that you would overcome, that God had a bigger plan for you, the joy. That 3 would become 4 and that I would have a sister ( though I didn't know that yet). Little sister, you were a miracle then, and you are a miracle now. You arrived with a stubborn will to live and have been a stubborn little ball of firey joy ever since. I admire you little one, with your flexible limbs and and your ability to keep a beat in your dancing shoes. You have a toothy smile that lights up a room, and you walk a tightrope between being as tough as nails (having four brothers to keep in line and all) and being a genuine softy with arms big enough to cradle a whole family of animals.
Sister, the years ahead of you will be both beautiful and hard. Take them on with all the grace you can muster. Things will change, your body, your tastes, your friends even, Be discerning. Remember there is a bigger picture and plan that we can't always see at that exact moment. People and words will hurt you, it will sting but let it only be a scratch, scratches heal with time, wounds leave scars. You are beautiful ,always remember that. Not only for your looks, but because your heart was created as a reflection of the most beautiful. Let your inner beauty be foremost in your heart, outer beauty morphs and fades in time, inner beauty only grows brighter. Find true friends, one that will build you into a better person, not make you feel like you are less. Don't be in a hurry to grow up. Childhood is a beautiful thing, things like boys and makeup can wait. Don't let social media tell you anything else.
Ah yes, boys. Boys are silly when they are young, treat them with grace but don't let your heart go too easily. Make friends with them! enjoy life, but don't fall into the trap of trying too hard to impress them. Let God rule your heart, and always remember, you have four brothers and one big sister looking out for you;) Appreciate family, Mom and Dad always have your best interest at heart. Don't waste too much time fighting with them, those little things don't matter in the long run and its better to listen then to speak in anger. Most of all, Love Jesus, immerse your heart in him. Love others and remember you were a miracle that God chose and he has some crazy big plans for you.

You are beautiful.

Love,

Your big sister

And as the train wheels clicked on, and the rain fell, 

and Bon Iver crooned in my ear, I looked down at him,

 his head on my lap, the warm, 

sweet smelling

tender,

drooling armful that he is,

and realized that I could never love someone 

as fiercely as I loved him.

Anytime is train time.

Oh Canada....

Spindly poplars like hairs on your spine, the dips and hills outline your body, the train wheels carve rugged lines into the rock and earth that make up your bones. The train whistles, the sound, low, mournful. Its light is ever seeking, startling the wood creatures, and its rumble shakes you. We glide along you, the soft rocking side to side as it runs over uneven tracks. The people in the cars, mostly strangers are brought together and become fellow adventurers, as we are subjected to your wild beauty. We forget that we don't know each other from a rock, and our stories become intertwined as the tracks sing out through the night.

As I write this, we are rolling across the countryside of southern Ontario. Its our 3rd day on the train and we are set to arrive in montreal in 2 hours. Our legs are cramped from sitting and trail mix and banana dinners are getting old. But while my stomach may be imagining extravagant dinners, my eyes have been feasting on endless forests, lakes, rivers and stars. Its way too easy to forget the majestic wonder of the wilderness that lies just outside our concrete jungles. 

So I leave you with a few iphone pictures and highlights of the trip thus far, 

Playing a rowdy game of "foreheads" with 2 Germans, an Australian, a Libyan, and Canadians from across the country. 

Spending 99% of the time curled up in the sky dome car

Pointing out every bridge.

Buying peas and tea in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere

Les Miserable Soundtrack.

Celebrating Mike's birthday, train style.

The free wi-fi on this train.

Train life, you've been good to us, but its time to spend time outside.

Montreal, here we come!

Yours,

K

 

Warm weather is calling us to eat meals outdoors, and while our apartment sadly doesn't include balcony or sunroom, we find solace on the small front stoop of the building. Although pizza and milk (in wine glasses) may not be the most glamourous of meals, its not the food that matters, its the time spent intentionally together and in the sun.

yours,

K

Life lately

Spring is out there somewhere, sleeping beneath blankets of fresh snow. But while she is not visible to the naked eye, small tell tale signs are beginning to pop up. The Canada geese have made their journey from down south, and the river is starting to push its watery fingers up through the ice. 

Yours, 

K

Ps: Two weeks till Mike is done school forever, and two weeks till we take a train to montreal!

City film

Its the first day of spring today and the thermometer told of a balmy -37 degrees when the sun rose.

I've been laying low as of late, going to work, coming home and repeat with the odd grocery trip, or coffee date. I catch my sun through bus windows and daily conversations with the regulars revolve around the weather and how full the parking lot is.

But the sun will draw me out of my hibernation and someday I may even become a proper citizen again. 

Until then my ears are filled with Tegan and Sara,

 My head with dreams of our train trip to Montreal in May 

and my boots are filled with snow.

Whats getting you through the winter?

Yours,

K

Coffee shop senses

She sits.

The world goes by.

A Jewish funeral procession drives slowly past, 

the black cars follow each slowly down the snow fill streets.

Above the street the tree's stand silent. Their skeletal branches sway gently as the new snow rests on them for a second then falls down the roofs and the street.

The sounds of coffee beans meeting gears.

The small room is flooded,leaving a dark sweet woody smell in its wake.

She savours the smooth gentle burst of bittersweet earl grey and milk on her tongue. 

The cold air from the door, constantly opening and closing seeps into her jeans and she huddles deeper into the folds of wool around her shoulders.

Her cup is nearly empty. She sighs, knowing that its almost time to leave this

 cozy alcove.

But she leaves with warm feeling not only from a stomach full of tea, but because she knows 

its good to get away, 

its good to think. 

Or not to think.

Its important to immerse yourself with strangers and to get out of your own head.

She stands, gathers her things and walks out the door.

The smell of coffee swirls out the door with her, mixing with the snowflakes and the trees.

and the world seems a little less grey.


Yours,

K

Lace and Ice

I tried on my dress and remembered 
The sound of music,
 The feel of bare feet on dusty ground,
 The smell of water in the wind off the lake 
and the feeling of your arms around my waist.

I remembered grasshoppers caught in crinoline 
Tears on cheeks
and the squeak of bow on strings.

I remembered the sun on flags,
and water purifying feet
I remember walking toward as one
and running back as two.

I remember.


Yours,

K