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Good morning. You know: After living through more stories than I can remember in my life, I have learned something important. Life is not about being perfect. What matters most is leaving something behind that is worth finding. This might be a lesson, a memory, a painting, a story… or even a kind word. The thing is… perfection does not last, but what we share and leave for others is what really counts.

Starting things off, we here in cottage country are waking up to cloudy skies and some showers this morning. And by the looks of things, it will stay this way for most of the day. However, things should clear up overnight, and sunshine will return tomorrow, bringing in a beautiful day.

Highway 522 picked up some traffic yesterday. There were more cars, campers pulling ATV s and boats, and a few motorcycles out for a ride, likely taking in our fall colours. That being said, the rain we are having now will probably bring most of the colour to an end in our area for another year.

Although the tamarack has not changed colour much yet, it is one tree I enjoy keeping an eye on. Did you know the tamarack is one of the few conifers that drops its needles? Most people see a brown conifer in late fall and think it’s dying, but the tamarack is just settling in for winter, doing what it has always done.

The Natives around here… the Anishinaabe and others… have lived with these trees for generations and saw the tamarack differently than we often do. They called it by names that spoke to its nature: some knew it as the tree that sheds, others as the one that marks the seasons. They used its strong, rot-resistant roots for sewing birch-bark canoes and baskets, bending them when green and trusting their flexibility and strength. The inner bark had medicinal uses, and the wood, dense and durable, was used for anything that needed to last.

But more than its uses, there was respect for its timing. The tamarack does not rush. It greens late in spring, long after the others have leafed out. It turns gold when the hard frosts come, and it drops its needles when it’s damn good and ready. In a world that often mistakes stillness for death, the tamarack reminds us that letting go is part of the cycle, not the end of it. Come spring, it will green up again, quiet and reliable as ever.

Maybe that’s the wisdom worth carrying: not everything that looks bare is lost, and not everything that lets go is finished.

So with that, I am off to enjoy the breakfast my lovely wife has made for me. After that, I will have a hot cup of cocoa this morning for a change. At my age, it’s best not to rush into things. I like to start the day slow and easy. And if the cocoa goes cold before I finish it, well, that just gives me an excuse to ask my wife to make me another cup.

Until the next time: Keep Your Minds Open & Your Stories Alive. GW

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Good morning. Silence has a way of speaking first.

You know... I’ve learned over the years that the best stories don’t come from chasing them down like a dog after a rabbit. Instead they show up when you sit still long enough to let the world settle. Funny as most mornings, before the coffee’s even brewed, I find myself in that space between sleep and the day’s noise, a space where thoughts drift in like fog over a field.

That’s where the stories live. In the pauses. In the morning quiet before you’ve told yourself what to think.

People ask me sometimes, “Where do you get your ideas?” and I never have a good answer that satisfies them. The truth is, I don’t get them at all. I just listen. I sit with the silence, and after a while, something speaks. Sometimes it’s a memory that floats up. Other times it’s a question I didn’t know I was asking. Once in a while, it’s nothing more than the way the light hits the kitchen table and reminds me of something I forgot I knew.

That’s when I write it down. Not because I understand it yet, but because it asked to be written.

It’s a strange partnership, this business of listening first and writing second. You might think it would be the other way around, but it isn’t. I’ve found over the years, that the mind needs space to wander before it finds anything worth keeping. Rush it and you get noise. Wait for it and you get a story.

So yea… that’s how most of my mornings start: silence speaks, I listen, and then I write what it told me, or so it seems.

Well, I have to tell you, weather-wise here in cottage country, it’s one of those days that makes a fella or gal want to head outside to their favorite sitting spot and take in what nature has to offer. Not too hot, not too cold. The sun is shining. The leaves are in full bloom, so to speak, showing off all their colors. It’s the kind of day that makes you feel damn lucky to be alive.

Highway 522 was quite busy yesterday, with lots of trucks pulling campers, ATVs strapped down, canoes on roofs—you name it. They were all heading up and down the highway. Not sure where they’re all going, seeing as there aren’t that many stores in our area. But I suspect they know where they’re headed, and I guess that’s all that matters.

On another note, yesterday with my wife’s help, we did some more work in the old shed where we keep our pile of lumber, both used and weathered, waiting for its next life as a one-of-a-kind creation. Let me tell you, it took a bit of doing to get those boards, planks, and odds and ends into their right place so everything would be easy to reach. I thought we had it all done up nicely the day before, but nope, turns out we missed a few things. Now though, we’ve got it looking good, neat enough that even a picky friend would have to nod in approval.

You know, thinking about that, it never ceases to amaze me how much you can fit into a small space if you go about it the right way. And when it comes to organizing, my wife is a real natural. She’s got an eye for seeing possibilities where I just see clutter. Seems that within minutes, she’s come up with a plan, sorting and stacking and tucking things just so, and the best part is, it actually works.

So what are you up to today GW?

Well, today I’m thinking I’ll mulch up some of our maple leaves, then gather them and put them into the vegetable garden. After that, I’ll fire up the old rototiller and work them right into the soil. It should make for some rich, earth by the time next spring’s planting rolls around. My old dad always said: “George… you only get what you give back when it comes to soil,” and that is sure true.

So, yeah, that’s the plan anyway. But plans have a funny way of changing once you step outside. Sometimes I head off in one direction and end up doing something completely different. Maybe the wheelbarrow has a flat tire, or I notice the woodpile leaning to one side and decide it needs re stacking. Sometimes I just lean on the rake for a bit, watching a crow or raven circle overhead, and forget what I came out to do.

Life’s a mystery, that’s for sure, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. That’s what keeps things interesting, don’t you think?

So, with that bit of information, I’m off for my breakfast, same as yesterday: a bowl of porridge and a piece of toast piled high with homemade strawberry jam. After that, I’ll head out to the front porch to check on my old rocking chair. I could’ve sworn I heard it calling my name a few minutes ago… either that, or the old thing’s just lonely. Either way, I suppose I’d better not keep it waiting.

Until the next time: Keep Your Minds Open & Your Stories Alive. GW