The Rocks of Metis

Across the road from where we stayed on our trip up the St Laurence was a narrow, sandy strip of beach at high tide and a rocky expanse at low tide. Watching the light and water, the shapes of the stones, the seals sunning on the spit of rock further out, the whale that I thought was a loose dingy, the patterns of the seaweed left behind by the outgoing tide, the breathing of the river; all these things gave me a sense of homecoming, of belonging. And as I was about to post this I remembered this quote from Rachel Carson that a friend posted last week.  [Thanks Jj]

“To stand at the edge of the sea, to sense the ebb and flow of the tides, to feel the breath of a mist moving over a great salt marsh, to watch the flight of shore birds that have swept up and down the surf lines of the continents for untold thousands of years, to see the running of the old eels and the young shad to the sea, is to have knowledge of things that are as nearly eternal as any earthly life can be.” 

Early morning light on the river rocks

a tidal pool

tiny stones nestled into the fold of rock

a favourite stone with incised marks

a tidal pool that looks like an aerial photograph...hmmm, well I suppose it is!

ochre/ rust lichen glowing in the early light

3 Stones

I love stones. There are small piles of them throughout the house, a few single beauties on their own and in the garden they are everywhere, usually where I am digging. But right out side the front door, between the path and the garden is a special collection of round smooth stones collected from beaches when ever we or friends have traveled. I always seem to bring home stones, even walking the dog I keep my eyes peeled for treasure. John now comes home bearing stones as gifts and offerings. Maybe we all know that in ancient times stones were known to be alive, holding soul and spirit and memory.

3 stones emerging from winter

More From The Minimal Garden

It's a white world this morning, but until now our weather continued to amaze us. This has not been the November we dread. The other morning was a wonderland, thick hoar frost everywhere, soft, golden, slanted light and the pond frozen over completely. Wandering around the garden [note to self, put on your boots, your feet are freezing] I found one of my favourite stones perfectly capturing the light and frost.

Moon Rock

Lichen Galaxies

There is a chair outside the front door; a place where I sit and contemplate whenever it is raining and I can't wander about without getting into full rain gear. Beside the chair is a stone with another stone placed on top of it, actually balanced on it, and I have been looking with wonder at the mosses and lichens growing on it. One of the lichens is a wonderful mustard color and the shapes it forms are rather like a coral reef; while the whole pattern of lichens and mosses on the stone is like a galaxy. These yellow lichens are about the size of a match head, never seeming to grow as large as the grayish ones. I would love to know how they came to be yellow. Only a very few stones in the garden are marked with this yellow fairy dust.

Lichen Galaxies

The Stone Voices of the Land

There is a saying in Brome County that you can harvest 3 crops of stones a year. Perhaps one of the reasons for the stone walls that once marked the country side and are now disappearing into the land. Our forebears were patient and sturdy folk clearing this land again and again. John and I have taken a different approach and left the largest stones where they were, and where they have become the stone people. Sometimes I think they are out there as our guardians or sentinels, sometimes they are just having fun, talking and laughing among themselves. After watching the wedding yesterday, I was reminded again of the power of stone. The voices rising in the descants of the hymns, the vaulted stone ceiling holding the sound, then the sound slipping down the walls. The spoken words, so clear and powerful, voice using the rhythms and cadence of the words in all their integrity. And the stone which made it all possible.

The stone voices of the land.

December 6, 1989, Montreal, Quebec

In Memory of

Geneviève Bergeron, Hélène Colgan, Nathalie Croteau, Barbara Daigneault, Anne-Marie Edward, Maud Haviernick, Barbara Marie Klueznick, Maryse Laganière, Maryse Leclair, Anne- Marie Lemay, Sonia Pelletier, Michèle Richard, Annie St-Arneault, Annie Turcotte

who died in what has come to be known as the Montreal Massacre on December 6, 1989.

14 stones set in the concrete of my studio floor

Link  For Sophia...the female Christ
Link  The Singing of The Stones