Green Back 

Lately I’ve resumed running. Not from anything in particular. Well, that’s not true. I suppose I’m running from myself - my future self. A future self who can’t take the stairs without groaning or can’t walk a block without suffering. For the last few months through a combination of numerous minor medical procedures, injuries, illness, travel and the absence of caring, I have let myself slowly slip back in time to when there was decidedly more of me. Now I want there to be less of me, so I’m running again. I’ve discovered that the motivation to slip on running shoes has to be greater than the fear of my future self’s health or my current self’s weight. I’ve discovered the need to escape from the clamour of streetcars and garbage trucks, the confines of my street and my house. Luckily, about 2 Km from my place is a most necessary green space.

Between a new huddle of modest height condos and the stagnant Don River is Corktown Common, which is essentially a berm disguised as a 17 acre park built as flood mitigation against the possibility of an overflowing Don River. In some respects it almost feels like a mini-putt theme park with a tiny wetland here, exposed rock there, a small pasture and a playground over there. Heading south through the park you run on a bridge over a marsh while to your right, the city flickers in the dusk light. As you round the southern end of the common you pass the not-so-secret raspberry patch at the base of a contemporary sculpture and find yourself facing another future Toronto neighbourhood, a former Unilever industrial site which is part of larger area called the Port Lands. Another part of the flood mitigation strategy for the area will be to correct a historical wrong by re-straightening the mouth of the Don River as it empties into Lake Ontario. As part of the industrialization of the past the river was diverted to a hard right turn which has led to problems ever since. From here I can either continue north back through the residential streets of Corktown or duck under a rail line to run along the Don River. This year the path has been wet and the bushes and plants have been pushing to overtake everything. The ground on either side of the path is muddy and the fecund undergrowth is alive with bugs like mosquitos and midges. This is what a wetland looks like and this is what Governor Simcoe found when he was stationed here in the 18th century. Toronto is as mushy as any marshland because, at the southern part near the Lake that’s what it was.
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'til Death Do Us Part 

There's the tall spiky grassy thing, some succulents, marigolds and little mini-lupen-esque whatsamahcallits. See. No idea.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I should probably be stopped before someone gets hurt. I've killed before and I might do it again. I have the exact opposite of a green thumb. It's like some kind of "black thumb of death". It's like the Spanish Inquisition Thumb of Vengeance. Plants see my thumb coming and they recoil in fear. My thumbs are the East German Stasi of thumbs. Wait. That can't be right. I'm sure there were Stasi agents with more empathy for plants than I have. My thumbs are more like Stalingrad for plants. Here I am. Plotting. Potting. Planting. Killing. A lean, mean green-killing machine.

“Here I am. Plotting. Potting. Planting. Killing. A lean, mean green-killing machine.”

Despite all that, I thought it might be nice to have a bit of colour out on the balcony. Oh but death becomes me, I guess. It's not like I want plants to die. I'm not out on the boulevards yelling "Death to pretty flowers" or anything. It's just what happens. I don't wish to be a merchant of merry mayhem to the plant world.

I have, after all, developed a bit of a talent for catching and dispensing mice. It's been awhile and lately they've gotten brazen and bit clever (using the now cool radiators as their conduits). That's your mistake, mice. You thought the Slayer of Springhurst was on holiday. You believed the Exterminator of Edge Water Towers was on Spring break, but Death doesn't take a holiday, and the Parkdale Assassin wasn't gone. He was just watching, and waiting.

Now I've turned my attention from Fauna to Flora. Those plants think just because they're sitting in nutrient rich soil, and that I watered them once, that they are in the clear? It's doubtful. I've seen this pattern a thousand times before. I'll water you. Maybe too much. Maybe too little. I'll try to position you in the sun or in the shade. Like I said, I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Isn't photosynthesis just a little water and a little sunlight? What else am I supposed to do? I'll do my best, little plants, but a day will come, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, certainly not yesterday (unless all the laws of physics are completely wrong), but one day, your green will become brown. You're succulence will become dryness and your vitality will become lifeless.

Until then, I'll enjoy your blooming buoyancy and never take a single day for granted. Thank you for your sacrifice.

Man is as Man Does

Man is as Man does. Man cut down tree. Good-bye pesky Manitoba Maple. I'm sure Gordon Lightfoot has already written you a soliloquy. Is it just me, or is referring to a tree as a weed seem like kind of a "Mainlander" thing?



To be honest, I thought this necessary tree removal would be my opportunity to buy an axe or even a hatchet, but I'd brought the thing down with a few saw cuts and a couple of tugs. Maybe I don't need a "reason" to buy an axe – I should just have one, because I am Man!

Flats, Failures & Taters

It's been kind of a weird weekend here in the House of Peter. Ups and downs and run-arounds. Adding to my woes was the fact my laptop sort of went blotto on Friday (missing kernel error or something after a failed system update -blah blah blah)

Saturday:
Gray and rain. Up late. No biggie. Big breakfast set everything right. I had my mind set on a goal. I made my way to the pool and did my 70 laps (it's pretty bad when you brag about accomplishing half of what other people do) and went home. Except I think I probably over-extended myself. Ended up having a monster headache - like the headache that ate Tokyo. The rest of the day was a drawn out tragedy of late street cars, jostling at an over-crowded Apple store and absolutely no luck in getting my laptop fixed. I dragged myself home and slipped into some fine Angela-wrought soup. Press reset hoping Sunday would be better.

Sunday:
Determined to improve the weekend I set about backing up all the data on the laptop and re-installing the operating system. Many restarts and reboots later all seemed well and to salvage what was becoming a beautiful day, I got my bike gear on and took to the road.

One pothole and flat tire later, I'm walking for 40 minutes back home, only to find the laptop still not so frisky. Another hour or so lost in the confines of watching a software installer install itself and voila. Back to the land of the living. Of course, it was wiped clean of any remnants of its former self but I was glad to have it back nonetheless.

Of all of the salvageable acts this weekend, none was more satisfying than digging a fork into the dirt and dredging up the familiar and friendly potatoes we've so hopelessly ignored this season. Yet there they were, awaiting us under their cover of clay. The dark Papa Negra was hard to distinguish from a stone. The blush skinned potatoes shone out like magic fruit illuminated from within or like some weird plastic apples. They roasted well, and calmly punctuated this most trying two days.

Thank you, Potato. Your comforting starchiness is my salve.

Virgo Rising

August and September are so full of birthdays in this family it's hard to keep track and easier to give one big shout-out (August: Gina, Angela, Mom, Aunt Stephanie and Therese; September: Lucia, Brian and Louisa).

Here's some video from the combined Gina + Angela birthday done a week after Gina's and a week before Angela's (the video is about 90 secs long but 22 MB so it may take a moment to load).

Click here to see the video

Enjoy. If you can't view the video for some technical reason then try viewing it here.

Bugs 'n' Stuff

Sometimes it's surprising just how quiet our backyard can be and how loud that quietness can be. I just stepped outside and I was struck by the sound of the crickets chirping and cicadas buzzing. Beneath the insect flitter was the flutter of bamboo leaves and the breeze through the grasses. Even after walking back inside I could still hear the hum and shuffle of the sounds outside. It was a shame to close the door but the bugs have been real bad this year.

The Littlest Birds

The Littlest Birds

Little Birds from rowdyman on Vimeo.

A lazy pre-Canada Day afternoon spent with 3 generations of Iarocci ladies.

Summer Garden

Summer Garden

Summer Garden from rowdyman on Vimeo.

Our little backyard has finally come back to life. The Virginia Creeper is creeping and the grasses are growing (both the Karl Forestor and the Bamboo) and the potatoes look fairly healthy too.