Inside July

Not a breath of wind in the garden today. It’s like July doesn’t want to leave and I want to stay with it, cocooned in its heat, its light and its growth. Like a bird in its nest, I want to stay inside July. For at least this one last day. 

Prairie Trails

Probably because of the pandemic, one of my favourite Manitoba places—Hecla Island—was terribly overcrowded when I visited two weeks ago. I’d never seen it so busy. At least twenty vehicles were lined up to pull their boats out of the water when storm clouds threatened. Nature seemed second place to all us humans trying to socially distance ourselves. Oh, the irony.

So, the following weekend I headed in the opposite direction. We went south to the Tolstoi area and hung out with hordes of wood ticks enjoying the Manitoba Tall Grass Prairie Preserve. The dog wore a tick collar, but I had no such protection. Anyway, we survived both the ticks and the heat and discovered some interesting blooms, including an endangered orchid—the yellow lady’s slipper.

Also interesting, was the town of Tolstoi (Why was it named after a Russian author? I don't know, but I like it!). Its Ukrainian church, built in 1927, has been beautifully restored. With the landscape and the church, I could imagine being in Ukraine and not rural Manitoba. It had bothered me, while visiting Ukraine, to see their beautifully restored churches amidst such abject poverty. Here in rural Manitoba, there were no babushkas sweeping the steps, hoping for a few alms. I wonder if they’re still sweeping entranceways in Ukraine and Russia? 

Further up the road, we crossed the fast-moving Roseau River using an historic swinging bridge partially made of old farming equipment. When we visited, swimmers using rubber mats and kayaks were enjoying the cooling currents. 

Always great to find new corners of Manitoba while exploring history and nature.

Peony Dreamer

Maybe nothing special for you experienced gardeners,  but I'm so excited about my first-ever peony blossoms.

My mom used to pick me a peony bouquet every June and I grew up thinking of them as my special flowers. This is the first year I’ve been able to continue on with my mom’s tradition. 

For years I was convinced that I had too much shade for peonies and that I was not a good-enough gardener to nurture them. Well, I've proven myself wrong. I wonder what other misconceptions I’ve held over the years. 

So to all my June birthday friends, I say, just go for it. Do it. Whatever it is you’ve been afraid to try. Don’t listen to the nay-sayers. The world needs more peony-dreamers. Yes?

Victory Day—Ends become Beginnings.

May 9th, Victory Day in Russia. 75 years. A really big deal—still. Although the pandemic has limited the crowds in Russia, over in Minsk, Belarus, crowds were as big ever.

Back in May, 1945, my parents became official losers.  Soviet POWs. They didn't know each other then. In fact, my dad was married to another woman—a woman who lost track of him and subsequently, their marriage. But that's another story.

With many rail tracks broken, the defeated had to walk much of the way into the work camps. What a walk that must have been. Defeated, discouraged, guilty. Their country and their belief system crushed. Their charismatic, insane, Führer dead. Six years of sacrifice for a cause that killed millions of innocents and changed the world order. Losers in every way.

Dad headed towards Moscow, working in coal mines and using chess skills to survive. Mom ended up in an open-pit mine near Shadrinsk in the Kurgan Oblast.  Russian language skills helped her manage.

So for them the war was over but peace, freedom and mere survival were still years away.  The Soviet Union had sacrificed 26 million people in their fight against the Axis. So in May, while the victors celebrated, my parents were trudging into the enemy's backyard. No wonder they found support in each other later in the fifties.

The Dangers of Turning Ten

April 20th. Hitler’s birthday. The day ten-year-old girls loved because they got to be inducted into the BDM. Such proud little souls—eager to belong. Oh the pomp and ceremony. Not a sci-fi novel. A living memory. My mom was too old to be forced to join the Nazi youth groups, but my dad was eager to wear a uniform and march to Hitler’s beat. What a wicked time to be young and vulnerable. 

I have to recommend the movie, The White Ribbon, with the sub-title, A German Children's Story, released in 2009, as a chilling glimpse into the mindset that formed a people who swallowed up the Nazi’s warped view. 

Heligoland's April 18th Anniversary

Lange Anne

A highlight of my time in Schleswig-Holstein last September was a two-hour cruise to the North Sea island of Heligoland. It’s had a variety of overseers . . . Danish, British, and Germans and was of strategic importance to the Nazis. Now, as a tax-free haven, it survives on tourists like me who come via small ships. That's the ship called 'Funny Girl' behind me. What is it with Germans and their love of English names?



During the four-hour guided tour, I was able to appreciate a bit of the history and a lot of the natural beauty as we climbed 184 (yes, I counted!) steps up from the rocky pier. There are no cars or bikes allowed on the island (except for electric service vehicles) and this added to its peaceful ambience. 

One grave for many

The island was far from peaceful during the Second World War. Soviet prisoners of war were used to build the extensive underground bunker system. I never had enough time to do the underground tour, but the above-ground tour had many ruins related to the war years. 

Northern Gannets breed here

Soccer field on east side of island

The island was almost crushed on April 18th,1945 with bombing by almost one thousand British aircraft. After the bombings, scattered bones from old graves were gathered into one.  For two years after that the island was left empty and used for military practice.  

Then, again on April 18^th, in 1947, one of the biggest non-nuclear explosions—The British Bang or Big Bang—occurred. The Allies had gathered up most of the remaining ammunition stored on the island and blew it up. A huge crater still remains and it's forever changed the shape of the rocky island. 

In 1952, the surviving locals were allowed to return and rebuild their island village. We hiked along winding paths past cottage homes with beautiful gardens. Our tour guide was a most affable fellow, obviously proud of his home.  Heligoland is a nature refuge where birds stop off during migration and northern gannets breed amongst the ruins of war. Amazing how life begins anew over and over. How I'd love to go back and stay longer. A true treasure.

Tenacious Pussy Willows

It always amazes me, when things get difficult for us humans, how unaffected nature seems. Whether it's death or disease or financial stress, nature just goes on doing what it does.

Because I'm immersed in the past, always researching something about my parents' lives, I can't help but compare and constantly refer to it. I'm boring that way . . . maybe that's why the kids moved out?

Anyway, in April of 1945, when the war was ending . . . with a painful, agonizing whimper . . . spring was emerging. No doubt there were pussy willows blooming as the bedraggled POWs straggled eastward to do their time in the Soviet gulag.

Did they find hope in pussy willows like I do?