In Defense of Physical Books

 

 

I was casually putting away some books, absentmindedly rearranging others on my shelf, when it struck me how I see my books as an extension of myself. I’ve got books exploring the past, helping me problem-solve current issues and books letting me dream. I’ve used books to escape, to self-isolate (with or without pandemic) and to connect.  

So I notice these three books and I think, yup, that’s the history part of me summed up in three books.  The Germans from Russia, the photo book of East Prussia and a book listing the refugees who streamed into Canada with the support of one particular church organization after the Second World War. Of course, my history collection is incomplete. One book always makes me hungry for another book. 

 

So even though I’m wanting to purge and declutter, my books and most of my rocks must stay. Let me keep the stories, the rest is just stuff.

Sandcastle Anyone?

Now available: Abandoned sandcastle. New inhabitants needed

to maintain this scenic lakeside property. Some repairs required,

but has endless possibilities. 

Full disclosure: Prone to flooding and intrusive human footsteps. 

Fairies only need inquire. No royal lineage required. 

Price: A good imagination. 

 

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.