I was actually tempted to stay at the farm to get my tall tomatoes in the garden but I couldn’t spend my birthday alone. Best to be with sisters Cathie and Tori on the eve of my day at Tori’s fantastic ‘Iterations’ closing party (all the better with delicious Venezuelan arepas).

And with sis and Nancy for a scrumptious lunch today (love the cow).

Big city plans with urban pals are in the pipe for tonight and simply the best gift ever to anticipate: my first trip to the spa with best friends tomorrow. Freshly brewed ice tea and fine dark chocolate at my side, I’m a happy birthday girl indeed!

I’m afraid words aren’t coming quickly to me just now. We’re all lounging in a turkey coma after an early rise to prepare the big bird and fixings, a hike in gorgeous Gatineau Park, and a massive mid-afternoon holiday meal.

Roddy and I have been touring Ontario, crossing hill and dale to feast with my folks in Barrie and then journeying on to Ottawa to eat some more with Andrew and Minnie.

I love Thanksgiving. What could be better than a holiday that’s all about celebrating the harvest with family, strolling in the crisp woods, sipping hot apple cider and lounging by warm fires? Throw in lots of games (ahem, Settlers of Catan), a good film (we’re watching Dean Spanley, again), and a mini disaster (for a good story to tell) and you have the ultimate holiday.

I also love returning to this season in Ontario, where the autumn leaves create a spectacular show of rich colours and textures. There’s something so invigorating about the dramatic skies and the earthy smell of the woods when the weather gets colder, and the feeling of icy cheeks and fingers thawing once a hot mug is in your hands.

It really is soothing to be back “home”, where I can peel veggies, rub a bird down with butter and screw up gravy with people I love. Have a fantastic Thanksgiving!

I needed a change of scene. Country life is invigorating - it grounds me and challenges me. But city life also draws me in. Especially the city of Toronto. If I’ve been away for too long it feels like something is missing. It’s a drug; if I don’t get a regular hit I start to get the shakes.

So last week I left our chaotic, unfinished work site and struck off for big city lights. With bandana tied around a stick carrying my provisions I made my way to the heart of the city, Kensington Market. Tori and Nancy have a new loft right in the market - one of my favourite urban places on earth - and from their nest I can get my TO fix.

Bright lights, tall trees, base-y music, dimly-lit restaurants with exposed brick walls. The “doon doon doon” chime of the subway, incredible graffiti, incessant laughter with friends who have known me since we were seven. Amazing art and architecture, characters in the street, delicious food.

The city and it’s people excites me, inspires me, and comforts me. Every time I visit I notice new, awe-inspiring scenes. 37% of Toronto’s population is made up of the creative class, which is no surprise to me. The energy is palpable and I’m so grateful to be a quick train ride away from the buzz.

This country mouse needs to kick the manure off her boots, run a comb through her long locks and escape to the city now and again. After a spell downtown, I returned to the country with fresh eyes. Our wee farm adorned with muted autumnal colours never looked so pretty and welcoming.

It was a weekend of wicked thunderstorms, bouncy music, wellies, and local fare. Hillside Festival on Guelph Lake Island couldn’t be a better introduction to our community. It takes place just 5 minutes from our farm, usually sells out soon after tickets go on sale, and draws revelers from all over Southern Ontario - many of whom camp out for the three days.

Roddy and I hadn’t treated ourselves to a festival since 2002(!) and it was fantastic to soak up the vibe, take in some excellent Canadian indie bands (Hey Rosetta and Grupo Fantasma stole the show), and be surrounded by smiley happy people lapping it all up.

There was something uniquely special about Hillside, and it’s tagline says it all: “celebrating music and community.”

More than music alone, the festival hosts workshops that cover everything under the sun: urban homesteading, the joy of poi, fermenting, faeries 101, perception through creativity, tatooing and piercing, solar hot water, getting the sex you want, and embodied dreaming, to name a few. Artizan tents dot the paths from one music tent to another, with the food bazaar anchoring the festival serving up tantalizing dishes from local vendors. A locavore’s dream, the festival also only sells local ice cream - Mapleton’s Organic - and local beer - Wellington, Stone Hammer and Mill St Organic.

An aprentice from Everdale Organic Farm & Learning Centre flanked one of the neighborhood tents. The centre is 15 minutes away from our farm and has an enticing repertoire of workshops, including straw bale building. Their snow peas are delicious, and I love their rustic farm stamp and slogan… similar to what I have in mind for our own produce when we get there.

Hillside is also a kid magnet, which sets it apart from the UK electronic music festivals I’ve been to. Happy-go-lucky kidlets seem to outnumber adults (their parents obviously attended ‘Getting the sex you want’ in past years). Youngins certainly add dimension to the woodland meets lake setting.

We bumped into a few friends who pounce on weekend-long tickets the day they go on sale every year. Now I understand what all the fuss is about. One day is not enough.

Here’s to the lovely bride and groom, Donald and Fran!

They treated us to a mighty party that lasted three days. And I felt like a princess being treated to many novel experiences. Donald and Fran exposed me to my first Medieval castle,

my first sleep in a four poster bed,

my first venison sausage, my first lounging afternoon and evening in a Scottish mansion, and my first “saddle” of rabbit (veeeery gamey, but delicious).

Donald and Fran: your wedding was a treat (and while men in kilts aren’t new to me, they were certainly a highlight)!

Meet Carlo Petrini - passionate founder of the Slow Food movement. Doesn’t he have great hands? I think they’re still field-dirty. And that relaxed pose! It looks like all that beautiful food came running to him, like little children following Jesus! I want to hang out with this chilled old guy. After reading this article in today’s Guardian, I’ve got yet another reason to dream of a pilgrimage to Italy.

I LOVE Italy. The food, the weathered architecture, the pace, the passione! I love films set in the country, and I’ve even endured the slightly annoying Jamie Oliver in his Italian escapades - just to see him loose a pasta making contest. I traveled back vicariously with Barbara Kingslover in her new book. There is so much more to this complex place than I could take in during one fleeting visit - like the tradition of city folk escaping to host farms to work the fields and experience the good earth. Hmm - B,B&F?

The biennial Slow Food Movement party, Salone del Gusto is on right now. That leaves me two years to stash funds in a Mason jar and brush up on my conversational Italian. There are big plans on the horizon that will likely divert those pennies, but a woman can dream!

Photo credit: Barry Lewis/© Barry Lewis/Corbis - The Guardian

Only a scant few hours remain of my holidays and I’m savouring a final evening of excess and indulgence by munching freshly baked tea biscuits and chocolate from my stocking.

Two and a half weeks ago I left one of the biggest snowfalls Victoria has ever seen and entered into blizzard conditions in Toronto. Just what I wanted: a crisp, blustery, WHITE Christmas. And now there is barely a sign of the white stuff back in Victoria – it’s rainy and mild here but the frosty, cozy hibernation mode has gripped me and I’m armed with resolutions to excite my winter months.

New years eve with Tori, Nancy, Ryan, Marc and Linette was one of the highlights of the break. It was an ideal mix:

an intensely competitive new board game (Ticket to Ride, Europe)

a delicious meal (which included local squash)

stimulating art, bizarre odds and sods, lots of laughs

and a wee boogie!

I hope you’ve all had a fantastic break as well. Here’s to an enlightening and inspiring 2009! (Photo credits: Tori)

We’ve been lucky this year with visits from Roddy’s parents, my sister Tori and her partner Nancy, and reunions of entire families on both sides in Ontario.

When we moved out west two summers ago, it was all in the name of adventure and opportunity. Now that we’re hammering out plans to start our own farm, however, location is suddenly an issue. We’ve met some fantastic folks out here, but to branch off from familial support in such a massive endeavor puts things in perspective. It’s brought Roddy and I to realize that family and connection to a particular landscape, geography, history and culture are intensely important. Important enough for us to reconsider where we want to settle and usher these factors into the equation.

It’s no wonder that the thought of spending Christmas here in Victoria without any family just depressed us. When the subject was raised a month ago, we had flights booked within an hour back to our respective “homes” in Ontario and Scotland.

My flight leaves in 10 hours, and I can’t wait to be “home”!

Proof that it’s never too late to carve your first pumpkin. As Roddy carved this bad boy with ease, I realized why I’m such a poor pumpkin visionary. WARNING: what you are about to read contains scenes of a shocking nature.

There was something about the way Roddy was slumped over our pumpkin. Maybe it was his smudged glasses or his mussed up hair. Perhaps it was his five o’clock shadow. Whatever it was, I was suddenly removed from this scene in my kitchen and back on the linoleum floor of 330 Codrington, watching my dad steady a pumpkin with his giant hands. My dad the artist. My dad the overachiever. My dad the only child.

My father dominated this holiday tradition. I remember getting up to my elbows in the vividly-coloured stringy innards, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t just step aside and pass up the honour of carving the beast to my dad. There would have been some whining at least (although I’ve conveniently omitted this unattractive detail from my memory). In the end, however, this was one fight my dad never lost. At six foot three with an arm-span that domineered the carving area, when he set his mind on a design there wasn’t room for a child to get a measly marker near the orange shell.

I don’t resent my dad’s competitiveness leeching it’s way into a fun childhood tradition. The poor guy worked hard enough to deserve a little fun once a year. Plus, when the lights were out and Roddy’s creation was aglow, it dawned on me that there are lots of pumpkins to go around. My future is full of endless creative possibilities. And if my end products wind up chopped and roasted for dinner, at least I’ll have Roddy’s to entertain me.

What’s Thanksgiving without a bit of tomfoolery? Perhaps it was the fact that no “grown-ups” were invited to our long weekend festivities, or maybe it was being reunited with friends who share our hedonistic Edinburgh past, but high jinx were in the air.

After a night of dancing to house DJs Lawnchair Generals and playing in the park ‘til 6:30am, Asha, Vic, Roddy and I eased into our kitchen marathon with a trip to the bountiful pumpkin patches in Saanich. Rows upon rows of brilliant orange pumpkins filled the patchwork country scenery… and when no cars were in sight…

With this act, the games had begun and Thanksgiving suddenly became about the hunt for local booty to grace our plates!

Asha is a woman with culinary prowess. Once we had the trunk full of our base ingredients, she went to work creating our menu. A few pumpkins, a squash, and half a dozen onions were transformed into a rich pumpkin, asiago and chanterelle risotto, with apples from a colleague’s backyard baked in a hearty crumble for dessert. A delicious meal with free-flowing friends, which had heightened flavours from the thrill of the chase!

How did you spend your Thanksgiving?