:: the view from my desk - newly sanded and finished red pine plank floors in two bedrooms

:: the intense perfume of lilacs filling every room of Gothic Cottage from one tree discovered on the edge of my farm and renegade flower collection under darkness

:: the fruit of Ashley’s and my labour. A freshly painted bedroom - ‘Quiet Splendor’

:: most romantic, delicate new peachy leaves - I could live in this scene

:: a clean and fresh ‘Crisp Linnen’ sun room painted by my dad and ready for his easel (I waver between getting swept up in the romance of some paint shade names and busting a gut with friends over how seriously cheesy they are. Someone’s having fun creating them…)

:: collecting pea sticks for a thriving row of shelling peas

:: a kick in the ass - I need to stick to my guns and steer clear of non-sustainable meat, and tonight’s Ideas program on CBC radio delivered. I sat in my car after returning from yoga and kept listening in the dark with the engine off. No more prosciutto unless I know the pig was happy.

:: the field and forest slowly filling out in electric lime and emerald green (can you see the white clover growing?)

:: brand new music from Caribou, Dr. Dog, The Morning Benders, and Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

:: little Mason jars waiting to be filled with tart rhubarb jam (does anyone have a delicious recipe?)

:: design ideas germinating from conversations and cool magazines that I would never find myself but discover in the homes of my style maven friends - leaves me buzzy!

It’s the last day of March. It’s too early for the snow to be gone, the ground to be thawed, frigid days to be a thing of the past and buds already revealing themselves! With the added encouragement of the sun and warm whisperings on the air, the urge to burst forth into new life is irresistible. The buds just can’t contain themselves. The draw is too strong this year.

Multiple simultaneous fireworks. Bright magenta and flame red. Such a beautiful process and so refreshing to witness the gradual, drawn out spring of Ontario for the first time in a few years. Spring doesn’t smack you in the face here. It takes its time. It’s alluring and enticing.

This is the first new life I’ve spotted at Gothic Gottage. These silver maple buds (above) look like jellyfish, don’t you think? Now that I’ve noticed the first signs of a big thaw, I’m going to keep a close eye on how new life progresses. I’m already amazed at how much more attention I pay to my surroundings just living alone in the country.

I’m also amazed at how much more attention I pay to my own rhythms. I’ve had some major personal breakthroughs in the past when I’ve struck out on my own. But I think this past month at Gothic Cottage tops them all. Being alone on the farm has given me the peace and tranquility to learn how to really be with myself, how to love myself, and how to open my heart completely to my home, my surroundings and the amazing people in my life. To be clear, I haven’t spent 29 days in complete solitude. I’ve had visitors, left to visit others, had many fantastic phone conversations, e-conversations and even exchanged old fashioned letters. My fabulous circle of friends and family have been an integral part of me bursting to new life.

But it’s also been a glorious feeling to crave returning to my space when I’ve been away for a wee while. To turn down an invitation, or to let the answering machine take a call so I can stay focused on what I’m doing in the moment. I’m very outgoing and quite social, so this is new to me.

I am new to me.

The first day of spring! Even though the temperature has dipped 10 degrees from our warm spell earlier this week life is slowly surfacing.

On a run this evening my neighbor’s horses were taking in the sunset together - spring love. They looked so beautiful in the pink glow and ambled toward me together. (Apologies for the poor photo quality - iPhone had to sub-in as camera) Winter’s cold is thawing and I can feel the love and anticipation in the air with the changing season.

When I was out strolling a few days ago I stopped and stood still. I shut my eyes and let my ears take over. The robins’ songs and a honking Canada geese were prominent at first but then my ears picked up on the life at my feet. All around me the dead grasses were crackling, abuzz with awakening activity. A chorus of bugs and grubs and mice were surfacing to greet spring with aplomb. It was an incredible sensation. One I can relate to.

The Guelph Farmers Market was also heaving with cheerful, energetic people yesterday. My friend Elise and I could barely find a seat to share our breakfast and when we did we were packed onto a picnic bench like sardines. I like the sensation of warm bodies sandwiching me though. And the community feels more close knit when a myriad of conversations are within ear shot and you’re greeted by familiar faces. I left with arms full of local apples, European rye, and flowers to revive Gothic Cottage, which seems to be smiling with the homey touches that are gradually making this space an embracing home. If feels different - cozy. I feel different - more spacious.

The unfurling.

:: nesting

:: finding a hidden stream on a run, splashing my hot face with the icey water, and running back in the 20 degree sunshine with beads of water bouncing on my lashes like little crystal balls

:: long talks and laughs with great friends

:: robin sightings and sweet bird songs

:: exciting projects in the pipeline after productive meetings in Montreal

:: a clothesline chorus line - first of the season

:: the return of hunger and organic meatballs in spicy homemade tomato sauce

:: bright emerald green - I can’t get enough of this colour right now

:: music - so much music but right now it’s Edith Piaf’s beautiful old French tunes warbling through these walls

:: my clawfoot tub brought to life with a coat of lavender AND now complete with shower. A bit girlie, yes, but entirely appropriate don’t you think?

:: a big flower seed order. Poppies and cosmos and morning glory, oh my!

:: the hot sun casting shadows on hardwood

:: a successful skunk eviction with a five-year warranty - good riddance despicable stinkers! - and a spring airing of Gothic Cottage

:: curling into bed at night with David Sedaris’ hilarious tales, chamomile tea, and my Great Grandmother’s quilt (I had no idea they had such funky fabric in the late 30s?!)

As I took a break from this space my journal got heavy play over the past month. I poured my heart out to lined pages and relished the smell of black ink on fresh paper once again. Tears fell and heart ached. But I also blossomed in the ripe atmosphere of the Olympics. The month was raw and rocky at times but also enlightening and rejuvenating. Friendships strengthened and I relaxed into myself and the abundance around me.

Last week I flew back home and it’s just me filling these walls. The farm is a solo dream now. It’s very sad. It’s also revitalizing. But locavore is too public a space for emotional poetry and uncensored words.

Ideas are still unfolding and I’m not entirely sure what will take shape here at Gothic Cottage this season. I do know that it will be colourful, creative and full of love. And I’ll continue to fill the pages of my journal but I’ll also keep this space alive.

:: winter sunsets

:: windows of down time to recoup from a frantic work schedule

:: stimulating Kensington Loft conversations with Tori, Nancy and Roddy of art, architecture and culture spiced up with pop-culture-and-in-stitches YouTube entertainment topped off with homemade French onion soup and wine. The perfect evening really.

:: farm tetris - stacking wood by the fire. The only predicament being that some pieces are just too beautiful to burn

:: Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (I thought it would be flaky and now I wonder why I waited so long)

:: Nag Champa, bees wax candles and a great reduction in skunk sprayings of late

:: Joseph Campbell and the power of myth - wow, what a brilliant grasp of cultures and the myths that guide them!

:: snow falling in the sunshine

:: a widening circle - a warming Monday night meal with new farmer friends just down the road and Everdale’s new farm manager

:: fireside crop planning and seed shopping

:: the new and the old - the new K-OS album and learning more about Louis Armstrong’s genius

:: hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick

:: my new doctor’s name: Stella Pasion

:: preparations for a warm welcome of farmer friends from Peterborough way for the weekend

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that we have a skunk problem. Why? Because our house stinks!

Not all the time, but the frequency and intensity has escalated since the mercury dropped. These little buggers (well, not the ones pictured above - I can’t take credit for this lovely shot of seemingly innocent creatures) live underneath the front addition to our house. The add-on doesn’t have a proper foundation, so the burying devils have found an ideal nesting spot. The space is also uninsulated, and even though it’s closed off for the winter, the smell still leaches into our main living space and stinks us out. It was so nauseating yesterday that both the cats yacked.

So I had a fine day of gasping for fresh air and cleaning cat vomit three times. I tried to avert one accident on our Persian carpet but I was too late, and no sooner had I scooped the cat up than she projectile spewed all over the carpet and untreated floorboards. Lovely.

Help us! Our neighbour loaned us one small and one large live trap, which we’ve rigged with wet cat food and set outside the skunk farmily’s point of entry. If that fails we’ll purchase pricey dehydrated fox urine my mom recommended from an internet dealer. Apparently the scent of their predator leaves them house hunting. Our neighbours have guns, but we never see the beasties - we just smell them. And I’m telling you, they must have a hell of a party down there spraying just for kicks.

This is war! I will not stand idle as we get blasted out of our cozy home. Pass on your skunk arsenal, comrades! We need it.

This is a real bedroom! And boy do I need this right now.

I can’t tell you how happy I am to be able to bed down in an honest to goodness, no faking it, real bedroom. No more sleeping in the living room, this is the real deal. We still need to take an edge sander around the floors before we treat them, but at least I tried. Have you ever used one? They’re powerful little beasts! It dragged me across the floor with such force it left Roddy and I in stitches (Roddy is trying to go easy on an injured hand you see, and I thought I could come to the rescue. Apparently not).

Failed attempts aside, THIS feels so fabulous. To look down upon Persian carpet and Grandparents’ blanket box on original pine floors. To see the quilt Roddy’s aunt started for him when he was six, the lantern we bought in Morocco, and our antique dresser - the first piece of furniture we purchased together - right where they belong, here in our bedroom. No more waiting, no more peering into “the cold room” to plot my clothing plan of attack, no more fear of what lies beneath bare feet. Makes me wonder why it took us so long to move in, but then I remember the fleeting and slightly irrational plans of first-time home renovators. We wanted things “finished” before we moved in. Ha!

Remarkably, it wasn’t easy to uproot ourselves from the living room. Nothing beats gazing at the roaring fire while snuggled up under the covers. I found a happy compromise though. I positioned the bed in our room to leave the wood stove in full view through the open door… for one of us, two cozily. We still have to paint too, but I’m in no rush. I’m actually in love with the cracked plaster and stained walls. It feels like my antiquated Italian oasis; irresistibly old and warm.

And Italy is my mental holiday too these days (and tonight, to be sure! Along with the BBC’s ‘Michael Palin: New Europe’, oh, and I’ll be in Greece too with ‘Shirley Valentine’. Can anyone recommend some favourite film escapes? My infected body thanks you!)

Monty Don is also inspiring grand garden plans (and pissing Roddy off because “he’s so bloody perfect“). Predominant right now though, are thoughts, dreams and conversations of homey touches and pixie dust scattered throughout Gothic Cottage. I’ve rediscovered the public library, and my most recent haul includes a myriad of rooting magazines: House Beautiful, Canadian House & Home, Harrowsmith Country Life, and Country Living. Please recommend favourites! I’m soaking this stuff up like a sponge.

As far as I’m concerned, cozying up for winter starts now. We have a bedroom and all is good (she smiles).

I can’t sleep.

My mom and Liz came round for dinner, and because this was Liz’s first visit over from London since we bought the farm there were tours and tales. Later in the evening Roddy flipped through dated photos on his laptop of what the house looked like when we moved in last June. I haven’t seen some of the shots in a few months and it really struck me tonight just how much we’ve transformed this place.

Since we moved in Roddy’s gone great guns to whip our Gothic Cottage into shape. On June 10th we had an overflowing toilet and a hideous bathroom. A couple of weeks later we’d ripped it all out and installed a new sink, toilet and an old clawfoot tub. Within a few days all carpet, linoleum and plyboard were on our front lawn (nice!). Six days in, a closet was ripped out. Three weeks in, the original floor boards in the bedrooms were sanded, and so on until the climax a couple of months after move-in: knocking down the wall between our future kitchen and the living room (it’s not a supporting wall, don’t worry Don). This photo was taken August 11th, and since then the wood paneling has been ripped down, the thick boards have been removed, and the walls are covered in drywall. The wood stove anchors this space now.

Our modest farmhouse is a shadow of it’s former self - the interior anyway, the exterior will come later. So here I sit propped up in bed with a full body buzz from the self-satisfied feeling of seeing real progress… or maybe it’s just the first dose of Penicillin I downed a few hours ago? Or drops of Echinacea?

Whatever it is that’s keeping me up, it’s a fantastic to see light at the end of the tunnel and get on with the more exciting work of planning our outdoor pursuits!

We received a delivery at the end of September: two cords of wood which was harvested around the corner. It’s a mixture of Ash and Maple, with a little Cherry and Eastern White Cedar.

Mmmm - warm and cozy for the winter! Or will we be?

We were told by the bushy man who installed our new wood stove to bank on three cords to see us through the colder months. I didn’t question him; he’s installed over a thousand stoves in his career. We’ve got a buffer though. We acquired a tank full of oil with our house, which we plan to use as a top up for heat this winter. Our goal is to phase out oil completely next year and harvest wood from our acre of forest. Roddy wants to sustainably manage our little woodlot, which will benefit from some care and attention.

But it’s November 12th and we seem to be going through wood like the clappers already. We’ve had a couple of sub-zero nights, and I work from home so I need warm fingers to dance across the keyboard. I have no idea what “normal” wood use looks like?! Five logs per day? Eight? Twelve? Every time I take a log off the pile (most of it is stacked in our barn now) I wonder how far our two cords will take us.

Any bets? Advice?