They both wanted different things.

:: a rotund orange pumpkin waiting to be carved

:: hearing re-enactments of me laughing in my sleep

:: an aged cheddar, apple and homemade onion chutney grilled cheese sandwich on Roddy’s pumpkin seed bread

:: autumn smells drifting in through the open door on a mild day

:: going on curiosity benders with Radiolab podcasts from WNYC - New York Public Radio

:: wearing Blundstones and wool sweaters instead of flip flops and wafer thin tops

:: picking cobwebs from Roddy’s hair

:: anticipating Halloween (what should I BE?!)

:: long walks in the woods with our dog boarder

:: hot homemade butternut squash soup with toasted pumpkin seeds

:: the lingering autumnal palette

:: empty mouse traps in the cupboard and half-eaten mice on our deck every day (does anyone else have cats that don’t have a taste for mice from the waist down?)

:: International Day of Climate Action on front page of Saturday’s New York Times (the most widespread day of political action in the planet’s history)

:: finding faces in knots of wood

:: the sound and sensation of leaves crunching under my feet

:: developing the farm vision with new resources from our Farmers Growing Farmers course

:: remembering lots of my dreams when I wake every morning (they’ve been vivid and adventurous lately - always a bonus!)

I missed a whopper last week. Our hard-working neighbor Michael came round on one of his tractors, and this time he took our field to the next level. He rolled in with his sod plough and overturned six inches of topsoil. When I left the farm last Monday afternoon the field looked just like it does in the photo above.

Now it looks like this:

This transformation makes the farm vision even more real, in a sort of no-turning-back-now way. Revealed soil = row upon row of veggies! But before I get ahead of myself, back to the process.

Here’s a closer look at the plough in action:

Pretty wild, eh?! Thanks to Roddy’s shots I have a better idea of what this event must have been like. Looks to me like a giant mixer churning hash brownie batter. Or shark fins chopping through a sea of cocoa and wheatgrass.

Roddy followed Michael’s tractor around our field snapping away and checking out the scurrying grubs and worms. I got to hear a detailed retelling over the phone, and had a good walk through our cake-like soil with Roddy and the wild things when I returned home for the weekend. It looks quite rich I think, but I eat chocolate more than I inspect soils.

We have a few days to decide on a winter cover crop. Any suggestions?

Things are heating up in my day job as the UN Climate Change Summit in Copenhagen draws closer.

On a daily basis my inbox is inundated with emails related to this, the most important event in history: the summit where world leaders will decide on new regulations to reduce greenhouse gas emissions which are contributing to dangerous climate change. On a daily basis, I also become more and more embarrassed and appalled at our Prime Minister’s position of inaction, which threatens Canada’s and the world’s prosperity and future. To make matters worse, Harper is the only leader of the developed world who is now stalling progress in international negotiations to create a strong new plan to safeguard our future.

So I did something about it. I wrote Stephen a letter and told him how important it is that he act on behalf of Canadians at the UN Summit this December. You can send him a letter too. It’s easy peasy and automatic via the David Suzuki Foundation’s website, just click here.

Want to send another strong message to our leaders? Thousands of events are going on around the world this Saturday, October 24th - click here to find one near you!

Last month when I was working from Toronto, my sister and I took an evening walk through The Annex and the sprawling downtown campus of UofT. It was a mild autumn night and we had no particular destination. Perfect.

We strolled like flaneurs through the striking streets and everywhere I looked I was captivated by some scene. Pumpkins growing in crowded front lawns, expressive gargoyles making faces from century buildings, intoxicating roses, haunting shadows, secret courtyards. At one point in our meanderings I glanced up to get a better look at a particular tree. I recognized the leaves from Roddy’s astute tree ID skills, which leave him noodle-necking in the presence of trees all the time, and have apparently rubbed off on me.

Tori and I were in the company of a great walnut tree. I scanned it’s branches for the telltale “balls”. I squinted against the lamp post’s white beam of light, spotted a cluster of balls and climbed a fence to reach one. Have you ever held a black walnut ball in your hands? They have a beveled surface and a strong odour - the kind that makes you cringe but keeps your nose stuck up against it inhaling at the same time.

I carried my prize back to my sister’s so I could confirm it’s identity, and to experiment. Out came the cutting board. Out came the kitchen knife. I hacked and pried and was only able to remove half of the thick outer coating - just enough to reveal a walnut-looking shell. Aha! Success! But wait… my fingers and fingernails were stained a sallow yellow, which remained for weeks and made me look like an ex chain smoker whose nicotine fingernails were slowly growing out.

Roddy had more success extracting the nuts. And guess where this load came came from? Our front lawn!

Yes, we are the proud owners of a tall black walnut tree which is providing us with copious amounts of fruit. While I snapped this photo of our tree yesterday, walnuts were dropping to the ground at such a rate I had to keep my distance to protect Roddy’s camera and my noggin.

The nuts, which are smaller than the California walnuts you’ll find at the grocery store, are not only edible, apparently they’re a bit of rare gourmet find! To sift the good from the bad, just soak them in a bucket of water and keep the ones that sink (the floaters are bad eggs). Now we wait for the nuts to cure and the flavour to develop (read more here on how to harvest black walnuts).

The indelible marks from my initial experiment are gone and I look like a non-smoker again. I’m still chuffed, however, that I discovered a rare tree in my receptive-to-all-the-wonder-around-me state. And I now have a daily reminder of the importance of tapping into my inner flaneur - a towering black walnut on the edge of our little farm.

Until we moved to our farm, I never thought much about the way a house works. If I was cold, I would crank up the thermostat. If I was thirsty, I would run water from the tap and fill up a glass. I didn’t stop to ponder the source of my needs, I just flipped switches, turned knobs, and lifted levers.

In the country, however, I find myself closer to the source of my survival needs. A tank full of oil sits next to our house to keep us warm in cold weather. When it’s empty, an Arthur’s Fuel truck will come to fill it. Our well is also just outside our house. When I’ve been running water for a few minutes I can hear the pump kick in down in the basement. It’s an instant reminder to conserve. After our initial toilet nightmare, I have a new appreciation for fully functioning septic systems. I have learned an incredible amount about how a house lives and breathes like a human system.

Even more striking, has been the spike in my understanding of how a house is pieced together. Tearing down walls and ripping up flooring is like dissecting a cadaver, only better: we don’t have professors, experts or parent’s hovering over us to tell us what to do! With a little self-guided research, we can let the scalpel run wild and settle in the knowledge that anything we do to this house is an improvement (it was in need of TLC when we bought it).

We peeled away at the skin and fascia (wood paneling, lath and plaster), only to discover that our house was incomplete - it didn’t have any fat (insulation), oh my! We had to remedy the situation before winter, but we didn’t want to work with fiberglass. Roddy’s mom tipped us off to a safe alternative made from sheep’s wool which has been treated with borax (a natural cleaning agent). A little research online turned up a company in Alberta, Good Shepard Wool Insulation, and a week later our big bags arrived at the bus station in Guelph.

The long bats of wool are soft and easy to work with, making installation a joy. Ewan and Roddy worked quickly in September to pad our living room and future kitchen walls with a warm, fleece-y layer. The woolly walls have since been covered in a protective breathable vapor barrier (like a Gore Tex jacket), and finally clad with drywall which is now half complete.

Two days ago we moved our “bedroom” once again into the living room, where we began sleeping in this house. But what a change in 4 months! Last night as we were curled up watching a film my eyes scanned the room and picked up on the elements that were making me feel so good. We were surrounded by candles in coloured glass holders. Beautiful bare tree silhouettes were framed by our old sash window. We were cozy under Roddy’s aunt’s quilt, and best of all, I could see the flames from our new woodstove licking the edges of the glass and glowing bright orange and red. And anchoring this picture were our clean, new white walls.

The scene was so engrossing it made me want to keep our bed in the living room throughout the colder months. It feels like a sleepover this way; like we’ve escaped to a cabin in the woods for a romantic holiday. Our house doesn’t feel unfinished in moments like this. It feels like a promise of whats around the corner. Maybe because I understand it better now, because I know what’s inside the walls, and I know why I feel cozy and secure? Whatever the reason, it’s so wonderful to feel at home here.

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.

The Elora Farmers Market takes my breath away. From the century stone homes and quirky little shops and cafes on the main street, Saturday strollers are drawn down the stone steps and into the farmers market by a magnetic force. I have never experienced such a picturesque market - not even in Europe.

When I enter this space I feel as if I’ve been lured down a rabbit hole and that the white rabbit will make a fleeting appearance. The outdoor market under a canopy of old trees by the riverside is so idyllic it fills me with hope for what can achieved on our farm.

Sometimes all that is needed to spark a dream into action is to see an alternative; to experience a setting that previously only fit the frames of imagination. I’ve already set the gears in motion to transform my reality, but a magical place like the Elora Farmers Market frames the external elements - it frames my new community in a storybook land.

I realize that back-breaking hard work is around the corner but for now I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and I’m living a waking dream. How are you living out your dreams?