last night dreamed i was knocked up and left for dead or at least it felt that way. got some beautiful fireball flowers when i was in the country this past weekend. work and bonfires lately. life moves on and i struggle to keep pace.

took pictures on mother's day to send to tracy who is alone in afghanistan. pale ghosts.
but as per usual, i didn't get around till doing this until now, and now tracy is in a hospital in scotland. life is so precious. i am trying to get better.

birthday letters. to darcy lynn on her twenty fifth birthday.

cupcake tier concept compliments of martha stewart living.
cupcakes by evan. flowers by myself.
lanterns compliments of k sinclair sowerby
and the dollar store, dartmouth.


birthday girl and erin.
happy new year!

krista smoking a big birthday horn-j?
bonfire, compliments of grant and the elliot-doucete's.
entertainment by nicole.

photographs comliments of tiffany atwell.

Our Wave Washed Empire. The Family Business.

We caught glimpses of the wild ponies…brown, black, bay, and piebald, trotting barefoot over the sandy dunes, sometimes singly, more often in little herds marshaled and guarded by small shaggy stallions. Rabbits, too, swarmed across our track. And there were birds without number, seabirds and land birds, as though the island were a convention-center for the feathered tribes. As we drove along gaunt bleaching ribs protruded from the sand, like tombstones in a cemetery. Some, the driver told us, were the bones of stranded whales. Others were the timbers of dead ships. Some were weedy with submersion by every tide, others were white with sand and salt and took on rose tints in the rays of the setting sun. Wrecks, wrecks, wrecks; here a solitary spar, there a while ship. It truly seemed an ocean graveyard – a place where ships came to die and be buried; yet not a mournful place. We children were too young to feel that way about it, when there was so much life among the ponies and the bunnies and the birds.

James Farquhar, Farquhar's Luck

Recent exhibit on the ponies of Sable Island.

If I don’t think forward or back my days are perfect. If I do not have expectations I cannot be disappointed. Monday I fell off the work wagon and rode my bike to nowhere. Returned home in a sweat with a package of rice paper wraps and a couple sweet potatoes: a happy woman. Today, I don’t know exactly. It involved reading family history, a song that reminds me it’s alright to not be alright, a fumbling awkwardness, and coffee with fresh maple syrup. I’m further convinced that happiness and sadness are versions of the same.