Autumn, cars and graveyards


I feel like all I’m doing is driving these days and whenever I start to moan about it, fancy friends living in the city point out I’m driving on country roads — no traffic, the beauty of the Annapolis Vally in full autumn colour before me. I’ve always loved driving, driving and running, speed in body, and then my mind slows down. I’m not talking about driving like a maniac but that sense of motion you get when in a car or on a plane or train or even a bike. (I can’t imagine about being on a horse. I’ve been on horses but not for some time. I digress.) When I wrote Heave I would go for 15-20 k runs after writing and the story would go through my mind, as in preparation for the next writing session.

But it’s this good country living that involves all this driving. country roads…jeebus, country roads don’t have many walkers and the walkers are usually dog walkers, not people walking say, to work, or a friend’s house. Were there ever those days? I think there were, before my time. That’s what these teensy rural communities were about.

Speaking of rural communities, Burlington, a community near where I now live, and where I grew up, is a place I adore. I love the community centre. They have the most amazing Canada Day celebration and parade. Of course Canada Day here is more like a celebration of community than patriotism. Maybe that’s a new definition of nationalism.

This link, ha ha, is not to the community centre, because I can’t find one. But it’s a link to the place where I found the name Seraphina, the main character in Heave. When I was small, my mother used to take me and my brothers to this graveyard for picnics and tombstone rubbings. My mother was, and is, always out of the ordinary, kind, a tender spirit.

I really admire these people who have taken the time to restore this gentle place where so many came to bury their dead, back in the day when people did walk and did come by horse. And now come by car but some still by horse because this is draught horse country up here on the Mountain. When we were little there was a guest book, and this white outdoor cabinet where it waited for visitors. And it gradually fell into decline, until the community restored it.

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