Sugarbush

Acting on a tip from Angela, who shall henceforth be known as "Queen of Random Festivals," we piled into my grandmother's car and went up to Kortright  Conservation Centre this morning. It was a perfect day for a short drive. There was very little traffic on the road, the sky was clear, and the soothing hum of the car was just what Morgen needed to help her keep her happy face after a difficult night of teething. The signage was educational, the air was fresh, and the free cups of sap and syrup were sweet. Morgen sank blissfully into sleep in her stroller. And then, just after a lunch of pancakes and sausages, a local fiddler played "The Irish Washerwoman." When I was a little girl, my grandmother would play the same song on the piano while my brother and I danced around. Now, I hum it for Morgen when she needs cheering up or when I've run out of fun things to do in our living room. Perhaps Morgen didn't notice, but I like to think she gave the fiddler extra smiles because he was playing her song. And just when I thought a good day couldn't get any better, Morgen fell asleep in her crib with absolutely no crying. Ahhhh. 

Missed it by a day

This is what happens when you think you've read the flyer that was dropped into your mailbox when in fact you've only skimmed it: you miss the local winter carnival by one day. After stuffing Morgen into her pink snowsuit and jaja hat, trudging up the street and braving the rivers of water that were streaming into the intersections, we arrived at the junction square on Sunday only to find this ice sculpture, and a very small slushy ice rink. Still we enjoyed it. The sun was out, we were out, all in all it was a nice afternoon walk. 

We finished our little outing with a trip to the local video store, where I used some Christmas coupons to buy a stack of girly movies. Despite Gavin's complaints and ignoring his suggestions, I selected six films. As something of a crappy movie connoisseur, I have to tell you that I nevertheless passed on the opportunity to buy "Kate & Leopold" for less than seven dollars. My taste must be evolving. Someone out there must be proud of me for that. Anyone? Well, I'm proud of me, any way.

Far Out, Grandpa!

 

Another weekend trip to Wellesley produced a long-awaited photo opportunity (below). This is also proof that, yes, we really do warp little Lovetts from an early age. Your parents can be blamed for all things, Grasshopper, and your mother's father can be blamed especially for her love of bright fabrics and that hard to pin down, vaguely hippy where's-the-party vibe that surfaces and clings to her at holiday time. All you need is love, baby girl. Do dat doo do doo.

 

Uncle Matt!

Florida had one less resident this weekend, as Uncle Matt forsook his sun-drenched new home in Juno Beach, FL for the chance to meet his niece for the first time - and, as what must have been something of an afterthought, to see his brother and sister-in-law. Matt and Morgen had an instant rapport and bonded over their mutual fascination with fuzzy red blocks. 

Then we took Matt and Morgen on a little tour of our local park - I'm not sure if either one was particularly impressed by this. We also ventured down to Little Italy and Kensington Market for some authentic Mexican food. All in all, I think Matt discovered just how domestic our life has become, considering that we thought the Little Italy trip was pretty daring.

 

ABC Festival...giggles galore.

Once a year, on the last Saturday in September, the population of the town my parents live in swells by ten times, reaching nearly fifteen thousand. Most of this number congregate on Queens Bush Rd, where long picnic tables and a large stage become the focal point for all kinds of yummy goodness (apple fritters, pancakes and sausages) and entertaining displays of the local residents' talent, be it musical, line dancing ability, culinary, or crafty. It's the Apple Butter and Cheese Festival, or the ABC Festival for short, but it encompasses so much more than just apple butter and cheese.

We're talking pony rides, oldey timey bands that set up on front porches, a craft show that has lots of things like handmade sweaters, hobby horses and rag dolls, and more. I like this festival so much that I make a point to visit it whenever my schedule makes it possible for me to do so, and needless to say, there was no way Morgen was going to spend her four-month birthday anywhere but in the midst of it all. Even if she was going to be cranky about it. Which she was, unfortunately. I think it was asking too much of her to set her so near the sausage without allowing her to eat any of it.

The Wellesley community peacefully throws together old order mennonites with people living what we non-old-order mennonites consider a "normal" life. In previous years, I was always convinced of the innocence of Wellesley in general and of the ABC festival in particular. But this year, I noted the presence of worldly intolerance in the form of a racist musical marionette being played by an elderly white man (think: antique percussion instrument that looks like a tap-dancing black man). I suppose the uncomplicated way in which the marionette was presented on the front porch in the middle of a down-home country band is an argument in favour of small town Ontario - at least it doesn't hide its prejudices behind nods to political correctness. Or perhaps I missed the point of the whole display, and it really was a self-aware reference to the undercurrent of regionalism and insular life embedded in the lyrics of the music the band was playing? Those lyrics that encourage you to marry your neighbour, stick to your own kind, that sort of thing. Either way, the doll was disturbing. It is so rare to see an artifact from the era of open racism outside of a museum that I have to confess that I was shocked. And I'm not certain if my naive notion of the ABC Festival will ever recover.

Long story short: although I'm still processing how I feel about the marionette (Did the performer know it was racist? Did the performer care? Was its inclusion actually paying homage to and or raising awareness of this element in his music? Did it matter that there weren't any people of colour in the audience? Down, musicologist, down. If you really needed to know, you would have asked the musician. Why didn't you ask? Etc. ad nauseam) I will say that the rest of the festival is fun for the whole family, even if one third of your family is a cranky baby who looks like a pumpkin.


By the time we got Morgen home and settled with her Daddy and Grandpa, she was back to her usual smiley self. And, as we say in the Manning family: "Lookit!" We finally snapped a picture of her "'I think you're goofy!' grin" that nearly does it justice. This picture is nothing to the ones Angela took on her spiffy camera. But in my defence, my camera only takes one shot at a time.

Slings, Streudel and Sausages

The St. Lawrence Market takes up a city block downtown, and is maintained by the city as a historic site, although the complex has undergone many changes since it came into being. Currently it has two buildings, and although many of the South building vendors offer run-of-the-mill imported goods, on Saturdays a bit of the old farmer's market resurrects itself in the North building. Friendly and close, the aisles are packed with families, and the stalls are simple tables loaded down with yummy stuffs of all kinds. Today we saw one stall almost topple when a customer mistakenly pulled on a big box that he thought held lots of produce but in fact was holding up the side of the vendor's improvised counter. The vendor got there in time and eased his support box back into place...his assistant nervously giggled as she dumped our box of apples into a bag for us. Gavin found the weisswurst, which is not my favourite, but it made him happy. I found the cherry streudel, which is not his favourite, but it made me happy.

Morgen slept in her sling as we toured the market, and once again proved how patient she is - when she woke up hungry she chewed on the upper rail of the sling for a good ten minutes before squealing to let us know she was ready to eat. She had her lunch on a nearby bench, staying streetsmart the whole time, suspiciously watching everyone who walked by us, even after we covered her up with the sling to help her concentrate.

We wanted to get shots of Morgen in front of all the produce, but lunch distracted us, so here's a picture of Morgen with our lunch. Peameal bacon [Americans: read "Canadian" bacon] on buns. I suppose the gargoyle in the background is jealous of us.

Animal babies

Our daily walk took us to the High Park zoo yesterday. The second pen had two baby goats in it (Gavin said "aww"). The third pen had a baby wallaby in it. The little wallaby is getting too big to stay in its mother's pouch, but it kept hopping in and out, mostly for entertainment, I think. Another pen had a very small baby bison still shakey on its knobby legs, and we also saw a baby llama (I'm omitting the technical terms for all of these infant animals, but when you visit the zoo with us next time you are in the neighbourhood I'll point out the newly revised, kid-friendly signage that contains all the info). Thinking we'd seen it all, we turned around and headed back out of the zoo, up the long steep incline to the main road - but then we spotted a family of red foxes playing in a half-hidden pen towards the back of the enclosure. 
Although I only saw four, a watching local informed us that there were six baby foxes and two adults - all somehow living the free life in the city-bound park. Two of the babies were tossing the body of an unfortunate squirrel back and forth between them while their proud parents looked on. I don't know why, but this reminded me of Caroline's practical approach to farm 'pets'. Hopefully our own baby will take the hint and come out to play sometime soon...I also hope that, next time we trek into the High Park zoo, we remember to bring our camera. Despite feeling sorry for the larger animals, I find the zoo a cute place to visit at this time of year.