Canadian wildlife

Just back from a brief jogette to the Farm and back. While there, I stood by the big pond at the bottom, watching the mallard couple swimming through the chilly green scum. A woman and a young girl stood nearby, speaking Spanish, the girl saying something about "crocodillos." The woman turned to me and, in heavily accented English, asked if there were any crocodiles in the water. I replied that I was sorry, but there were no wild crocodillos anywhere in cold Canada.

They were from St. Miguel, here for her brother's art opening on Cumberland Avenue. We may not have crocodillos, but how glad I was to watch a tiny Mexican girl skipping along the paths, looking at sheep, pigs and cows under a shower of red maple leaves.

Maybe the idiots at City Hall will spare our Farm.

Maybe not.

Raucous bluejays at the feeder, the garden still green but turning inward, to brown. One of my oldest friends, Patsy (we met in 1970), is flying in from Gabriola Island tonight; one of her oldest friends is dealing with a very sick husband, so Patsy will stay here while helping out. And tonight I am going across town to another old friend, Nancy White (we met in 1972), for a Crone Power gathering. We were all working together at the Canadian Conference of the Arts in the early 70's, when Nancy quoted Neitzsche as saying that women were either virgins, mothers or crones. Since at that time none of us was either a virgin or a mother, we decided that we must all be crones. So the Crone Power movement was born - and will continue with a potluck and much wine tonight - five women with interesting careers and nine children between us. I'm starting the cooking soon.

In the meantime, keeping warm, the crabby cat and I, at work. I read a portion of the memoir to my home class last night. They, too, liked it, they really liked it. If only I didn't suspect that it's only those few pages that work.