Fireweed

We visit the Fireweed Retreat every year to help our friends -- the owners -- with their spring cleanup.  We anticipate the day because we know that we'll be clearing brush or building a rock wall along side someone we haven't seen in a while, and that whatever B barbecues for lunch will be delicious.  The place is intended to give rest to weary pastors and missionaries, but somehow we always leave the Fireweed covered in mud with soar muscles.   But we're refreshed too -- deeply content and quiet after a day outdoors.

Last weekend our friends treated us to a stay at their beautiful property, no labour required.  Friday evening slipped away silently as we sprawled on the floor before the fire, reading.  So when Saturday morning dawned, grey and misty but without rain, it was time to explore anew the fields and forests of Fireweed.

Our friends are fond of the many benches tucked here and there throughout the property, so we set out to find, and photograph, them all.  Here G tests the comfort of an old church pew behind the work shed.  I imagine that one day it will be placed before a vista or in a shady corner like the other benches.

I question the integrity of this swing every year.  To date no necks have been broken and my scruples are never enough to keep me from launching myself into the air.  I love the friendly creaking of branches overhead and the swoosh of dry grass at the bottom of each pass.

Hornets have taken up residence in the radiator of this old farm tractor.  We linger long enough for a photo, then move on.

At the end of summer grass is dry and noisy.  This is the view from a bench where we stopped to listen to it converse with the wind . . .

. . .  and noticed a white spider's web inside a curled head of grass.  As always, we left the Fireweed refreshed, content, and quiet, but this time without soar muscles.