New Beginnings - Barbara Baker

 

 

I tied my manuscript up in an electronic bow and sent the final version off to BWL Publishing. Let me tell you, there were days during the last edit when I had panic attacks about practise and practice, passed and past—had I used the correct one? Two periods should have been question marks and three commas should have been periods but finally, Jillian of Banff XO was done and will be released on July 1^st, 2024.

I thought writing The End was my goodbye to Jillian and I was excited to see what story would be next. But damn her. While I was enjoying a perfect spring ski day with gorgeous blue skies and slushy snow, Jillian popped into my head and would not leave. 

 

She’s a few years older now, a bit more worldly and … very persistent. So, I skied faster. But Jillian was relentless. And when I finally couldn’t take her badgering any longer, we agreed to try another book. I already love the opening scene. 

My fictional character, Jillian, is like a favourite child who wants to spend more time with me so I will see where her story takes me this time. I’m sure she’ll be tapping me on the shoulder with more suggestions while I’m out and about but that’s enough about Jillian for now.

After a great ski day, there’s still lots of daylight hours to see what spring is up to—who’s blooming, who’s sunning themselves and who’s busy mating.

Of course, the crocus leads the bloomfest and no one ever said, “You have too many crocus pictures.”

 

Painted turtles are my next big find. They stretch out on logs to dry the itchy shit off their shells which accumulated after spending months under water. Turtles go into a state called brumation in the winter—their metabolism slows down; they go without food for months and absorb oxygen from water through their skin ... their version of hibernation. 

  

After cleaning the winter debris from my flowerbeds, I turned the garden hose on and the tiniest ball of fluff hopped out from a patch of tall ornamental grass. It was a very wet baby hare. I knew not to touch it, so I stood back and guarded it in case a raven or hawk flew by. After the youngster dried off in the sun, it hopped back into its nest. 

 

I Googled hares and learned the babies are called leverets. What? Chicks, fawns, cubs … how come they get cute names, and a hare gets stuck with leveret? Apparently, it means ‘a young hare’ in French but it still doesn’t seem fair. 

Unlike rabbits, hares are born with a full body of fur, their eyes are open, and they can survive on their own a few hours after birth. The young have no scent and Mom only comes back once every 24 hours to feed them for a few minutes, so she doesn’t leave her scent in the nest. No wonder she's okay with mating again while she’s nursing. Parenting seems to be pretty easy for hares. 

 

Next fun find in the spring is garter snake balls. The snakes slither out of their dens when the ground warms up and congregate in balls for warmth and sex … a lot of sex. The female lets off a sex pheromone and males rush to please her.

As many as a hundred males will attempt to mate with a single female. It’s an athletic endeavour and they get all crazy and hence, the mating ball is formed. During this orgy, male snakes go without food and show no signs of aggression until after they’ve mated. How gentlemanly of them.

I’ll leave you with these visuals because there is such a thing as too many snake pictures.   

  

There's almost two months before Jillian of Banff XO is available. What fun activities do you plan for your book release days?

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

Spring Ahead with Trivia - Barbara Baker

 

Goodbye winter. Hello spring. Another round of setting clocks ahead is behind us as well as all the rant on social media about why we continue with this practice. Some people blame farmers for screwing with our circadian rhythm, but they're not the culprits. Cows and crops rely on the sun. Not clocks. Maybe that’s why Saskatchewan ignores time change.

In 1895, George Hudson, an entomologist, made the first attempt to introduce time change. He wanted the world to go ahead two hours in the spring so he could hunt bugs in daylight after his day-job ended. He was unsuccessful with his request.

Time change kicked in during WW1 and WW2 to optimize daylight hours and conserve energy. After each war, it was up to jurisdictions to decide whether they stuck with it. In the winter of 1974, permanent daylight-saving time came into play and children started walking to school in the dark. Hello logic.

But now I’m over time change and have moved onto hello spring. The hunt for the first crocus, first dandelion sighting and of course watching birds as they construct or renovate their nests.   

I checked some of my favourite nesting sites. Unfortunately, the great horned owl's home was gone. When I found the pile of sticks scattered at the base of the tree, my heart sank. Great horned owl parents raised their fuzzy owlets here for over a decade.

I went down the Google rabbit hole to determine whether owls rebuild in the same place. What I read, shocked me. Owls typically do not build their own nest. What? How did I not know this? They apparently take over a suitable nest from another bird and spruce it up to their liking. I’m a huge owl fan. Should I think less of them for being opportunists? Or more of them for conserving their energy?

Later that day I discovered owls aren't the only opportunists. A ballsy Canadian Goose honked at me from it's perch high in the tree. Last spring a bald eagle lived there with an unobstructed view of the Bow River. Maybe I have never given geese enough credit. Maybe they are smart.  

But the first flight for her goslings will be a true test of wing power.

Geese can be cheeky buggers.

And the bald eagle moved on, seemingly unperturbed about the nest thief.

Cowbirds don’t steal nests. They merely deposit their eggs in an already furnished home. If the eggs in the nest she selects are white with beige specks, the cowbird will lay her eggs with the exact same colour pattern.

After the cowbird lays her eggs (sometimes as many as six) in the unsuspecting nest of, let’s say, Mrs. Red-Winged Blackbird, she might peck tiny holes in the host’s eggs. This way her chicks won’t have to compete for food or attention. When Mrs. Cowbird leaves, she doesn’t go far. She sticks around for a while to keep an eye on her eggs.

Mrs. Cowbird may be a negligent mom, but she wants to make sure Mrs. Red-Winged Blackbird has adequate mothering skills. If she dares to push out any of Mrs. Cowbird’s eggs, well, female cowbirds have a way of getting even. She will return to the nest when it’s unattended and toss out the original eggs.

When Mrs. Red-Winged Blackbird proves she’s a worthy foster mother, Mrs. Cowbird flies away to enjoy her freedom. In just a few weeks, she’ll flit her wings at another dashing male cowbird and the process repeats itself. As for her young, they grow up knowing they're cowbirds without their mother ever being around.

Nature is fun and funny. 

And Mother Nature has a wicked sense of humour. She can still turn on the snow-switch randomly for a few more months.

 

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

Gone to the Dogs - Barbara Baker

 

 

I grew up in a tiny place east of Banff. It was not large enough to be given hamlet status – hence they called us ‘a community.’ But it was the best place for a kid to grow up. There were no fences, no streetlights and once in a while we saw a car. Playing in the woods started at the end of our driveway.

And our family always had a dog. In fact, most families in our community had one.

When I played outside, I knew which dogs to avoid, which ones not to run from, and those who were sure to follow me home. Dog poop bags were not a thing back then. Having said that, I do not recall stepping in dog poop. Ever. But I am positive dogs still pooped.

Fast forward to 2024 – with spring coming and the freeze-thaw going on, I find loaded dog poop bags hanging off fences, branches or scattered on the side of walkways and trails.

It's wonderful that our urban and rural areas have gorgeous parks with off-leash and on-leash areas for dogs and green spaces scattered throughout neighbourhoods. There is signage, poop bag dispensers and garbage cans at most pathway entrances. Do the signs, which ask you to ‘pick up after your dog,’ really need another line added ‘and put it in the appropriate disposal bin?’ because if that is all it will take, I can get on it.

It’s annoying to find these deposits on city walkways and open spaces but when I find them hanging off spruce boughs or perched on a rock beside a hiking trail in our provincial and national parks, my piss-me-off meter escalates. Do the owners really think there are dog-poop-picker-upper fairies?

Yes, I realize the offenders had good intentions of picking it up on their return trip but it seems many dog walkers got distracted and forgot. Maybe they received a phone call telling them they won the lottery … or maybe their brother’s wife’s cousin had a baby. It’s possible, I guess. I remain hopeful these dog owners, who leave the poop behind, quit making responsible dog owners look bad.

Google says under perfect conditions, the compostable bags will deteriorate in up to 60 days. The ordinary plastic bags decompose in 20+ years. Thank you, Google.

Never in my life did I think I’d write about dog poop. Yet here I am, doing just that. And the issue is not the dog’s fault. The owners are the ones who need to attend obedience class.

When did my collection of sunrise pictures change to photos of poop bags?

I told my six-year-old grandson about this blog and asked him what he thought a 'dog-poop-picker-upper fairy' might look like. This is what he drew. Yup, all those extensions are fairy arms, doing their job.

Sometimes I miss the carefree old days when dog poop was not an issue. For now, I will step off my soap box, and go outside to find another sunrise … and I will never speak of this again. 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

When the Polar Vortex Hit Alberta - By Barbara Baker

Day 1 - My thermometer reads minus 37 Celsius. I can’t complain though. Global News warned us for a week that a Polar Vortex was about to hit Alberta. Initially, I doubted them, but they were pretty insistent, so yesterday I did a grocery run just in case they got it right this time.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate winter. In fact one of the aspects I enjoy is being able to put on layers of clothing to stay warm, whereas in summer, if it gets too hot there are only so many layers I can take off before it gets offensive to those around me.

In the afternoon I watch Bruce Springsteen, Neil Diamond and Johnny Reid music videos while I get 10,000 steps on the elliptical. The evening news stresses the dangers of frostbite, lists the closed ski resorts and posts a city map of all the warming shelters set up for both people and pets.

Day 2 - I marvel at the accuracy of the forecast. Highs of minus 33. After regular tasks are done, I organize miscellaneous drawers. Glancing out the living room window where chickadees and nuthatches take turns at the feeder, I wonder when and how we managed to accumulate this much clutter.

I add Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of Hell” and “Hot Summer Night” to my music videos and do a cardio workout in the basement.

Friends vacationing or living in warmer places send pictures of large iguanas, green grass and sandy beach sunsets. I reply with frozen emojis.

Day 3 – The afternoon high will get to minus 31.  I check the tidy drawers before I tackle a day of housecleaning. I want to be ready for the ski hills when they reopen. Because of active cleaning I only need 4,650 steps on the elliptical. I add Jelly Roll’s “Save Me” to my music videos.

Day 4 – It’s minus 34. I need to get out of the house. And we’re out of coffee. Since the store is only eight blocks away, I dress in my warmest gear – snow pants, thick scarf, down mitts, long parka, fuzzy toque, unattractive winter boots and goggles. I put my wallet on the chair and turn to take a quick check in the mirror. No exposed skin. Perfect.

I take off on my coffee run.

When I step outside, even with the scarf over my mouth and nose, I gasp and hunch my shoulders forward against the brisk breeze. My goggles fog up instantly forcing me to exhale into my collar.

Snow squeaks with each step. Crosswalks glazed with white ice require penguin-style walking. There is no one on the street or sidewalk. When I crest the hill, the wind increases. I scrape frost off my goggles as tires screech to a stop next to me. 

“Do you need a ride?” someone shouts.

“No, I’m good,” I holler back.

“It’s really cold,” they caution me.

I wave them on. What a friendly soul and possibly a rocket scientist.

Almost there.

The automatic door screeches open slowly. Once inside, I shake hard to let warm air circulate through to my skin. There is no coffee on sale so I grab the cheapest box.

At the till the clerk scans it as I search for my wallet. So many layers. So many pockets. None of which hide my wallet. I stare at the clerk like maybe she knows where I put it. She smiles and waits. I search again and pull out my phone.

“I’m sorry. I forgot my wallet.” I look at my phone and back to her. “Can I pay with an e-transfer?”

She shakes her head. “You can tap it with a credit or debit card.”

“Yeah, I don’t have that set-up.”

She puts the box of coffee on the shelf behind her and I head back outside. How could I forget my wallet? On the way home, I stay warm by chastising myself for being forgetful. I blame it on aging. Oh well. It was a gallant effort on my part, and I got aired. Maybe I can drink tea. No. That will never happen.

The house door squeals when I open it. And there sits my wallet. Right where I left it - on the chair by the mirror.

“I found coffee and toilet paper in the basement in our tornado-COVID stash,” my husband calls out. “It’s past the best-before-date.”

“How far past?” I hang up all my layers.

“January 2020. Google says it might taste a bit weaker, but it shouldn’t kill us.”

“Good to know.”

How sweet is he that he knows I’m anal about expiry dates? A healthy helping of expired alfalfa sprouts did it to me forty-five years ago.

Day 5 – Google was right. We didn’t die from the expired coffee and the news promises the Arctic Vortex will pass in a few days. Ski hills are still on standby or closed.

A brisk walk outside and then more time on the elliptical. I add “The Sound of Silence” by Disturbed to my music collection. Totally stepping out of my comfort zone, but damn he does an amazing job with the song.

I pull out a puzzle from Christmas and we assemble the border. I organize the pieces into colour trays. 500 pieces. Wow. The cold snap can’t end soon enough.

Alberta Alert announces rotating power outages. We bring in firewood and find flashlights.

Relatives in Germany message to see if we are okay.

Day 6 – A repeat of Day 5 with minimal puzzle progress.

Day 7 – I wake up to a balmy minus 15. Hallelujah. There is now a snowfall warning in our forecast. I put the puzzle away for the next cold snap and pull our ski bag closer to the door.

Take that Polar Vortex.

See you next time.

 

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books

 

 

 

Where Did the Year Go? - Barbara Baker

 

 

    The ski season started. The Christmas tree is up. Outside decorations are hung. I'd like to say the shopping, baking and meal planning are under control or complete, but I'd be lying. It's never under control, let alone close to completion.

    I can't believe there's only 21 days left before we start 2024. We went from a winter which got almost too cold to ski, wearing jackets in March to hike in Arizona, the smokiest Alberta summer in history followed by a stunning fall, to now - winter. The season we adapt to because it can last six months and, this year, winter is full of surprises. 

 

 

   Three golf courses were open in Calgary on December 5th. Tee times were all booked. We saw a rainbow in the Crowsnest Pass on December 6th when southern Alberta received rain. The ski hills struggle to make and/or keep their precious snow. What a year.

    Throughout 2023, I hammered away at Book 3 of Jillian's last story. Until September, hammered away might be an exaggeration. Peck is probably a better word to describe my progress. When my manuscript didn't even show up in Word's most recent files, I realized I needed motivation and fewer distractions to finish it.

    So, I made a commitment. I made myself accountable to 'sit my butt in the chair' and finish writing the novel. I set a goal to have the first draft completed by the end of the year. And so far, it's working. My solution - I set the alarm clock for 5 AM. When it goes off, I head to my office to write. Trust me, my husband loves the alarm clock idea especially if I wake up before it rings and sneak out of the bedroom without turning it off.

    For two solid hours, without interruptions, I write. I don't open Facebook, Gmail, LinkedIn or Instagram. I start by reading the last few paragraphs of the previous days writing. Then I check the Notes option on my iPhone and the slips of paper in my tray which have scribbled 'must add comments', 'snappy dialogue' or 'scenes the story can't live without.' I add them if they're appropriate for where I'm at in the story or put them back in the tray.

    And, it's working!

    But now with all the baking and shopping staring me in the face, the clock ticking and the year's end creeping closer, I feel myself faltering. Sharing my goal with people makes me accountable. I hate to fail. I'm competitive. But I also procrastinate and hit snooze.

    If just one person asks me on January 1st, 'Is your draft done?', I can't imagine letting them down. Or me. So wish me luck as I attempt to schuss through the finish line and get to The End.

    All the very best of wishes for 2024. May the holidays and Mother Nature be kind to us all.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara: 9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies by Baker, Barbara (amazon.ca)

 

Pedal the Highwood Pass – Kananaskis Country / by Barbara Baker

 

Every June, before Hwy 40 is open to vehicles for the summer, my husband and I ride the road from the Peter Lougheed Provincial Park to the Highwood Pass (highest paved pass in Canada). David and I take off earlier on our x-country bikes because we haven’t crossed over to road bikes or electric bikes yet like our friends have.

 

Do I love this ride? I’d be a liar if I said yes. But I do love parts of it. Like near the beginning where there is a downhill. The scenery is breathtaking. I love the feeling of accomplishment when I get to the top. And the descent is a thrill. But the grueling uphill makes me want to swear. A lot.

After the initial downhill, I check my odometer. 5.3 km. Only 11.7 km to go. Insert a big sigh.

There’s lots of bear scat on the highway. I scan the blooming dandelion filled ditches for movement. The jagged peaks of the Eastern Slopes make the plate shifting events more visible and there’s little snow on top because it’s been an unseasonably hot spring.

“Drink lots of water,” David reminds me.

I nod and force myself not to look at the odometer until the next corner.

Our friends pedal with us for a few minutes of chatter.

“If it’s cold at the top, don’t wait for us,” I say.  “Just photoshop us into the group picture.”

Off they go. Part of me wishes I hadn’t said no to the e-bike for my 65^th birthday. I was adamant I didn’t want one until I turn 70. I’m not quite so adamant right now.

When I see more bear scat, I run the bear rule scenarios through my head. If it’s a grizzly, don’t look them in the eyes. They feel it’s a challenge. If it’s a black bear, look tall, speak with confidence and make slow movements to retreat. If it’s a momma bear of any type and I’m between her and the cubs, kiss my ass goodbye. The visual of me kissing my ass goodbye makes me chuckle. The bear scenario – not so much.

 

My eyes peek at the odometer. 12.3 km. If I round down to 11, I have further to go but if I round up to 13, who will pedal the extra .7 km? I chastise myself for checking the distance again.

A group of road bikers zip past and say, “Good job.”

I force a smile and glance at David. “Would this really be faster if I was on a road bike?”

“Yup.” 

“But this is the only time I ride on a road.”

“Yup.”

“I need a break.” I quit pedaling and coast to a stop. “My crotch and toes are numb.”

It takes a few seconds to get the prickles out of my foot before I can set the other one on the pavement. We both do our own version of stretches, eat a granola bar and wash it down. Off we go again. Only 3 kilometers left and a short flat stretch ahead. I stand and pedal until the uphill starts.

I start to count the pedal rotations to see how many it takes to make a kilometer. But I get lost around 276. Don’t look at the odometer. Focus on the line in the middle of the road. The hill is endless and after yet another corner, at the top of the hill, I see a sign. I KNOW that sign.

Tiny people wave. Crank. Crank. Do it. Just do it. Don’t stop now.

And there we are, in time for the group photo. 

After a quick sandwich, I put on all my warm layers, get one last picture taken and start the thrill of the downhill.

                                               

                                 2017                                                                    2023

I feather my brakes when I get to 52 km/hour. There’s no time to take in the scenery now as tears run down my cheeks.

You can contact me at: bbaker.write@gmail.com

Summer of Lies: Baker, Barbara:9780228615774: Books - Amazon.ca

What About Me?: Sequel to Summer of Lies : Baker, Barbara: Amazon.ca: Books