As I sat in my Jeep on a drizzly day in English Harbour, window down so the sound of the waves could reach me, I spied this lonely semi-palmated plover snatching his lunch on the shoreline. His plump little frame scooted around, and his head bobbed up and down, one eye on me, and one eye on his feed. We were momentary companions, each checking the other out, each feeling safe in their little world, each letting the other “do their thing”.

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The winds howled,

the ocean raged,

and the rain pelted sideways.

Then all was still.

And there were no words for the “afterstorm”.

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Sometimes, pictures really are enough …

“Beautiful things come together one stitch at a time”

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There is something special about the making of quilts…

There’s the delightful hunt of choosing fabrics for a pleasing colour scheme, a special theme to fit someone’s likes, going outside your normal “go-to” favourites, or imagining how they will look within a chosen pattern.

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There’s the layout from which you’re going to cut up perfectly good pieces of fabric, and piece them all together and making something new, beautiful and unique.

There’s choosing the pattern, the size, or the serendipity of simply going at it and seeing what happens.

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The process of sewing, choosing complimentary threads, the hum of the machine, with soothing background music or perhaps the silence of your own thoughts, prayers said over the person you are making it for, perhaps with a furry friend nestled at your feet.

The ironing process, smoothing out the seams, your favourite scent of Best-Press starch…

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Then choosing your fabrics for backing and binding, at a local quilt shop where you can get helpful advice, bountiful selection, have a good chat with a fellow-quilter, and oodles of inspiration for your next project.

My least favourite part is sandwiching the quilt top, batting and backing, the backbreaking floor work with a can of basting spray, a plethora of pins, on knees that are not as young as they used to be. This for me is the “storm before the rainbow”, the “hard work before the pay off”… but it is worth it. Or sometimes you can take the easy way out (I choose this probably half the time now) where you can have a long-arm quilter do the work for you on a frame, with myriads of templates that will best fit in with the design elements already begun. This part is SOOO much more fun.

Then the binding. There’s nothing like enjoying the quilt warming your lap on a cold winter’s day while you hand-sew away. But sometimes, doing the machine binding is so much quicker, especially when you’re desperate to see it complete or are pressed by timelines of gifting it away.

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And there it is … something you created, you personally achieved, you finished, you made from your heart, for your enjoyment or someone else’s. An investment, not just in supplies, but of your time.

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It is a wonderful thing to give of your time. To give of your heart. That’s what quilts are for me … a giant hug from my heart to the recipient. Every thread, every fabric, every stitch, made for them, specially. Something to be used, something to be cherished, something that can warm their toes, and comfort their soul. And comforted yours in the making of it.

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“One who sleeps under a quilt is comforted by love.”

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This trail was a delightful find, starting behind one of my favourite churches in Gooseberry Gove. There isn’t much they have missed on this one – traffic signs, outhouses, boardwalks and holding ropes where necessary. Bella’s anticipation and excitement was evident, despite the foggy weather. It was special to have the trail, and the beach to ourselves this day…

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A steep gravel road will find you, with the help of all-wheel drive, at the picturesque place called Butter Cove. It’s enough to melt your heart – tucked away in a world to itself. I felt at first like I was infringing on its solitary rights.

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But in equal contrast, it seemed to invite me in to its personal space to spend a quiet moment, in wonder at the simple beauty of the rugged landscape, marked by signs of human effort, blanketed in fog and fall foliage.

The sweet smell of the sea combined with the call of the gulls, drew me in to this moment, and I wanted it to last … and last.

This brightly painted stage and the footpath to it, made me wonder who spends their time here, and whose steps have gone before me.

Beside it, a collection of ladders and wood which lend themselves to the owners’ needs from time to time, I’m sure.

Within an adjacent stage, the tools of the trade are visible to all who pass by … netting, rope, well worn jacket and hat, and an assortment of paint cans complete with brushes that show someone’s been busy.

And up the hill, timeworn edifices that speak of memories, and days gone by. There is something awesomely special in those memories, one can picture the curtains in windows, and the creak of the door that welcomes a sailor home … that speak of “home” by the sea.

I have always loved the past. Its history, houses, hard work, handshakes, humanity, honour and heart. I took a stroll around the harbour to see those things still in existence.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the Newfoundland fog. Shrouding the coastline, it draws you in to its mystery. It smells of damp and of burnt ash at the same time. It heightens the senses, influences one’s mood, diffuses the landscape, envelops the soul.

Nestled under my feet, thousands of mini-mussels, left by the ebbing tide, to be covered again with the wash of the sea in due course.

As I strolled the flats of Queen’s Cove, I felt small, overwhelmed with nature, the muted tones of the mist covering over my worries of the day and giving me a newfound sense of freedom in the silence.

Beautiful day for sure … out for a drive, enjoying pina colada soft ice-cream on the way, and off to Old Bonaventure for a nice walk overlooking the sea and Random Passage film site.  Back towards Dunfield to visit historic Fort Point and witness about 8 whales playing in the waters below.

Then off to Champney’s East and English Harbour to park amidst the daisies and foxgloves, stroll over to the cliff edge to find a few more whales spouting and feeding.  Beautiful breeze, with the odd whiter than white puffy cloud dotting the skyscape.  Waves sparkling in the sunshine, with whale tails breaking the seafoam every now and then.

Puddles running with abandon over the grassy hills.  Some wonderful.

Apparently so.  And when you’ve got a spot like this in the most beautiful province in the country, I can see why.  I’m guessing that deck has seen more than one bowl of moose stew…  And a few pineapple or lime crush afterward.  Likely between switching the paint brushes from white to red.