Ghost Town

The Last of Duncrief

Untold history

languishing into ruin

only ghosts remain

~

Not far from where I live, an old ghost town has almost disappeared back into the realms of history. Only a decrepit house stands where once hope flourished. No mill left to mark settler's dreams. No plaque planted to tell its tale. Just broken glass, battered boards and a hint of what could have been in small-town Ontario...

Couplet Challenge

It's National Poetry Month. 
What lines are you penning?
Get your juices flowing
and start the couplets spinning.

If you are looking for a way to kick-start some poetic thoughts, why not check out the CBC's Couplet challenge today (April 7th). They will be sharing a rhyming couplet from a Canadian poet every hour starting at 9am. Complete the next line and you could win...

Here's my entry from the 10am prompt from A.F. Moritz

"Wisdom's invisible in children's eyes;"
Akin to not seeing the blue in summer skies #CBCPoetry

What would you write?

Winter in Canada

This was the results of a 3-day blizzard from a few years ago.
Buffalo has taken the hit for us this winter :)

Apparently winter has decided to strike early this year. MAN, it is cold out there! A mere week ago it was 14C, but this week the temperature dipped to -18C (with the wind chill, but still). What is up with that?! Time to put another log on the fire apparently.

As any good Canadian is wont to do, we face the ravages of Mother Nature in stride though. Today I face it with humour, with the help of an email from a friend. If we can't get warm, we just put on an extra pair of socks and laugh about it...

Here is what Jeff Foxworthy has to say about Canadians, during a recent appearance at Caesars in Windsor: 

• If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don't work there, You may live in Canada ... (had that happen to me)
• If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, You may live in Canada ... (never, I hate seeing people in shorts or sandals when they should be wearing parkas!) 
• If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a wrong number, You may live in Canada ... (Yup)
• If 'Vacation' means going anywhere south of Detroit for the weekend, You may live in Canada ... (Yup)
• If you measure distance in hours, You may live in Canada ... (Yup again)
• If you know several people who have hit a deer more than once, You may live in Canada ...
• If you have switched from 'heat' to 'A/C' in the same day and back again, You may live in Canada ... (I might have - once...)
• If you can drive 90 km/hr through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, You may live in Canada ... (definitely)
• If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, You may live in Canada .
• If you carry jumper cables in your car and your wife knows how to use them, You may live in Canada ... (I proudly boosted a stranded nurse last winter across the street from my house with my MALE neighbour watching on)
• If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, You may live in Canada ... (Yup)
• If the speed limit on the highway is 80 km -- you're going 95 and everybody is passing you, You may live in Canada ... (lol, doesn't everyone do that?)
• If driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow, You may live in Canada ... (sad, but true)
• If you know all 4 seasons: Almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction, You may live in Canada ... (DEFINITELY sad, but true)
• If you have more miles on your snow blower than your car, You may live in Canada ... (my neighbour that blows out the entire neighbourhood does)
• If you find -2 degrees 'a little chilly', You may live in Canada ... (it's not really that cold)

If you actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your friends,
you definitely are Canadian and proud to be.

Lest We Forget

Their uniforms crisp
Roles serious and dedicated
Their missive- our Freedom 

Marching, they came towards us
Strict row upon row to Serve
Silent we stood waiting

   Ready for them

On this day to honour
All the sacrifices made
And all those whom have never come back

Tears glistened in eyes
Hands trembled on canes
The bugle sounded our cries

   The Last Post...

We always rise again
Hands to heart
Eyes to sky

We stand on guard
Two minutes offered
Silent in humble thought

   Our gift of Remembrance

To men and women
Brave, noble and bold
Will our thanks ever be enough?

Poppies pinned to chests
Salutes raised to the dead
We will Never forget

What's Not Okay

Oh Canada; proud, strong and free

It has been a tough couple of weeks to be a Canadian. Last week, in two separate incidents, Canadian military members were killed; both random acts of violence, but both meant to be strikes against our country. The deaths rocked us as a nation. And with good reason. Despite the violence, we banded together and swore to remain united in our peace, honesty and trustful natures.

And then on Sunday, a well-loved and respected radio host from our public broadcaster was fired from a post that he helped to create. The media was set ablaze by a Facebook post he published outlining some of the details. He warned that more details would come from people intent on smearing him and his career. Well, those details have come forth and they are worse than ugly. As far as his career is concerned, it may or may not be salvageable. Certainly, his private life has been made public in such a way that the world seems to have been given a seat in his bedroom. Without benefit of trial, he has been condemned to the full extent that the media can punish him. And I struggle to look away.

I love Canada. It is my home and native land. I am proud to recognize myself as a native and yet ashamed that as a nation we apparently have been duped by a charming individual intent on his own self-fulfillment and satisfaction. I have read the stories and am aghast at every new piece of the plot. Women have come forth, both anonymously and now using their own faces and names, to share their stories. Have we harboured a criminal amongst us? Have we given a wolf sheep's clothing and begged him to lead us? It is not for me to decide and for that I am thankful. But the number of women who have shared stories too similar and too awful is enough to cause doubt in the most ardent supporters and fans. Those fans have dropped rapidly over the last week.

So why do I let the story of a celebrity who has fallen from grace affect me so? As Canadians, we are supposed to be good, honest people. We are supposed to put forth the best qualities that we can and emulate the unwavering faith in our country and humanity, like Corporal Cirillo and Warrant Officer Vincent did. Sure they weren't perfect, but they died in the line of duty, their lives taken as they represented all that is good, nay Great on Canadian soil. And now we are sullied by an individual that appears to have taken his self-serving needs much too far in their satisfaction. I don't need to name this individual for my fellow Canadians. His face has been splashed across the media this week, even while the CBC has ripped it off of any piece of their property. And if the reports are true, then so they should.

For the story is ultimately about women. The story is about respect or a lack thereof. The tales that are spewing forth tell of violence masked in consensual BDSM. The problem lies in the lack of consent, hence we speak of abuse. They say he hit them. Nine women claim this now. Who knows if more will come forth, others will keep their secrets to themselves, or some will recant these vicious images that us dismayed Canadians are being forced to witness. Regardless of how this story plays out, I suspect that the conversation about abuse will be a little louder now.

You see abuse doesn't always happen to the other woman. It doesn't always end up being meted out to the sluts or girls that 'wanted' it to happen. The women that are sharing these stories come from a wide variety of backgrounds and education levels. None of them seemed to ask to be hit. None of them seemed to enjoy being called names or being made to feel like it was a normal part of life. They all pushed the abuse into "the past" to try to move beyond it and try to forget how it made them feel. But today, they realized that for the actions they allowed to be Okay, by not standing up against the abuse, those actions continued and touched too many other people. And it was NOT ok.

It is NOT okay for someone to make you feel stupid, worthy of abuse, or like you asked for it. It is NOT okay for someone to hit you, choke you, or rape you. It is also not okay for someone to isolate you from friends, family or society, question your integrity, nor turn the blame back on yourself for actions they have taken. Too many women face some form of abuse in their lifetimes, whether it be physical and/or emotional, by the hands of strangers, casual acquaintances or those that we are supposed to love and trust. Because once that trust is damaged, the world becomes a more difficult place to negotiate.

I know this has become another rant and for that I am sorry. I struggle to come to grips with this breach of trust, this shattered faith in humanity that I hold so dear. I do believe that people are inherently good, but am sad to acknowledge that I feel akin to these women right now. I have never met any CBC personalities, but I knew someone who made me feel like it was my fault that he felt compelled to search my body, clothes and home for evidence of my misdeeds. Like I deserved to be cast as a disreputable woman because his insecurities and jealousy made him look for my guilt. He never found it, but left behind my shattered innocence in the wake of his accusations. He will never admit to his lies or improprieties, so I must move forward and attempt to find faith in humanity knowing that not everyone that smiles is a friend, and not everything that seems a gift is always so.

But this lesson is valuable nonetheless. And I refuse to let the small minority of people that do not understand how their actions affect others rule my world. For I am Canadian, proud, strong and free. I live in a place where men and women give their lives to protect mine. I prefer to see people who take up the cause to make the world a better place and refuse to be bullied by power-hungry individuals who can't see beyond their own noses and backyards. And I rally around women strong enough to stand up and say what is acceptable and what is Not. May you find peace in your release of those ugly memories that should no longer own you.

I am working on mine.

*If you are interested in more of the story that inspired this post, you can read more here...

Medicine Walk

Medicine Walk, by Richard Wagamese, © 2014, McClelland & Stewart

Should I start by saying this book wrecked me? That I bawled through the last twenty pages, apparently having stopped at exactly the right spot last night. Normally I can't put a book down with that few pages to go, but something told me that I couldn't continue last night. So at lunch today fat tears dropped into my soup and scattered across the pages, as a mound of kleenexes piled up.

Not that this book was... what? Chick-lit? Thriller? Romance? It was none of those things. It was literature, and good quality prose at that.

All the way along I felt like this was a book that a man's man would appreciate. The main character is 16-year-old Frank, raised by "the old man". He taught him to fish, hunt, recognize tracks, survive in the bush, and most importantly, the value of hard work. His father on the other hand slips in and out of Frank's life on rare occasion, and those moments are always punctuated by drink. He is a virtual stranger and a miserable, non-communicative one even when he does make rare appearance. The old man serves as the only kin that young Frank has, but that doesn't prevent his thoughts from straying to blood ties.

When the book opens, Frank has been summoned by his father to town. Eldon is sick and dying, his abused liver finally at the point of shutting down. He has a last request for his estranged son - to take him into the woods to bury him in the warrior way. This despite the fact that Eldon has never taken much stock in his native roots. Frank struggles with the request, but ultimately agrees to the task, if only to see if some of the questions that have dogged him his whole life might be answered. What they discover along the way is a broken life lived.

This quiet book looks at life, hope, fear, love and the struggles that are encountered along the way. Wagamese's prose is fuelled by the knowledge that as much as we need to listen to hear life's stories, sometimes those stories need to be told too. Whether we think we have the strength to tell them or not.

The Bear

The Bear, by Claire Cameron; © 2014, Doubleday Canada

Shortly on the heels of finishing All the Broken Things, I was given another book that featured a bear, this one written by Claire Cameron. Where Kuitenbrouwer's book depicted an appealing beast that you couldn't help feel for, Cameron's black bear was anything but. Her animal was wild and extremely dangerous, and the start of a terrifying ordeal for two young children.

Five-year-old Anna is on a camping trip with her Mom, Dad and little brother Alex, affectionately known as Stick. Things have been difficult in her parent's relationship as of late, but a late-summer portage trip seemed just the thing to smooth over troubled waters. That is until an overnight stop at a small island  leads to tragedy. A black bear sniffs them out and attacks, but not before Daddy stuffs little Anna and two-year-old Stick into a Coleman cooler for protection.

While Coleman saves Anna and Stick from the bear's deadly claws, they can't stay in the metal box forever. And once Anna kicks them to freedom, the next step is more than any five-year-old can fathom, that of making their way to safety in the wilds of Algonquin Park alone. With nothing more than a box of cookies and the dying words of her mother to give her direction, Anna must take responsibility for Stick and their lives. Their canoe gets them off the island and away from the bear, but where to go next is beyond little Anna. How to survive is another matter entirely.

Written in a first-person narrative, the reader travels along with the children as they struggle to find shelter, food and a way out of the wilderness, with the meagre skills that their youth allows. The choices they make are terrifying for an adult, let alone for two children with no experience in how to take care of themselves. Cameron masterfully sets you on edge though, as you internally scream at the children to not touch this and stay away from that, to no avail. As a parent, I wanted to scoop them up and take charge, soothing the children with promises that it would all be alright. But only Anna had the power to ensure that.

If you like to camp and have a young family, this book might not be for you. It strikes fear into every worst case scenario that parents put themselves through in relation to their children. If you are curious to see how Anna and Stick make out in the wilds of Northern Ontario without an adult to guide them though, then this book is a well-written tale that will have you flipping pages to the end.

That end you will have to read for yourself though...

All The Broken Things

All the Broken Things, by Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer; © 2014, Random House Canada

I have been searching for a book to read that has the ability to reach out and touch me. On average, I read two books a month and can't say as how I've read much that has excited me since the end of last summer.

That changed when I was handed "All the Broken Things" by Kathryn Kuitenbrouwer.

I am lucky to have many books recommended to me via my book club. Some of them are fabulous, some shocking, others barely worth the paper they are written on. Kuitenbrouwer's book went one better though, as one of our members got free copies of the book for everyone. While free books rock, that doesn't mean they are always worth the read. This one was.

Bo's family is displaced to Canada during the Vietnam War to escape from the evils of Agent Orange. While they escape the fighting, they are not immune to the effects that the defoliant has - Bo's father dies on the boat over and Bo's pregnant mother is not only covered in sores, but gives birth to any extremely disfigured baby girl. Unaffected to the naked eye, Bo carries his wounds on the inside.

The struggles that 14-year-old Bo faces are measured in the fights that he daily wages with classmates. His now 4-year-old sister Orange is unable to speak or walk, and is a source of shame to his family. Orange is kept inside; away from prying eyes that can't begin to understand this deformed monster. But for a boy that doesn't fit anywhere himself, does he understand his sister any better?

When one of Bo's fights is seen by Gerry, Bo finds himself in the world of small town fairs in Southern Ontario and discovers bear wrestling. Gerry thinks Bo would be a natural, and as Bo has been wrestling personal demons all his life, he takes to this bigger challenge with gusto. As he soon discovers though, no number of matches can erase his past.

Kuitenbrouwer paints a sombre picture of Bo and his attempts to make sense of his world. In his disenchanted view, the world is a tough place, but what he doesn't see is the soft spots that lie right in front of his eyes. Bo might feel broken, like many of us do at points in our own lives, but acceptance and perception are everything. There is room for life in all of us, and with her enchanting prose, Kuitenbrouwer encourages us to find our own life alongside Bo as he wrestles bears and all that life has handed him.

Thumbs up in my opinion! Thank you for helping me fall in love with reading again Kathryn.

Wherefore Art Thou Spring?

Wherefore art thou Spring?

Snow has clung to the air

despite a change in calender

and no alter to the attire 

of mine

Search high and lo

and still the temperatures flow

below that damned zero

I whine...

But as every good Canadian knows

Mother Nature bends to no credos

despite pleading and heart-wrenched outflows

now consigned

Spring will arrive

all in good time to revive

our blessed souls once more to thrive

please be kind... 

~sunshine~

Snow Day

Maple Syrup Love

Snow

bringer of sloppy roads

cheering children

and 

a Canadian breakfast 

like no other

Doesn't bother me none

I slip on snow pants

Grab the shovel

for the snow removal

and start slogging

for my daily Canuck-style exercises

Don't feel bad for me though

After a brief respite

in a snow bank

I dug back in 

to create a cozy cave

Big enough for 2 lovelies

or one big kid

intent 

on enjoying the best

that Canadian winter

has to offer

A Canadian Dare

Shrieks and laughter fill the air. Children run screaming past one another without a care in the world. Backpacks are scattered on the ground, forgotten until the bell's call to summon them back. It's that magical time between the weekend and the official start to the school week. The kids take full advantage of these last precious moments and run for all they are worth.

Newly fallen snow makes a perfect home for tumbling bodies to fling themselves with abandon down the waiting hill. Pencils will soon be clutched in stubborn fingers, but right now it is all about the best that winter has to offer - snow; light and fluffy snow.

"I dare you!" rings out a voice.

Why is it that boys cannot resist a dare? How is it that manhood rears it's ugly head on the grounds of the primary school yard so early? And yet it does. And every year this ritual gets repeated on school yards across the northern hemisphere.

"I double-dog dare you!" Things are getting serious.

More shrieks fill the air, but the peal of the morning bell cuts playtime short for these youngsters. It is time for school to begin.

Another cry fills the air. This one is a little more distressed; a little less happy in tone. And that is when a woman's stricken face streaks past shouting for help. Her arm points backwards towards a few lone figures still standing by the fence at the bottom of the hill.

The metal fence.

At least the boy wasn't left alone to attempt to rip his tongue off the frozen fence. Nothing that a little warm water won't solve, but terror is not the way to start the week off for any young soul. I suppose he won't do that again. The watching parents that slowly wander away shake their heads at the morning's antics. The boy has been freed. No harm has been done. But his moment of captivity, with soft, fleshy tongue stuck to a rusty metal pole in the dead of winter has been enough to shoot all these laughing adults back in time to when they too stood stuck to their own poles in a Canadian winter.

As who can resist the deadly triple-dog dare.

KAT'S COOKING KORNER: From the Orchard

The weather has been kind of funky around these parts this year. Way back in March, we had temperatures that soared into double digits, when we should have still had a blanket of snow covering everything. Beautiful and all, with barbeques getting dusted off all over town, but there was just one problem. It wasn't just the people who were fooled into thinking it was spring; the plants were as well. What's the problem with that, you  might wonder?

LOTS!

Warm weather in March is fine to shed the scarves, but when the trees and bulbs think about getting into the swing of things too, bad omens hang in the air. I don't care if temperatures fluctuate on my behalf, as I can get used to slopping around in my winter boots again, but when the trees start to bloom, they can't change their minds and go back into hibernation mode again so easily. Winter is bound to be back again and this past Spring it returned indeed. The result was instant death to the flowers that had valiantly attempted to awaken to the falsely-promised Spring. Magnolias molted their blooms in an instant. Lilacs luckily paused with buds on the verge of unfurling. The many fruit trees in the area were not so blessed though. Their pretty, scented flowers curled into brown petals that would never bear anything.

That equated to an absolute dearth of fresh fruit this summer.

Well, not exactly a complete dearth, as we still enjoyed strawberry picking in June and my raspberries are scrumptious even today. As far as the poor apples went though, I heard tell that 85% of the crops were destroyed when the impending frosts returned, killing fruit blossoms rampantly.

Last Year's Apple Picking

"No!", I cried, when I read the dismal facts. We are a family of foragers and I love traipsing around the countryside collecting fresh fruits and veg in season. We have gone apple picking since the girls were babes! Apple Land was apple-less. What were we to do?

Never fear my friends. I am an industrious individual and I've got computer access to the world. If there was an apple to be picked in Southwestern Ontario, I was determined to find it.

Click, click, click...

And don't you know, I found a place! A little closer to the lake is apparently a little more protected by the warmer winds. The lucky folks at Great Lakes Farms weren't completely immune to the early blooms and subsequent frosts, but they had apples! While it's early in the season, knowing that apples will be at a premium this year encouraged me to act fast. When I read that they had Galas and Macintoshes, we were out the door like a shot!

These trees were plenty full!

The apples looked even better close up!

Concensus was - Delicious!

We managed to collect a slight 25lbs worth of fresh, tasty apples for our consumption. The kids have had apples in their lunch every day since then. Today they got applesauce too! My favourite recipe for apples though is smooth and delicious Apple Butter. Pies are perfect for holidays, but butter is better for all the nut-picky schools around Ontario. Apple Butter makes a sandwich a scrumptious snack and this recipe comes from a favourite cookbook of mine called jam it, pickle it, cure it, by Karen Solomon.

APPLE BUTTER

Ingredients:

• 8 lbs sweet apples (try using 3 different varieties for a more complex taste)
• 2Tbsp freshly squeezed lemon juice
• 1/3 Cup brown sugar
• 1 tsp kosher salt
• 2 tsps ground cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp ground allspice
• 1/4 tsp ground cardamom

Directions:

• Peel, core and quarter apples. Place them on 2 lightly greased cookie sheets in a 350F oven for 2 hours. After 1 hour, rotate the trays 180 degrees and switch the trays from bottom to top and vice versa.
• Remove apples from oven and puree in a food processor or blender until very smooth (approx 4 min). Add remaining ingredients and process for another 2-3 minutes.
• Store in a covered glass container in the fridge for up to 1 month (if it lasts that long!)

*Oh, and by the way. If you didn't figure out what my mystery gadget was the other day, it was an antique apple/potato peeler. Not near as handy as I would have liked, but none the less, it helped. Now get buttering and Enjoy!

A Feast For the Soul

The sun shone brightly, beckoning us to step out of doors. Scorchingly hot weather had subsided, taking the humidity with it, but not the pleasant reminder of summer. It was a perfect day to attend a festival and I was not one to pass the opportunity up. So, off to the International Food Festival we went.

Now we have been to the Food Fest before. We have attended pretty much all the major festivals that stop in London over the summer. Some are better than others, but the Food Fest has rides. That makes it a favourite with the girls. Plus, they have barker-style games that are oh so tempting. Who can beat a midway? For my girls, not much.

As for me, I love the fact that we can all order food from around the world and eat it while watching belly dancing. At least that was our entertainment today. It is a beautiful art form, and the girls were enchanted. Not quite enough to get them up to shake their hips with the ladies on stage, but still enough to draw their attention with the colourful costumes and tinkling coins around their waists. And it went well with tacos el pastor, quesadilla, a spring roll, chicken balls with chow mein, pineapple on a stick and juice boxes. Yum.

I have to say though, that this year I was a little disappointed. Every year there is a wide plethora of food to choose from. We can order Thai, Korean, Jamaican, Greek, Ethiopian, Canadian (pizza anyone?) and so much more. But the other part of the festival is the vendors and this year they were sorely lacking. Normally Victoria Park is fairly bursting at the seams with vendors hawking jewellery, t-shirts, dresses, belts, knick-knacks and more. There was that, but at a fraction of the amount that is usually there. Or maybe I just forgot and am thinking that all the festivals were packed with quaint vendors selling instruments, internationally carved wooden statues, sarongs and other chachkies, when really that is more akin to Sunfest? Now that is a festival not to be missed, but sadly this year I shall. Bah!

As we wandered from the food booths, a tinkling sound drew my ear though. I looked around to see what was creating the musical interlude and spied this delightful machine!

Dutch Street Organ

What was it, I wondered, as I watched toddlers rocking back and forth on chubby ankles along with the music. Well, I don't believe I have ever seen one before today, but this incredible instrument is a dutch street organ, owned and operated by Henk and Irene Noordermeer. I dare say, I shall never see one again either, but this fantastic machine is located just up the road in Mount Brydges. Way cool!

As I stood listening to the tunes tinkling, I couldn't resist drawing closer to get a better look at it. The fair maiden in the middle waved her baton to the music and the two damsels at her sides chimed their bells in quite a pretty fashion. Its a shame that I cannot reconstruct the music for you, but let me just say that there were smiles on everyone's faces that walked by.

Scroll on right-hand side 

The closest I can get to reconstructing the music, is to tell you what instruments belted out the merry tunes. This scroll helped me to identify some of the instruments, namely snare drum, cello, violin, trumpet, wood block.

View of Percussion
from side of trailer

In fact, peering around the side, I discovered the percussion section thumping out tunes. No little men in this wagon (a laptop programmed the tunes)!

As I stood gazing at this fabulous instrument, none other then Irene approached me with a smile on her face. I believe she was loving all the attention that her unique street organ was garnering. She freely told me about the construction of it (it was made in Holland and took two years to complete) and how they toured around to local venues to show it off. Watching parents point and smile and children clap with glee was pretty good payment, as far as I could tell.


Before we shuffled off to find some cotton candy, my youngest tugged at me to get my attention. Look at her shoes! Across the crowd, I could see that Henk had an orange pair on himself. Authentic through and through.

Irene's Dutch Clogs

Doesn't that beat all! Thanks for making my day Irene!

No Great Mischief

"No Great Mischief" written by Alistair MacLeod (© 1999, McClelland and Stewart Ltd.)

It is that time of the month in my world. Yup, book club. Well, it has actually been postponed a week, but I finished the book last night. I thought that I would write a review of this month's title, as it was a good read. I find it interesting to review myself, before we discuss the merits of the book in question with our little group. Sometimes opinions change, so here is my two cents worth today.

Last night as I turned the light out on the last page of "No Great Mischief", a tear slid from my eye. I am a sentimentalist at heart and never fail to be moved by a well written story. Turning the last page and snuffling back my goodbyes, it is safe to say that this book touched me. 

While wandering through the reflections of a life lived, the reader is offered a glimpse of some of the hardships to be had in living a life linked to the sea in Cape Breton. This is where the story begins for the man known by everyone as gille bhig ruaidh, (little red-haired boy), this for his looks and links to the clann Chalum Ruaidh. The Gaelic language plays heavily throughout the story, giving the characters roots that travel back several generations to the Scotland of their fore-fathers. At times the story wanders back to the generations past and the protagonist and his kin think on these past players with an almost melancholy loss. The history is reflected like it happened just yesterday and the tragedies that played out then, are still felt and mourned today by the present clann. While this personalizing of a past that is ancient in memory is interesting and gives some insight into how MacLeod's characters play out their scenes, the story gains depth as ancient history is translated into present day.

"No Great Mischief" is narrated by Alexander MacDonald  as he wanders back through a life struck by tragedies, but not shattered by them. He reflects on the losses starting with that of his parents and brother, when he and his twin sister are only three years of age. With the loss of his parents his eldest three brothers (14, 15 and 16 years) strike out on their own to find their own roots and beliefs. While the burdens of an adult life thrust upon them so young is a challenge and struggle, kin always plays a pivotal role. 

Much of the novel focuses on the eldest brother Calum and his strengths and struggles along the way. He is labelled a trouble-maker, but 'ille bhig ruaidh gives us a picture that paints understanding and strength of character for the solitary figure of Calum. The ancient losses from generations gone are compounded with the more recent losses of parents to be worn with the solidarity of kinship pride. The feeling of melancholy that weaves throughout the story is poignant. That kinship follows from the Cape Breton coast, to mining towns around the world, from the distant shores of Scotland to the busy streets of Toronto. Having lost my own father at an age where imagined memory is all I can muster, I understand the searching that 'ille bhig ruaidh is struggling with. The clann Chalum Ruaidh might suffer its losses, but they do not forget and no one is left behind. So while some actions are not always acceptable to polite society or different pockets of the world (like the French Canadians they meet in the mining camps),  the clann Chalum Ruaidh never wavers but to carry on. 

While I did not have the string of the tale fully grasped at the beginning of the novel, by the end Macleod had all my sympathies and heart. In the book, Grandma is often fond of quoting "Blood is thicker than water". This is the string that wends its way through the pages. It is also what won Alistair MacLeod an International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. My opinion; Thumbs up from me.