Of Barrens, Bananas and Bunnies

The Cape Bretoners should retain us as rainmakers. Through the first five months of 2010 year-to-date rainfall levels were half the normal level. Then we arrived and now farmers jump for joy. June’s rainfall figures are twice normal. Hallelujah.

We had one sunny day in the last seven. Fortuitously it was the one we’d scheduled a hike with Lynn and Louise. On Saturday they shared another of their secret destinations, the trailhead just a few kilometres from iconic, much-photographed Cape Smokey. In Nova Scotia pink ladyslippers are neither rare nor retiring. Indeed they are among the showiest, most visible of all the native orchids. We normally expect them around the end of June but here near the foot of Smokey they ran riot. Sometimes, particularly in northern parts of Cape Breton, pink ladyslippers aren’t pink at all, but white. On Saturday nature provide us with an abundanza of whites, deep pinks and the whole spectrum in between.

Our ramble led to an open barren commanding terrific views in every direction. It evoked earlier hikes in Newfoundland and Arran in Scotland. I was hard-pressed not to award a ten on my 10-point appreciation scale. The weather held for the six hours we spent in the hills. By the time we returned to Big Bras d’Or the rain returned too. No problem. All four of us had eagerly looked forward to the second half of the day’s agenda almost as much as the first: a no-holds-barred, go-for-the-throat Bananagrams slugfest.

Those not acquainted with Bananagrams will have no idea of its addictive allure. Perhaps it’s just as well – if you’re not already hooked perhaps you should steer clear. I consider myself a decent player. Louise and Jan are good too. Lynn is another matter entirely. For the first two-thirds of the marathon I stayed pretty much even. Then, like the great Secretariat stirring from a somnambulant effort in the early going of a major stakes race, Lynn moved to a higher gear and blew the field away. She is a stone-hearted assassin.

On Sunday my treatment for a bruised ego was to immerse myself in useful projects. What likes rain? Why a garden of course. Jan completed her spring planting – beans, peas, radish, carrots, lettuce, parsley, basil – and I did my bit too. In previous years our resident rabbits – varying hares to be precise – helped themselves to some of the garden proceeds. The real men of our Boularderie neighbourhood have an answer for such a problem, one flowing from the muzzle of a .410 shotgun. Even if Jan allowed such a solution which she most assuredly does not, I wouldn’t have the stomach for it. So the garden is now defended by a staked chicken wire perimeter. I am counting on rabbits being less skilled than squirrels at penetrating human defences.

Meanwhile the rain is back but that’s okay; it gives us an excuse to linger indoors working at strategies for coping with The Assassin.

Alan