Sweet Grass Farm, Elora, Ontario October 8-11, 1978
Here I am again at Sweet Grass Farm, back 'home', among friends, and finally meeting little Rainbow, who is bigger and more alert and animated that I had expected. And big brother Barney, careening around the yard and daring us all to keep up with his toddler energy.
This morning we all took a walk in the back fields, enjoying autumn, and each other.
These are my friends. These wonderful people, my friends.
On Sunday Sal and I made pies while Tom chopped walnuts and we all talked politics.
The need for a new federal party.
What to call it?
“The half-baked party.”
“Hard-boiled.”
“Humble pie.”
“That's it! The Humble Pie Party.”
Pleased with our achievements –
both the pies and the new political party (well, a name anyway),
we sat down to a Thanksgiving feast.
We all held hands and Tom said grace:
"Fall, month of colours, thank you for the rainbows you have brought to all of us."
Today an early morning walk with three dogs, roaming about the fields behind the farm.
The next day, a heavy mist worked its magic on the landscape.
As the day and night unfolded and unravelled our stories and tales – of experiences and travels – became more and more animated and outrageous. I listen to all of their stories and am, again, inspired to go further afield, but where? Tom takes every opportunity to remind me how cold it is getting: “Que frio aca, que frio.” And entices me again with stories of South America.
That night, feeling the chill in the air, I think why not? Why not South America?












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