Winter in Burn's Bog
The bog, when frozen, opens up. Its interior becomes visible, its skeletal system, clear. Water that normally runs for one day and disappears the next freezes, yet the movement of the water is traced in its odd shapes and layers of frozen surfaces. Some plants are frozen inside the ice, like bugs in amber. Their colour remains bright and life like. Most of it will thaw and just go on with what it was doing before the sudden freeze. Birds fill the lower branches of the bushes and brambles, searching for seeds. They call back and forth. I don’t know if they are sharing what they found or warning others to stay away. The low winter sun casts shadows which in the spring are never disappear. It reminds you that we are moving, not the sun. We’ve got it all wrong.
Pathway Through the Bog in Winter.
The small songbirds flutter through the underbrush looking for seeds. The beavers seem to be active, but are no where to be seen. Still, their activity is everywhere, a tree here, there, they are up to something besides sleeping.
The Dead Tree Tells Its Story
Cold has frozen the creek and floods from the beaver dams, along with the snow, have flattened the grass. Things usually hidden in the undergrowth are seen in the winter, and they tell winter tales. Most of the fallen trees still have large amounts of soil attached to their roots, but this one has little left other than the skeleton. Even in death it seems to have suffered.
The Fence That Divides Purposes
This image is from a more recent project focused on a small bit of land, on the map called a “nature reserve,” which lies between residential housing and a fairly heavily industrialised area. A fence divides these two, broken in many places and overgrown by saplings that have disrupted its order and continuity. Besides the pathway, creek and fence running through this “natural” area is a freight line. Trains cross the creek, and loudly rumble through the bog and adjacent woodlands. There is no warning except signs telling you not to cross the tracks even though the pathway is clearly marked with steps and elevated boardwalk. An area of many contradictions.
A Beak in the Clouds
For several days, including Christmas Day, the Skys have been full of dark rain clouds. Only seldom is there a break. The man made structures in the garden often begin to glow when there is a break in the clouds. Sometimes their entire contents are visible.
The Garden in Winter 2023
The Lines Over the Cranberries.
This morning, early, I drove up and then down the Fraser River, looking for some magic in the fog. None was found on the river, which cleared sooner than the countryside running along it. Finally, when nearly back in town I saw these wires stretching across the cranberry fields. They were strikingly lonely looking.
After the Fog Lifted in the Garden
A House Alone
A house in the local light industrial area of the city. A few such structures remain, somewhat out of place.
Just Some Images From My Morning Walk
I live in a neighbourhood zoned “light-industrial,” which includes a number of manufacturing plans, industrial laundries, clothing manufacturers, art studios and wonderful back alleys that remind me of Japan. Sometimes, early in the morning, I walk through the neighbourhood and take photos of things that, yes, I have taken before. This is usually a way of relating to the area, a social interaction with a building, rose bush or electric wires which have all become part of my home.
Near the Coquitlam River, overlooking the bog and mountains.
The Coquitlam River is just 30 minutes from my house. On one side of the river re the mountains, and on the other is a large bog. Most of the area is flat, but small pathways of dirt criss-cross the bog, until finally it meets the cranberry fields were everything becomes uniform. Looking out from behind the brush it doesn’t seem possible there could be any order out there.
Near The Wire Fence in the Forest.
There is a wire fence in the forest, I suppose it is to keep you away from the edge of the river, and away from the protected areas of the forest. Here the light barely comes through. Still, things grow, sometimes smaller and slower than you would expect. But they grow.
A photo from the garden this morning.
The light shines through the plastic greenhouses and seems so unreal. Late summer and the plants have stopped paying attention to the gardener’s instructions and gone where they will. As they make this last effort at growth at the same time they begin to falter and die. The colours change and the snails and other small creatures begin to make their way through them. A smell start to permeate the garden from edge to edge.Green turns to yellow.