A Shade of Ash # 7 – Son of a Birch

Hey everybody,

Hope you’re having an awesome day!

Every picture tells a story or is a key to one. – Ash

Whenever I see a pile of wood by the side of the road or in someone’s front yard, it instantly takes me back to when I was kid. I believe I was around ten years old. Back that humbling day when I tried to prove to my Uncles that I was just as big and tough as they were. A coming of age moment of my life with a Shade of Ash humour that I will never forget. A bunch of wood grouped together sets the scene and some of you already know this, but I grew up with my grandparents, so my Uncles are like my brothers. There’s five of them. I made six, and the youngest in that dynamic and because of that, I was considered “Mommy’s Boy”. *I called my grandmother, Mom, by the way.

OK, Cue the wavey time-travel lines, fade to the 80’s.

Firewood was a primary source of heat for us growing up, so from time to time, that meant the whole family would have to pitch in and help bring freshly cut wood from my grandfather’s boat up to the front yard to be packed and stacked. Every now and again, my grandfather accompanied by two or three of the Uncles would travel by boat to some remote area to cut down the wood. Then, once they had a load, they would return home where the wood still had to be sawed up and stored away. None of that process involved me though. I got off the hook for stuff like that. Hey! It’s not me, my grandmother just wouldn’t have it back then. She’d look at my Uncles, each of them, and tell them to go on outside and not bother me. “Leave Ashley alone, he’s alright, go on, your fathers waiting.” She’d say. This rotted my uncles of course. Now, they wouldn’t say much in retort and just went on to work. Though like prisoners knowing all the blind spots of a prison yard, they too knew when to get in a few licks and wrestling moves behind my grandparents backs to make sure I knew what’s up. Until that one day, where I had enough of it.

Continue reading “A Shade of Ash # 7 – Son of a Birch”

Bike Writer # 47 – I’ve Always Bee-Hived This Way

I go to books and to nature as the bee goes to a flower, for a nectar that I can make into my own honey. – John Burroughs

Bike Writer # 46 – Take In A Little Steam

Wherever you are, be there totally. – Eckhart Tolle

Far From Home

Photo by Miriam Espacio on Pexels.com

I walk this earth an alien
no place here for a castaway
surrounded all the time
still alone

My blood, it’s not like yours
it repels
it taints
it makes things you love disappear

Continue reading “Far From Home”

A Shade of Ash # 6 – Why does the happiest day of my life keep breaking my heart?

I tried again today as I have tried so many times since the last heartstring that bound us severed. For a split-second, I got to hear your voice. For a split-second, I thought you would listen to mine. It was the longest pause yet…trust me, I know.

So, Ashton, I guess it’s another “Happy Birthday” sent off into the universe with all my love. Maybe it will find the world I’ve lost and help return it to me.

– Dad xoxo

Bike Writer # 41 – For a Spell, For a Flower

Many eyes go through the meadow, but few see the flowers in it. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Journal Entry # 182 – Embrace the Space

Explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. – Edward Abbey

Bike Writer # 40 – Paint A Beautiful Life For Yourself!

I went for a bike ride today. A small one, but it was enough to make me realized something. That moments like this are really, just little paint strokes on a portrait of my life. So, the more strokes I take, the more beautiful I make the big picture become. – Ash

Journal Entry # 178 – Together, We Will Overcome

Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it. – Helen Keller

Quarantine (Haiku)

Photo by Rahul Pandit on Pexels.com

Picking rain touches
seen there beyond the window
blending with our tears