Moments: Present and Past by Denise Tarasuk

This is a beautiful vignette from Windsor, Nova Scotia, where my old friend Denise is spending her days currently with her family in their almost 200-year-old Victorian Family home. They had a snow storm just ahead of spring that she captured in this vignette of anticipation and closure. Denise has a very interesting and adventurous story that I hope one days she will share with us! For now, enjoy the short story.

A Victorian Lady under a blanket of snow, Photo by Denise Tarasuk, Windsor, Nova Scotia, Canada, April 2022

---

Moments: Present and Past

Friday, April 29, 2022

Time: 12: 26 pm

Windsor, Nova Scotia, Canada

51 degrees: Windy, cool, thank God, not like yesterday

The sun is shining with all its’ might

Songbirds singing perched high in the grand walnut tree

Sunrise: 6:21 am

Sunset: 8:08 pm

Pressure: 29:94 Hg

One day I shall write and tell you more of what is in my heart, soul, and mind, but for now, a note on yesterday’s wild storm. I am usually more prepared for a storm and have hot water boiled and a good meal cooked and heated on the stove. However, I have given my word and stopped watching the news. It does me no good in spirit; instead, it makes me worry and suffocates me, making me a victim and entrenching me in the dull drums.

Early this morning, Matt sprung the news of a bad storm heading our way up the coast on the Atlantic side. “Halifax will see the worst of it. No need to boil water; we won’t lose electricity. They have done a lot of work on the grids; lately, things are better.” Of course, a storm in Nova Scotia is a storm. I listened, did not comment, but made up my mind, remembering I did not have any food prepared. History repeats itself, and so does the memory of hurricanes.

Perhaps we will lose power and being cooped up in the house for a couple of days made me long for some fresh air, even though the gales had already started. I was ready to go with two shirts, one fleece jacket, a down jacket, my purple scarf, a warm headband, and thick, cozy mittens. Matt joined me after I sent him back for a wide woolen scarf to wear around his neck. The wind had picked up, and it was bitter cold; instead, may I state, freezing. My face was frozen, like ice, as we headed down the steep hill to Haliburton House. Matt reminded me it was my idea, and he was still willing to keep on if I was.

The steep grounds of Haliburton that I love so dearly were busy with my neighbors and friends and the odd person playing disc golf. “Miss Denise, watch out for frostbite,” Deb yelled. “Make sure to lock everything down at your home, or you will lose it,” she yelled out. “We are expecting a wild storm with high winds.” Everyone was out for exercise, knowing the rest of the day would be dedicated to food preparation, bringing in all lawn furniture, and keeping warm.

After thawing out and hunting for some warmer clothes, I started cooking. Cooking and cooking, all day. At last, by 5 pm, I had finished making pumpkin soup, the last thing on the menu. I thought about baking but was sure the power would go out, and my work would be for nothing.

The birds were flying high on the currents, and I wondered how they secured their homes. The wind had picked up, and it was raining like mad! It sounded like the grand pine on the dining room side, where I work, was hitting the house.

I was reading a story on the internet, played out in many parts, when I decided to close my computer and get ready for an unpredictable night. I heard the cry from Matt’s computer, a thump, the sound of the lights going out, and then it was dark. Pitch dark. When the lights went out, I crawled under a blanket with Emma: A Modern Retelling, from my favorite writer Alexander McCall Smith. I pulled out a flashlight and read page by page as Matt brought up a candle to help me out and bring comfort. The wind was wild, and the doors and windows were restless.

The storms and hurricanes always seem to know when the night is near. The worst is always at night when you cannot see anything and feel so helpless. Just sounds, the sounds of things crashing and the trees hitting the house, on and on it goes.

The wind was howling as this was no light storm. It went on for hours; I shut off my flashlight and fell asleep. I woke to a well-lit house; indeed, morning, I thought. The lights were bright. I got up and realized it was still night, midnight. With my bare feet creaking on the old wooden floors, I carefully turned out each tube and knob light. Unable to sleep, I listened to the rain and the wind howl deep into the morning.

This morning, as if nature has forgotten, the birds are singing, perched in their favorite trees, the sun is shining as if yesterday was all a mad dream. The tulips stand a little slanted but still intact. The winds on the island, Cape Breton, north of us, recorded 100 miles an hour. We were lucky as we are a little sheltered here on the Bay of Fundy. Looking at the side of our dear old Victorian, I see it has taken a beating. Some of the detailed woodwork has been torn and blown away.

It is but another day; still, the wind howls as I lay my mat down for yoga and meditation. I stare into the distance as the sun shines through the window with long lace curtains onto my face. Mother Nature is at peace once again.

The little chickadees have burrowed their new home into the window ledge in the dining room where I work. I have watched them for days. They are my new companions. They look at me, and I look at them; I am in wonder.