This is the first day of March, and a deep and icy cold persists here. In the eastern Ontario highlands, we are a long way from springtime, and the maple syrup season that is usually underway now is only a dream of remembered sweetness and fragrance. I can't help thinking wistfully of evaporators burbling away in sugar shacks and cauldrons of maple sap boiling over open fires out in the Lanark highlands.
What on earth am I doing up in the wee hours of the morning? If the truth be told, I am restless and agitated and having trouble sleeping at the moment. Perhaps that is not surprising, given two years of staying home and complying with COVID protocols, but the situation was not helped by the recent so-called Freedom Convoy blockade here in the city. During the mayhem, local residents were terrorized, downtown businesses were shuttered, buildings were vandalized (or set on fire) and public monuments were desecrated. The protesters were removed several days ago, but they cooked up a smelly poo load of misinformation during their unruly sojourn, and it continues to rocket around in cyber space. The stuff piously spouted as truth is sheer fantasy, and it beggars belief. Demonstrating peacefully? Standing up for freedom? Huh.
This has nothing to do with freedom or democracy. The memorandum of understanding published by the convoy leadership openly stated their objective of overthrowing the elected government and replacing it with themselves, unelected members of the senate and an unspecified bunch of right wing politicians and certifiable nutters.
The present war in Ukraine breaks my heart. Wherever I am and whatever I am doing at the moment, the Ukrainian people are never far from my thoughts. The Russian people are in my thoughts too, the legions of brave souls who are gathering in cities across Russia to denounce what their leader is doing. They are being arrested by the thousands, and yet they continue to show up and make their feelings known, peacefully. That is real courage. That is what peaceful demonstrations actually look like.
What to do? Far from the war, I pick up my culinary tools and head for the kitchen to stir up small magics: loaves of bread, molasses cookies, scones, casseroles and cauldrons of soup. As I move my wooden spoons about, I whisper protective cantrips for those in peril across the ocean. Please somebody, keep them safe and stop this madness.
One thing is for sure. I am going to grow a LOT of sunflowers this year, and I also plan to carry sunflower seeds in my pockets. I will scatter them wherever I go.
Sorry, I just had to say something this morning. Enough is enough already.
