Mountain Retreat ...... If you can't beat them, leave. Life's too short.

There's that line in White Christmas, where Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney and Vera Allen are going to Vermont. Luckily this stuff has already melted, but it is the first snow of the season. Woke up to it, but by early afternoon the sun is shining, and it's quite warm outside.

Luckily I had some wood delivered just a few weeks ago, and I've been cutting some myself. Whew. Wouldn't like to be caught in this winter wonderland without any wood. The girls would give me heck.

I've started splitting logs again. Every year about this time I get ambitious and start splitting logs. Last year I actually cut down a tree with my trusty chain-saw. Haven't split that one yet, as I've got many more to do before that one. So I'll split logs for a few days, then order some already split to supplement my meager supply. I'll continue splitting them and stacking them in the large woodshed, to be used in a few years. We plan ahead, we hewers of wood and splitters of logs.

Just took a walk in the woods behind the house. It smells wonderful. A heady aroma of autumn woods, a slight breeze, sound of rushing water and a leaf-strewn path. I thank the gods every day for the privilege of walking in those woods.

I'm seeing some bright red maple leaves on the mountain side. Not many, but it's starting. The Celtic Harmonies Music Festival, happening in the Eastern Townships in 3 weeks will be in the middle of the fall foliage colours. It'll be spectacular, and the music will be fantastic.

It rained for close to 24 hours yesterday, and not just a drizzle, but a veritable torrential downpour. I had to block our brook from entering our pond, or else the pond would have broken through its bank and spilled down the mountain. Lost power for about 12 hours also, but that didn't faze us. We cooked chili con carne on our woodstove, lit candles and listened to the rain on our tin roof.

On a warm Saturday evening we went to a barn dance, put on by the Optimists Club to benefit the local hospital. Let me tell you, everything you ever thought a barn dance should have, was at this barn dance. When you got there, you were directed to park way off in a field. Then you walked to the barn, saying hello to tons of people you recognize. You had your tractor rides, you had your cows out in the field. You had your hamburgers and hot dogs and sweet corn. You had your relish and mustard and hot peppers out on the tables. You had your soft drinks and beer and wine.

This weekend we worked in the gardens (we have 3 now). Our tomatoes are planted, our peppers, lettuce and dill has been planted. Heck even the beans have been planted. All this from seeds mind you. No wimpy "Go to the store and buy foot high plants". No sir, each plant has been lovingly grown from a single seed, carefully nurtured in our solarium in little coconut fibre containers, transplanted to larger pots, then transplanted again into the garden. In the solarium I had constructed frames made of coat-hangers to allow plastic sheets to keep the seedlings warm over the cold nights.

Picture this. It's 5:00 PM. The radio says that Decarie is blocked it's whole length - in both directions. The Champlain Bridge is a parking lot, the Mercier not much better. The 2-20 is crawling from 55th to the circle. Tow trucks circle like hungry vultures. It's raining and your windshield is smearing. The guy in the car beside you is yelling into his cell phone, which he is holding with both hands. You look off into the distance and you see an endless line of cars, their exhaust rising into the murky sky.

Can't beat that. Last night we went to a country and western music concert in a local chuch. Six local groups played to a packed hall. People were singing along, clapping, dancing in the aisles and generally having a good time. The concert was a benefit for the church to have some needed repairs. Ten bucks buys you 4 hours of singing, guitar playing, stories, dancing and a warm fuzzy feeling, seeing all your neighbors enjoying themselves.

Forgot to mention that a few days ago, our neighbor called us in a near panic. It seems that the fiddlehead season was rapidly coming to a close, and he wanted us to savour the experience of picking and eating fiddleheads.