Return to Glenwood

For me Stratford is a place of history...my history. I was born and raised here for my first 18 years before heading off to university. After traveling and working in various parts of Canada, my husband and I returned to Stratford to raise our children.











Yesterday I had the privilege of revisiting my family home, the Glenwood, now a B&B, for a reunion with my brother and sister and their spouses, and to meet the new owners, Bill and Christine.


Bill is very much a historian and has been gathering information about the house, in fact the entire neighbourhood.




Christine is an amazing cook, very adept at whipping up breakfasts and other delicacies.


In return for sharing our stories, we were treated to their warm hospitality.



What a pleasure it was to see our former home being cared for with such obvious joy and attention to detail. From the wonderful dinner on the "big lawn" (our childhood term for the property), to sharing a glass of wine along with old photos and memories,


to the wonderful home-made baking and made-from-scratch light-as-a-feather waffles with fresh fruit for breakfast, our return to the Glenwood is now a treasured memory.


If you are looking for a B&B getaway for yourself or your friends, do be sure to check out the Glenwood. I know you will enjoy the delightful hosts....and you just may have a history lesson along the way. See http://www.glenwoodbnb.com for more information.

Murder on the Avon

Wandering down to the river for one of our first strolls of the season, we were surprised when three mallards flew overhead so closely that their beating wings nearly touched our heads. We soon realized it was not a joyful journey but a pursuit. Eventually they landed upstream near the shore with a considerable flapping of wings.

Other ducks began swimming to the scene. It reminded me of a school yard, when a crowd quickly gathers to surround children who are fighting. Gradually the onlookers swam away leaving the original three. As we drew near we saw the viciousness of the attack. Two males were in the process of killing the female, biting her repeatedly on the head.

Following our human instinct we tried to intervene, to save the beleaguered young lady. Alas, it was to no avail. Moving on we realized that although we may not understand or approve, the natural world has her own ways. "Murder" is probably too strong a word. Maybe we just witnessed the way of the wild, and should rejoice in the fact that we here in Stratford live close to nature in its purest form...the survival of the fittest.

PICTURE PERFECT

A late afternoon stroll in the brisk, cold air of the January deep freeze, brought us to a scene out of the past. Rinks of all sizes have popped up on the Avon.

Pickup games of hockey, children donning their skates for the first time, folks huddled in groups to talk, or helping to shovel.

This is community. This is Stratford!

June 5, 2009 - Where are the Ducks?

The call of a beautiful spring evening compelled us to walk by the river in search of the new cygnets, that the Beacon Herald had proudly displayed on the front page this week. The river walk seemed strangely deserted...not of people, but of ducks. Normally at this time of year, we would see many families of young ducklings following in their mother's wake. Eventually we saw one little one, and further along a mother with 6 or 7 young ones. Also noted was a predominance of the beautiful male mallards displaying their vermilion feathered caps; pretty, but certainly not conducive to a healthy ongoing community. Apparently we are experiencing a rise in the population of predators, who not only destroy eggs and go after the young, but also have been attacking and killing the females.

Looking at the cute fuzzy little ducklings one feels saddened at this increase in the death toll, and yet, without enough predators, the community also suffers. It's nature's laws at work, the law of supply and demand. When the fowl decrease sufficiently in numbers, the predators will move on, and once again the river will surge with renewed paddling of ducks each spring. We can only hope.