I Fall, You Fall, We All Fall into Fall.

Jean Talon Market, Autumn 2010

These last couple of days have felt so fall-like. A few minutes ago walking along the sidewalk, me and all the others who just spilled out of the metro scurrying home, I noticed a sprinkling of gold leaves beneath my feet. When did this happen? Sure, the occasional tree top has turned to yellow or red, the burnished leaves slowly infiltrating the green below, but falling? Summer's flowers are still out, but now clusters of orange berries dot the low-lying bushes, the kind that hold fast and are subject to being covered by first snows come November. It's starting. to. change.

It's mild out now as I write this, but dark - so dark! The moon is lying full and low in the south-east sky and ringed by clouds. Last night I slept under my comforter and wasn't a bit too warm, today I grabbed a light leather jacket as I ran out the door. Yet my sundresses are still hanging from the bathroom door hook and the basket at the top of my stairs is still overflowing with flip-flops. I always know fall is coming, but why does it still seem to come upon us so fast? I am easily seduced by fresh days, crisp nights and the clash of orange and gold and red against a cornflower-blue sky. By pumpkins at the Atwater Market and bags of Halloween candy by the check-out, and yet, and yet...I have loved this summer. Watching sun-hatted toddlers bobbing in the pool, flipping through magazines or a pulpy book while I dry and then jump in again myself, kids ignoring the lifeguard's admonition not to run, sunlight revealing countless shades of green in the leaves overhead. The feel of a soft breeze on my shoulders and arms and back, windows cracked wide open day and night, and drifting off to sleep to the sounds of U2 performing a couple of miles away. Which was better, the concert the night before or this? How many times do you get to be serenaded to sleep by Bono?

All to say - and I say that a lot, don't I? - that I can't decide if I'm truly seduced by these early days of autumn, or if it's a kind of seasonal Stockholm Syndrome. It's here, it's cooler, it's darker - so go with it! Grab the long-sleeved sweater, snuggle under the down comforter. Seduced? Succumb? I just don't know. I haven't decided.

Case in point: The Bay

I pass The Bay (short for The Hudson's Bay Company) frequently, but as often as I've seen it, I still find myself wondering how it looked in years past. The majority of the window archways have been boarded over, including the one you see on the lower right and most if not all the ones on the side and back of the structure. I still find it to be a stately, grand old building, but when compared to the earliest photo I've featured here, it's easy to see why it's often overlooked. From far away, you can see its 'good bones," but amidst the jumble of shops and mall entrances and signage that now clutter and dominate St. Catherine Street, it doesn't stand a chance. And if you're on the sidewalk in front of it and look up, all you're going to get is awning. The small trees that lined the sidewalk are no more and the sky around it has been filled up with apartment building balconies. Air, light, grass, stones that show slightly different tones one from the other - all of this was invisible to passersby a century ago...

Follow the Bixis and you'll find The Bay!

A beautiful building, with residences to the left and the United Church visible to the right. (I'll post a more modern shot of that steeple for you soon).

Montrealers celebrating outside Morgan's (now The Bay), V.E. Day, 1945. If we tried, could we still detect the street car tracks on St. Catherine?

Working with Wood.

Raised pulpit in the beautiful St. Patrick's Basilica, Montreal.

The work of master carver Grinling Gibbons (Born Rotterdam, 1648- died London, 1721).

Genius artist with a rockin' name!

Finehomebuilding.com

I have been pondering what to write about woodworking and carpentry, besides the fact that I find the idea of them very beautiful. Be it liberating ornate, three-dimensional shapes from a block of oak, or the construction of a clean-lined pine deck, I'm really moved by the connection some people have with wood. With carving, my fascination lies with how the artist can envision, then release leaves, acorns, claws, rounded cheeks and so much more from what appear to be a shapeless, unyielding mass of matter. In the case of carpentry, a connection with the natural, an understanding how one wood will yield where another resists, how the properties of one may serve the end purpose better than the next - this is wonderful to me. And the patience and precision it takes! The working and reworking, the - roughened fingers crossed - smooth final assembly of the pieces, then the treatment. An altogether lengthy process, but an enjoyable one if you love what you're doing. And once it's completed, there's the end result - the bench, the cabinet, a deck overlooking the yard - that will provide years of enjoyment and satisfaction. Useful, beautiful and between the crafter and the crafted, absolutely unique.