March 21, 2013
Farm Heaven, ON

Springtime salutations from sparkling Snowland. I am once again in Farm Heaven visiting my dear Captain Dirt at her famous farmhouse. It blizzarded with a passion on the day I arrived, but I rocked the long drive like an Ice Road Truckers superstar. Today I’m safe and warm by the fire, and quite focused on all my artistic endeavours.

The Captain and I are working out the final arrangements for our last two new album tunes (to be recorded next week) and they sound so good. I’m madly in love with the gorgeous 1978 Larrivée classical guitar my dad gave to me recently. He bought it on a trip out to Victoria, back in the days when Jean Larrivée still worked out of his tiny shop in Market Square. It has brought me new songs. And I am grateful.

Today I’ve been working on the lead guitar part for my newest instrumental piece “Soul Captain.” It was inspired by the William E. Henley poem Invictus – the subject of my latest experiment in the Aristotelian art of mnemotechnics. Piece of cake. And so worthy. I shall repeat it over and over again … And remember.

I’ve also been busy with my magical camera in the name of my eternal self-portrait series. From the Great Northern Railroad to the Lake of the Bloody Ice Hole, you’ll find photographic evidence of all my recent Adventures in Sweetland here. My latest photography project is my daily Instagram photo, courtesy of my brand new iPhone. I’ll be uploading one photo each day with a wee Sweetlandish vignette. Photos will be posted on my Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram pages. So stay tuned.

And although the land around me is still in deep freeze, I can feel the melt beginning on the inside. It is magical and torturous – but we must incinerate the old to make way for the new. My friends and I have a tradition of making corn dolls on Autumn Equinox. We lovingly call them “The Hag” after the Cailleach, mythological Irish creatrix and Queen of Winter. We care for our Hags though the dark half of the year, and they are said to protect us from winter’s wrath. We burn them come Spring – a sometimes bittersweet moment, as one often gets attached. My hag has thoroughly gone up in smoke and I am rising from her ashes. Ready for the next magnificent chapter.

Now it’s time to strap on some snowshoes and make a journey into the deep dark woods. There is a cedar forest, a snowy churchyard, and a shimmering snow field with my name on it.

xo

Snow Woods