A "green" housing development

Not too long ago, Delta was essentially a farming community. Much of the flat land of the Delta proper is still part of the Agricultural Land Reserve, but even up here on the urban hills of North Delta, where we live, we still see traces of the old rural lifestyle; a pasture here (sometimes with a cow or two), a crumbling farmhouse there, a few abandoned fruit trees dropping wormy apples and mushy plums into the weeds, a moldering old barn or shed. The old house at the end of a short lane a block away is one such remnant.

Fixer-upper.

There is no street access to the house; a deep ditch and a row of trees hide it from view. The only way in is from the end of the lane, but even there, we wade through waist-high weeds to reach the forgotten garden area.

A couple of weeks ago, I went out for a quick turn around the block, and ended up deep in those weeds, hoping for a good photo of the sunlight on the ancient walls. I found something else; a large anthill. I took a few pictures, but the shadows were long and I had to use the flash.

Logging slash?

We went back in this Tuesday, earlier in the day. And the hill was higher, the ant population more crowded:


The hill is formed of cut grass stems, dry and brown. At ant's level, they look almost like logs; an ant's log house. Some of these "logs" are about 6 inches long, and they are piled about a foot deep. An impressive amount of work has gone into the construction.

Another photo, just because I'm so amazed at their prowess:


It's silly, perhaps, but somehow I feel obligated to thank the critters I ask to pose for me, maybe by making a small donation. The first time I saw the ants, I had nothing to offer but a half-eaten after-dinner mint. I dropped it onto the hill.


The ants swarmed over it instantly. And within less than a minute, that mint was moving. The ants were under and around it, tugging and pushing. While I watched, they hauled it down towards a tunnel entrance.

The second time round, I had one of those wormy green apples with me; I bit off an over-ripe spot, and put it on the hill.

Yum!

And since they had seemed to like the mint, I dug through my bag and found another.

Christmas in September.

The signs are up a block south of here; a backhoe is scraping at another fragment of pasture. A housing development will be going up soon. This block, where the anthill is, will probably be next.

I hope the ants move on before then.
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Embarrassment of Riches

We got Laurie's photos from the other day's jaunt yesterday. Three whole rolls of film. And they are good ones; too many really good ones; it was almost impossible to narrow them down for posting here.

Tomorrow they go to London Drugs for scanning to the web. Maybe as early as tomorrow night (depending on LD's schedules), they will be ready to post.

In the meantime, I will tell you what happened, and post a few samples from my digital.


We were trying to find the shorter steps down to the Kwomais Point area that the deli owner had told us about. Following her tentative, maybe-laden instructions, we drove as far south as the roads would take us, around the curve onto a residential street that soon ends in a cul-de-sac, watching the seaward side closely for a hint of a trail. Not here, not here, not here, not here...

We backtracked. At the extreme point, the map showed a green space, maybe a park. We checked out both ends, and finally stopped where there seemed to be a gate of some kind.

No-one sits here any more.

It was a park; Kwomais Park, with a sign: Temporarily Closed to the Public. Chained and padlocked. We parked anyhow, and skirted it, toward the cliff face. No way down, unless you didn't mind being scooped up in pieces at the bottom.

As close as we got to the water.

Still, we were out of the car; we walked around the block for a look-see. And Laurie used up the afore-mentioned 3 rolls of film.

The street had a "feel" of stopped time. An aroma of leaf-mold, of damp wood. An end-of-the-year sleepiness. In the distance, we could hear sounds of traffic, but close at hand, just the murmuring of the trees, the rustle of their leaves underfoot.

Shady porch



A hint of yellow leaves


The makings of winter ground protection


Fading hydrangea



Red leaves far overhead


Red apple


Watch your feet!


Deep shade

When Laurie changed film for the third time, we headed back to the deli.* Where we were made much of by the owner, fed, watered, and given more oh-so-vague instructions as to the whereabouts of those steps. We'll try to find them next time.

For now, we were well satisfied.


*Salt Cellar Delicatessen, Ocean Park Mall, 128th St & 16th Ave, Surrey. Drop in sometime, if you're in the area; good food, great service, "interesting" directions.

Ancient lumber, much weathered.

These are the last of our photos from Finn Slough. Until we go back for the next visit, at least.

Welcoming sign.

Texture and pattern on the old boardwalk.

Cedar shakes on old roofs.

A workshop, possibly still in use, at least for puttering around.

Newer wood, on a garbage and recycling shelter, enhanced by found materials. That's a softball in the V of the support.

A welcoming gate; made to stay open. Old, hand-milled boards.

A break from making lists

Abandoned house; Turtle Valley, BC

And an old barn, with light shining through the roof.

Just because.