Last night I watched a blip on the largest offshore wind farm on CBC’s 60 Minutes (Am I old enough to watch 60 Minutes now? Oh the horror!). Anyway, this wind farm is off the coast of London near a town called Grimsby. More than 300 turbines spread across 335 square miles in the open ocean and generate enough electricity to help power more than 2 million homes daily. The wind is a renewable, clean and powerful source of energy. Literally powerful. The highest wind speed ever recorded occurred on Barrow Island, Australia. On April 10th, 1996, an unmanned weather station measured a 253 mph wind gust during Tropical Cyclone Olivia. Beat that, Marvel Comics.
Hornsea Wind Farm Photo credit: CBC 60 minutes
The Mitton crew shared in its own little wind adventure this weekend. Well, at least the two of us did. If you saw my Instagram stories this week (and you should follow my Instagram … it’s my favourite social to post on!) you would have seen a little clip of our beach wind adventure. We visited the shores of Lake Huron on Saturday — and it was just a tad windy. The wind was whipping the sand about and stinging my bare ankles like tiny sharp hypodermic needles. I’m thankful it wasn’t whipping about my face. My hair was doing enough of that, I didn’t need the sand to compete. It wasn’t cold. We experience enough cold winds in Canadian winters to appreciate that. Still, we felt the power of the wind.
We watched a few parasailors take advantage of the weather. Obviously, their wind suits shielded them from the icy water… but I bet they felt the wind! I can’t imagine the strength it took to hold back the sails, because, from our observation, that wind was pulling them in hard. Those little parachutes filled up as soon as they were flung open! Those guys caught some great air that afternoon. Two stories high, I’m sure! Brave, I tell ya.
The hubby loves a good storm, and I watched him run out to the lighthouse pier, only to be caught full-on by a crashing wave on the concrete. He got a little wet. 🙂 He’d make a good storm chaser if I’d let him. I’m just not ready to be left on the yellow brick road all alone just yet. Kudos to the spouses who kiss their lobster fisherman goodbye for to brave the highest seas! (Or pirates, Navy guys or … well, you get it). The wind and waves are a mighty enemy and must be respected at all costs.
Grand Bend, Ontario
I’m sure by now, you see where this post is going. The Bible mentions the power of the wind numerous times. Matthew 8 reminds us that Jesus was in control of the storm. The disciples (many of whom were trained fishermen!) marvelled at His ability to rebuke the waves and calm the storm. The prophets of old were told to watch and observe as the Lord’s presence was seen in the changing weather. Mighty winds, cool breezes, storms, waves and flashes of thunder. The Psalms tell us time and again how God calms the raging storms… literally and figuratively within our own heads. Often we get too bogged down by so many things, that those tiny grains of sand driven by the wind, begin to feel like piercing daggers!
Are you caught in a storm, my friend? Are you feeling the powerful wind whip you down and the waves crash around you? Or have you harnessed the power for your own enjoyment like the parasailors? Do you know the One who controls both the mighty tornado and the gentle breeze? He’s worth every encounter. Seek Him and give Him a little shout-out the next time that little leaf floats down beside you … or when your umbrella blows inside out! For the Lord is not in the wind, but controls it!
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Happy (belated) Canadian Thanksgiving! By the time you read this post, you should be recovering from a “turkey coma” and eating leftovers! We had ham this year, but I have a turkey sitting in my deep freezer for an occasion when I feel the need. So, it got me thinking… why turkey? What fun facts can I learn from such poultry? Who discovered it? And why did God let such a darling bird grow into a grumpy, yet impressive thing? If you’ve been following mittonmusings for any length of time, you know my fascination with chickens… but turkeys could be on a whole other plain. Toms are mean! They will (and have) attacked people. The babies are cute, though…
Baby turkeys are cute!
The male (tom) turkey is the only one that “gobbles”. Allegedly, the girls make a “purring” noise when they are content. Who knew? The females are more like chickens… and I can’t argue with the fact that God made them quite beautiful. In fact, turkeys were once bred for their colourful plumage — not their meat. And an impressive plumage it is: an adult turkey can have 5-6 thousand feathers! Think about that next time you find a stray fluff on your dinner… imagine the Pilgrims plucking those things by hand?!
Now. Back to “Turkey”. How did they get such a name? Apparently, the Spaniards first discovered them in Mexico in the sixteenth century and took them back to Spain as part of their discovery spoils. Eventually, the gobblers made their way to England around 1541 and were given the “exotic” name of an export associated with the Turks. (A “Turkish hen”) Confusion? Yup.
Not from Turkey
Still, the birds sure tasted good, and so became a staple eat. Especially at Thanksgiving. We have the Americans to blame for that one. Roasted turkey became a traditional dish after the American revolution when the British loyalists fled to Canada as refugees and brought the meal with them. And so it stays. 39% of the total sales of Canadian turkeys in 2018 were set aside for Thanksgiving dinner. However, Christmas sales totalled 2.7 million birds: 42% of the total year’s sales. A second in the holiday stats? Do we love Christmas turkey more? Maybe only in Canada.
Canadian Thanksgiving, for those of you not from around here,does differ slightly from our neighbours to the south. Not only in our choice of dates, but our holiday involves less football, there’s no big parade, and certainly no black Friday shopping. We get less time off and we tend to focus on the three F’s: food, friends/family and fellowship! Turkey or no turkey.
In fact, our Canadian Thanksgiving is more associated with the harvest season. In 1859, the ministers tried to ask the colonial government to initiate the holiday of Thanksgiving to “thank God for His existence — evident by His bountiful Harvest granted to His people” (a little different from the focus of our American counterparts).
And harvest can be a beautiful time. The weather is great, the colours are fabulous, and the food is plentiful! A perfect excuse for a holiday! Although, I did muse as we drove through the colourful tree-lined roads this weekend: What beauty is in death… the fall colours are really a bunch of tree leaves dying and preparing for a long, hard winter. Sorry, I digress.
Thanksgiving turkeys. Whether you like a stuffed bird or not, the holiday should be about more than the food. Thanks – giving. God reminded His people to celebrate, and celebrate often, in remembrance of all He has done for us! Especially now. In this world so full of despair and darkness, our attitude of gratitude should be all that more evident. I am trying to remember this every time I look at my grocery bill! Thank you, Lord, that I am able to provide for my family. Many are finding it increasingly difficult these days. Is it just me, or are prices going up all around us? But this is a muse for another day. Perhaps, I do need to think about having a few turkeys in my flock of someday-hope-to-have-chickens. I’ll start with the cute little ones.
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This summer I learned a huge lesson in patience. I am still learning to be patient. In fact, I am learning a hard lesson about long-suffering and endurance, eaten with a slice of humble pie. Let me start at the beginning: Almost a year ago we were excited to learn that a beloved niece was getting married in the States. Covid restrictions were beginning to lift, travel was becoming a bit easier, and we were thrilled that we could plan for a full-on family vacation! Snag: Canadian passports were due to expire a month or so before our flight. No problem… lots of time to renew… times six… with one turning “adult” and one without a current health card. And with rumours of backlogs mounting. Be patient. No worries. It will all work out. Can always fast-track, right?
I’m good at forms. English is my first language. I can navigate government papers. I can follow instructions. Cue a full evening of sitting at the dining room table with a specifically coloured-inked pen in hand, a handful of rather expensive and well-earned, non-smiling photos carefully doubled signed and pinned to said matching forms. (Who knew the local convenience store was the easiest spot for passport photos? Obviously not us who drove by the sign every day that clearly states “Passport photos here” and yet sought out Costco and Shopper’s Drug Mart and Walmart for such things…) But I digress.
Five out of six passport forms were completed and in the hot little hands of an even more patient husband who delayed work one day to drive out to the neighbouring city to wait in line at the passport centre because we heard the lines were fewer there. Patience. Smile. Got to the front… “Here you go nice government lady, yes, my wife filled them out, why yes, she does have neat handwriting, yes, here is my credit card… What? A simple mistake? Yes, we can adjust that now…thank you, yes, I’d love the receipt, yes, we are travelling soon… guaranteed a week or so before our flight? Great, thank you, ma’am.” Perfect.
One to go. No worries. We can get the necessary documentation for the “adult” child who needs to fill out a whole new form. I can go to the official office and get that one “fast-tracked”. The family vacation is worth the extra few bucks. Signal God’s lesson in patience about to fall on the head of a momma bear who may just lose her sense of Christian decency. Here’s the story:
Knowing time was no longer on our side, I took a day off work to take the remaining form to one of the few centres that could process the form in time for our already booked flights. I knew the line would be long, so arrived several minutes before opening to find a rather large line already gathered outside. There was no signage. No helpers, no arrows, pylons etc. Only a few hopefuls with coffees and lawn chairs parked near the doors. The rest of us huddled behind them cued up in the overcast weather, armed with folders of forms and high hopes. I chatted with the mom of four in front of me who was re-doing all her children’s forms because they “got lost in the system”. I instructed the gentleman behind me he was in the wrong line. His was moving much quicker at the far end of the building. I texted the picture… not so long… halfway to the front door now. I’ll soon be inside. Crocheted a few rows. This mom is patient.
Exactly one hour and a half after opening time (most of us still standing around the corner to the OUTSIDE of the building) a lone (and somewhat brave) security guard comes out to inform us that “there are no more tickets for today… please go home and come back tomorrow morning…. preferably at 4:00AM to have any chance of getting inside…” 4:00AM? Really?! Needless to say, most of us were a little shocked. Many, many grumbled and fussed (and cussed) and left. The rest of us stood around for a little, pondering our predicament. Someone tried the other door, and the flock of us followed suit, hoping to take advantage of an alternative route to travel freedom. We were quickly turned back to a locked door, again, on the outside of the building.
Patience. Breathe. Let’s look at this logically. The office has been open for business for only an hour and a half. One hundred or so “secret ticket holders” seem to be lined up inside. Even counting a lunch break, these professionals should be able to serve us by end of the day! I shall commit. I will be patient and kind. Many were not. The mom of four and I took our chances. After all, today was my only day off. I have all day to stand here. Our line had dwindled to about 30 from the over 300 people. We slowly filed inside the building to another cue and those seatbelt line maker things that made us weave in and out to the “front” of the glass enclosed room to the “ticket holders” and the kiosks.
I texted the picture… not so long… halfway to the front door now. I’ll soon be inside.
The lone (and somewhat brave) security guard was now joined by about 5 or 6 others. Flashing their badges and appearing to be in charge. “I have no authority to let you inside” they say. “Come back later”. “Only if you have proof of travel within 48 hours can you be here”. “No” “NO”. God-given patience. Be kind. “Yes, sir, I appreciate what you are saying. I understand — but I choose to wait”. “Thank you, I chose to wait”. Five people left in front of the glass room. Twenty-five people holding up in the secret space.
Finally, the lone (and somewhat exasperated by this crazy lady) security guard asks my business. Ha! A month before travel? Okay, lady… if you are willing to “dropbox” your form (ie no inspection of said form, just throw it at the guy and pay your money and hope for the best) then I can give you a golden ticket. “Thank you, sir, yes I will wait”. Haha! Look at me and my patience paying off! I have been here seven hours… but it worked!
Fast forward some 20 weeks and more phone calls, emails, faxes and tears… and we are still waiting for one final passport to arrive. (Oh… no, not that last-minute one… it arrived first with no special added treatment) We missed the wedding, we missed the vacation, we missed family, and are yet to receive credits for booked flights. My sense of accomplishment and pat on the back for being so full of patience has dwindled to a story to tell about frustration. There are many more details I could have added to this long post… but here’s the point. It’s a lesson. At least I am trying to look at it as a lesson. I was kind. Was it life and death? No. Was it a disappointment? Absolutely.
Many of you may have similar stories. Maybe some of you have even better stories. We have every right to be served well by others. We’ve done “the right thing” and “followed the rules” and “deserve” this or that. It’s frustrating and sad. Yet, we have been called to stand out as light in a dark world. To spread love and not curse those who mean you harm. It’s a tough pill to swallow. It takes some self-talk and a little dose of Holy Spirit. I’m finding I have to face the lesson more and more in these post Covid days of people-who-have-lost-all-abilities-to-socially-interact. Now is the time for us to shine. May you and I learn the lesson well, my beloveds.
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