Monday, August 18th

HAPPINESS has come back after a long time away, and I wake in the night, too excited to sleep, there is so much happening again in my head.

Yesterday the Frenches came here (for the first time) for lunch and it was a just-about-perfect visit. They arrived early from Nelson, at about half past ten; luckily I had everything ready—lobster salad, tomatoes cut up with French dressing, stuffed eggs; the table looked sweet with a fat bunch of roses in the center. The Frenches are Tamas’ family—he went wild with joy, racing up and down and round the house, sliding over the rugs, as he only does if he is extremely glad to see someone! Win and Dot brought me a big box of corn, squash, and cucumber from their garden, and Cathy and her husband Mike came too, but not Bud. I hope he’ll be able to next time. He and Cathy were two of the dearest children I ever knew—Cathy with her lambs and sheep, the tender responsible care she showed even when a small child—(she put herself through business school with those sheep!). And Bud so fearless and loving with all animals.

It was not a brilliant day as far as the weather went—a rather pale yet opalescent ocean, very very calm, under cloudy skies. We went right down the grassy path to the rocks. And Win, Tamas, the cat, Mike, and Cathy all ran about like goats, while Dot and I watched from above. It was low tide, so the rock pools could be explored; Mike found crabs.

The Frenches are eager about everything they see, noting tiny flowers in the grass, as well as the quality of light. It is such a pleasure when people really observe.

When we came back to the house, we had drinks in the library, and a good quiet talk about everything before lunch. Win is the sexton at Nelson as well as the mail carrier, and I take comfort in knowing that my grave is marked and that I shall go home to Nelson someday forever. There is nowhere I would rather be than under those glorious maples and right beside Quig.

I want to recount this visit in its sequences because it was all so civilized, gentle, and life-giving to me. Lunch was greatly appreciated, and that pound and a half of lobster meat ($18.00 worth!) just about went around. I sent back with them a small plastic bagful for Bud to taste, as well as the Collected Poems for the library at Nelson.

After lunch we had coffee on the terrace, possible because it was cloudy (otherwise it is too hot until around four, when the shade comes), and finally I took them round the walk through the woods, with Bramble following and Tamas running ahead. It’s the first time in a month that this has been possible because the deerflies have been so awful. Finally I brought the Frenches upstairs to my study, because I wanted them to see the bulletin board at the top of the stairs with all the photos of Nelson—including the one Mort Mace took of Bud and Cathy with a black lamb, and Tamas’ mother. Then, far too soon, they were off. As I turned back to the terrace, I realized that, far from being tired as I often am after entertaining friends, I felt refreshed and rested. I went down to take a look at the plums Win had noticed were ripening but, though a ravishing purple-blue, they are still as hard as stones. Then I came up and wrote a long letter to Pauline in French—all about the day. My head is waking up, for I wrote well in French this time. Lately it has seemed a great effort.

Now that the Quigleys, Beverley Chamberlain and her mother, Helen Milbank, and the Frenches have all come here to see me, I feel the close ties with Nelson are not broken. On the contrary, I can provide, especially for the Quigs and Frenches, a kind of holiday escape now and then. Lovely!