I only stayed for a couple of days in Marrakech. My plan was to head into the high Atlas Mountains from there but decided instead to head for the warmth to rest up. My ankle and knee were fine but my hip and elbow needed a little more time.

For the last few days I have been staying at the Essaouira Beach Hostel. It is big, but well run and spacious. And their rooftop patio facing the sea and complimentary breakfast are unparalleled. Essaouira (pronounced wasira) is an unpretentious town with a stunning coastline, no resorts, nice people and good food. Many people here speak French, so in the markets I end up speaking an odd pigeon language intermingling high school French, duolingo Spanish, and English, said with a French accent (in case people might understand me better). Nobody understands. Think Joey on ‘Friends’ trying to speak French. I probably sound like that. So I just smile and say Salam.

I met some lovely young people and we wandered the market together for a day. We bought fish and vegetables and all cooked a delicious dinner together.

The ferry from Spain to Morocco left early in the morning and was uneventful until we docked and I tried to get off. After much running up and down the steep steel stairs connecting the decks I found out that, as a walk-on, I could only disembark from the bowel of the boat along with the transport trucks.

The other two walk-ons were Moroccan men who were already waiting there. They seemed nice and one spoke a little English. We all agreed to share a taxi, which was fortuitous as it was the only way to get the 50 kilometers from Tangier med to Tangier town. As we exited, I was stopped in my tracks by a ferryman. It seemed I didn’t have the right stamp in my passport and he wouldn’t let me off the ship. I ran back up the five flights of stairs to find the steward. He informed me that the border policeman had already left the ship but he was kind and called him; then he told me to hurry down and go to the border shuttle bus – the policeman would wait for me there. I ran back down as fast as I could. But the grunty ferryman who was letting the trucks off didn’t speak English and didn’t understand. He still wouldn’t let me off. I took a big breath, raced back up the five flights of stairs to find the steward again. I could barely gasp out an explanation. The steward came down and escorted me off. He was kind, but he also may have been sincerely afraid that I was going to stroke out on his boat. I staggered to the shuttle bus to find the border policeman and the two other Moroccan men happily chatting away. They had waited for me, even negotiating a local price for the taxi ride. Which was awesome! And all was well.

I got dropped at the train station in Tangier town where I bought a ticket to Marrakech. My assigned seat was beside a lovely family who didn’t speak English but we settled ourselves in, exchanged pleasantries and knew we were both going to Marrakech. Suddenly they were shaking me saying we had to get off. I had dozed off. Time to get off!? We were only a few hours in on a five and a half hour ride! But apparently my Arabic ticket said we needed to change trains in Casablanca. Again, lucky they were watching out for me!

They indicated much haste was required, so I threw on my shoes, quickly gathered my stuff and raced after them through the busy terminal. I am a stickler about tying my shoelaces as I am always afraid I will trip, but with the rush, you guessed it, I didn’t lace up. On the escalator my luck went a bit sideways. My shoelace got caught at the top and sucked in. I was moving fast and as I stepped off my upper half literally went airborne like some comic reel and I hit the marble floor hard. Sprawled flat, I just barely got my shoelace pulled out in time. The escalator almost swallowed my shoe with my foot with it. My family stayed with me, helped me up, and we all managed to just barely catch the train. Again, lucky…sort of. I’ll focus on the lucky part.

I arrived in Marrakech around 9pm. My elbow was swollen and crazy painful, my head and hip were throbbing and my knee and ankle were distinctly unhappy, but I could walk. I grabbed a taxi right from the station and rested easy knowing that at least I wouldn’t be searching for my hostel in the dark. When the driver pulled over, pointed to the Medina, and said “just down there, very easy, three minutes”, I couldn’t believe it! My hostel was smack dab in the middle of the market maze! I have been to many, many third world and developing countries’ souks and medinas and I knew what I was in for. It wouldn’t be easy or three minutes. I needed to navigate through a maze of narrow alleyways (with high unbroken concrete walls on both sides) teeming with people and merchants of all kinds, avoid racing scooters, ask someone every 20 feet to help narrow down a door that likely would have no name or number. I didn’t get a Moroccan SIM card as I was staying in hostels that would likely have WIFI most of the time so I couldn’t call or find it in maps and I figured the taxi was a sure bet. It took awhile but I eventually found it. And all was well enough.

I was led to a room on the roof three stories up with open air windows. It was three degrees outside. I laid in bed, called Sabrina and she was aghast – at both the fall and the room. She emphatically pointed out that I was doing hostels to be warm! She said I got the stable special, baby Jesus on the left, pigs on the right. We laughed until I cried. Which was perfect. I needed a good laugh and I needed a good cry. In the end, the blankets were warm, I was safe, laying flat, snuggled in and fell fast asleep. But ya, the day getting to Marrakech was a wild ride!

I am sitting in a small rudimentary room in Algeciras, a port town near Gibraltar. I will take the ferry to Morocco tomorrow. I think it was only yesterday morning that my son Colin dropped me off at the airport, but everything is kind of foggy. My itinerary was Ottawa/Toronto/Dublin/Malaga with multi-hour layovers. I was hoping to grab some sleep somewhere en route as the night before leaving I couldn’t shut my monkey mind down and only slept for a cool 45 minutes. I arrived in Malaga this afternoon with approximately three hours of sleep under my belt over the past two nights. So I missed a lot of the three hour bus ride down the beautiful Costa Del Sol. But I know it was beautiful because I came to at one point when I caught myself falling off my seat and glanced out the window. The thought flitted through my mind that I really should be enjoying the scenery before I lost consciousness again.

I am re-sorting my pack as it was meticulously taken apart and searched in Ottawa. I get randomly get selected every time! Nothing has ever been found. Well, except that one time when my ten-inch long Henckel butchers knife was found in an unused side pocket of my duffel bag after I strenuously insisted I had no knife (I had forgotten it was there from a previous picnic involving a watermelon). They didn’t care for that. Maybe that’s why.

The dash leading up to this trip was busy and full of indecision. The night before leaving, I called my daughter Sabrina and told her I was strongly considering scrapping Morocco, sleeping in my tent after all, and hiking hard in the Spanish mountains. After a short silence she responded, “Have you researched the nighttime weather” I imagined her new mother sleep-deprived, research-oriented brain cells short circuiting at my proposed very last minute total rejigging of plans. In the end, with good input from family, I circled back to my original plan of spending my first three weeks (after which I will be with Sabrina and fam…super excited for that) not sleeping in the tent. While I truly love hiking and sleeping rough, at this time of the year those mountains are cold! And I just don’t want to sleep cold anymore.

This year I am focusing on being kind to myself and mindfully working at body positivity. When I hoisted my back pack to find my waist compression straps fighting for their life my immediate reaction was that I needed enforced food deprivation, hard hiking from dawn to dusk and sleeping on rock (hence the last minute thought to bring my tent). I don’t think that’s the answer. I think a better idea is to be grateful that my body still has the health and strength to take these little jaunts of mine and to treat it with as much love as I can. So I’m going to sleep in hostels, not be cold, and compression straps be damned. Chins up!

We had another record smashing year. The sunshine, good rain, and overproducing plants kept us open to the public until I shut it down in mid-September, just because I was spent. A good problem to have but exhausting! The weather held and the berries continued to ripen as I picked with frenzied obsession until leaving to visit Sabrina, Ben and little Ellie in Alberta at the end of the month. Imagine – blueberries fresh off the bush at the end of September! My plan was to have the fields winter-ready before heading out, but equipment failure and life junked that idea. Oh well!

My daughter Sabrina and I finished our book this year. That was so exciting! It’s full of delicious recipes, stories of starting the blueberry farm and beautiful pictures. I wrote it and Sabrina edited it, designed it, and did the photography for it. It’s been a labor of love that has been four years in the making. We are super proud of it and both the sales and feedback have been great. It sells for $27.95 and if you would like to purchase any for Christmas gifts, let me know. It will also be for sale at the upcoming markets that I’m doing; the Perth Christmas Farmers Market on November 16th, and the Timber Run Christmas Market on December 7th. Maybe I’ll see you at one of them.

We also put 400 more plants in the ground this year. It’s hard soul-crushing work and after five months with stiff muscles and a dirt caked face, I woke up early one morning knowing I had only one more planting day left in these old bones, and that was the day. It was six degrees outside and raining when I headed out to the field. I came in 14 hours later, shivering, wet and wobbly, the last plant planted. Sometimes I curse my inability for moderation and sometimes I embrace it. I did both that day. Anyway, the planting is finished forever and ever. And Angels sang!

Between a successful season, new grand-babies, finishing the book, planting, overwhelming busyness, and family adjustments combined with some significant losses, my emotions have been racing between extremes and I feel untethered and worn. And my damn eye won’t stop twitching! So I have closed the gate to the field, even though there is still work to be done, and I’m looking toward to my winter adventure. As Ferris Bueler says, “life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in while, you could miss it”.

This year I am flying to the south of Spain in January, then immediately taking a ferry to Morocco where I will spend a few weeks on my own exploring and hiking in the Atlas Mountains. I will head back to Spain in February where I will meet Sabrina, Ben, Ellie and Ben’s folks. We have a three-bedroom house rental in the mountains, and for a month we will spend our time hiking and exploring, combined with restful days reading, writing and soaking up the joy of being together in Spain. I will keep up on my blog and share the adventure. I think it’s going to be a good one!

Both babies and mamas did amazing and are healthy and strong.

Hi Folks! I am doing The Ride to Conquer Cancer again this year to raise money for the Princess Margaret Cancer Foundation. It’s my sixth year and as usual, with spring being a little nutso crazy getting the field ready, I am woefully underprepared. But also as usual, I will gut through it and finish the two day 130 kilometre ride uninjured (hopefully), happy and grateful that I’m still able to participate in such a worthwhile cause that is close to my heart.

Each participant needs to raise $2500.00. If you would like to sponser me, below is my direct link.

https://supportthepmcf.ca/ui/Ride24/p/Arlenekeith

Thank you!

Arlene

This year is my sixth season open here at Balderson Blueberries and we are off to a great start! The buds have broken and providing we get no late frost, the harvest will be amazing. Even better than last year, which was our best year ever! And 200 new cultivars that we planted three years ago will be bearing fruit for the first time. So thats exciting – but even more exciting is that they aren’t the only things newly bearing fruit this season.  

I am welcoming two new grand-babies! My daughter Sabrina and my daughter-in-law Sharlee are both pregnant. And both are due within a week of each other! Smack dab in the middle of blueberry season!

Sabrina and Ben have wanted to start a family for years so it is especially exciting and I am super happy for them. Colin and Sharlee were waiting until Sharlee’s Lyme disease was under control before having their second and I am incredibly happy for them too. Cadia is turning three this summer and is stoked to have a sibling. Neither couple are finding out the sex. Fun surprises!

My farmers almanac predicts a wild ride filled with abundance this summer! 

It was great to get home! My reunion with my little granddaughter, Cadia was worth all the delayed planes and I have been loving every minute with her. Her sweet ways and sparkling eyes have long stolen my heart. I have also enjoyed reconnecting with my other loved ones and getting back into the groove of working.

The plan was to be home for a couple of weeks and then head out walking again but the plan has gone the way of the dodo bird on account of my purse being stolen. After getting groceries, while returning the cart (about 20 feet away from my car) my purse was taken right out of my front seat just as bold as you please.

The Food Basics security footage showed me leaving the store with my purse. I remember looking at the empty cart as I returned it, narrowing the theft down to that brief moment when my back was turned. Apparently this new tactic is becoming a thing as stores generally do not have cameras in the parking lot. Aside from the cost and inconvenience of replacing all my cards and losing everything else in my large leather bag, I was buying a saw mill that day and had $4500.00 of hard earned cash in my purse to pay for it.

I am ultra cautious and aware while travelling but I guess I let my guard down here at home. I generally tend to be a trusting sort – in the summer the blueberries at my roadside stand are sold on the honor system and so far that has worked – but I also know that we are living in increasingly desperate times. I still believe that most people are good and trustworthy but I will move forward with more vigilance and caution.

By the end of that day, while obviously still shocked and gut punched by the monetary loss, I had it settled in my mind that it was just money. It wasn’t people and it’s the people in my life that matter. My family and friends were ok and I was ok. I could earn more money. So I am staying home and doing that. I like to think there is a reason why things unfold as they do but sometimes poopy things just happen. I had a good cry and then I let it go.

I am fortunate to have wonderful family and friends who give me much joy. Thank you for sharing this crazy adventure we call life with me. And thank you for taking the time to read. I truly appreciate it! See you on the flip side! Maybe in the blueberry field!

Take good care!

Arlene aka… Blueberry.

These last five weeks have been quite an adventure! It was a mix of challenging weather, altering course, great times with friends, treasured solitude, and through it all, forcing this old horse to keep putting one foot in front of the other, mile after mile, even when she didn’t want to.

I decided that, before flying home, I wanted a couple of days rest and, more importantly, a shower. So here I am in a Fort Lauderdale hostel, all clean and spiffed up in my black merino longs (that’s my sleeping gear) and my brushed cotton flowy purple skirt. My hiking clothes are safely stowed in a biohazard bag and I feel ready for the ritz. Everything is so relative!

I walked from Key West to Key Largo catching glimpses into the lives of seafaring folk fishing from bridges and fixing their boats. Most business’s in the Keys are nautically related in the form of resorts, marinas, seafood restaurants and dermatology offices. Mansions and manicured lawns of the rich and beautiful filled a lot of the other spaces, all against the stunning backdrop of the ocean.

Eventually my life as a good little troll sleeping under bridges didn’t work for me anymore. The shores became rocky and the space became a wind tunnel. One night the wind was so fierce it pressed my tent hard against my face the entire night and I fretted briefly that I was going to be blown out to sea, but all was well. Except that it literally ripped the fabric of my tent. And so I have finally, sadly, retired Big Agnes.

Stealth camping in the open air was lovely. The stars were bright and the weather was kind. I found good spots where I was sheltered from view and felt secure. If anything, it was easier than sleeping in the tent. Mind you, the weather cooperated, there were few mosquitoes and of course, I stayed out of the undergrowth.

I had only ever associated Florida with busy coastline and Orlando tourism but there is a whole different world in the interior. It is full of lush horse country, diverse wetlands and wildlife that most people don’t see. And with the exception of one back woods road section of the trail where I was primed to run at the slightest hint of banjo music, I felt comfortable and safe.

Tomorrow night I will fly home for a couple weeks before setting off on the second leg of my winter wandering. And to answer my own question – do I still have the horses for this particular type of travel? My answer is, I guess I do. I’ve always been more of a work horse than a thoroughbred. The old girl is a bit lame and definitely past her prime, but she ain’t ready for the glue factory yet.

I rolled over and rested my head on my back pack. It had been a long, needed and good, if fitful, sleep. I was on bumpy, uneven ground snugged into thick, hidden undergrowth on a shoreline beside the #1 highway on Key West. Even on the far side of the urban sprawl there wasn’t a lot of choice. The previous day, after exploring the island and having been awake for 36 hours, I found an acceptable spot for my tent. I set up, crawled in and was asleep within minutes. Slowly I opened my eyes. The sun was rising and it was time to get up. I was suddenly wide awake! There was a significant sized ragged hole in my tent wall! Was it there the night before and I was too fuzzy brained to notice? Did I accidentally do it myself in the night? Then I saw a hole in my backpack and a hole in the waterproof bag inside my back pack that held my oatmeal. And oatmeal on the floor of my tent. Using my ace detective skills I put the clues together – but what furry foe was the culprit? I quickly packed up just as a woman glided into the shore and hopped out of her kayak. We started chatting and I mentioned the hole in my tent. “Oh, that will be a river rat”, she said. “They are super big, they will chew through anything. I hate them.” What! A river rat chewed into my tent and backpack and was eating my food, a foot from my face, while I was sleeping! I am no lover of rats (river or otherwise) and I can’t describe how grateful I am that I didn’t wake up during that! I was having trouble processing it actually. But in the end, the only thing to do was to buy a bigger roll of duck tape and just keep walking.

The weather has been warm and comfortable. I am feeling stronger and have been averaging about 30 kilometres per day. It’s a little tricky finding stealth spots on the limited real estate here now that I am undergrowth-by-the-shore shy after the river rat incident. Established campgrounds run upwards of $80 – $100 U.S. a night, which doesn’t suit me either. But I’ve taken to climbing under the bridges at the beginnings or endings of islands (of which there are many) and that’s working out pretty good.

I saw a key deer on Big Pine Key and that was super cool. They look like white tailed deer but are only half the size. They are the smallest deer in North America, are an endangered species and live only in the Florida Keys.

I woke up this morning close to the big 12-kilometre long bridge. I knew a storm front was moving in about 1pm and I wanted to be finished and off by then. By 7am I was booting it along on a separate walkway were people fish and paralleled the bridge. About two kilometres in, the walkway ended and precious time was wasted backtracking and starting again on the actual road.

A three foot high guardrail sounds like a lot, but in the wind on a long bridge, high above big water, it didn’t feel nearly high enough. Between the wind and the cars and big trucks whizzing past I must have looked like a drunken sailor. Thank goodness for my stabilizing poles!

The sky turned black earlier than forecasted. Must walk faster, I thought! I was about four fifths of the way across when the skies opened the wind turned scary. I struggled to get my rain coat and pack cover on as I was slammed by wind and rain. A few minutes later a truck stopped right on the bridge and opened the door. “Get in,”they yelled. I wasted no time scrambling over empty car seats, relief flooding through me. I was already drenched and shivering.

Their names were Jamie and Jo, a lovely 30 something couple from Wisconsin. They had just received a tornado warning on their phone when they saw me. They took me to their Airbnb in Marathon (the other end of the bridge) where I met their kids and parents. They dried my clothes and fed me lunch. They were a beautiful family and it reinforced my belief that there are kind, helpful, wonderful people everywhere. Again, I was overwhelmed with gratitude!

I am on Conch Key now and settled in for the night under a good bridge. The road overhead is loud but that’s ok! I’m writing this post fast as my U.S. phone plan runs out tomorrow. So my next post will likely be from the airport in Fort Lauderdale where I will have wifi. Until then, I’ll just keep walking. 😊