tree: Browse The Strips
Lynn's Comments: The annual trek into the bush to get our Christmas tree was a Lynn Lake ritual. The trouble was that the good trees were only visible in the summer. You'd have to tag the tree and hope someone else didn't cut it down before you did! December temperatures would often dip below -39C so you had to know where you were going and take your tree fast - before you froze to the spot where you were standing. A frozen trunk wasn't always the easiest thing to chop or saw through, either!
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Lynn's Comments: A good tree, harvested by hand, was something to celebrate. In this strip, Farley is giving the yuletide conifer a canine style christening - another event which never happened, but should have!
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Lynn's Comments: I rarely saw my parents kissing. Sometimes they held hands but it was a discreet show of affection--which was quickly over if someone drew attention to it. Still, they were very romantic. They thought about each other and did things for each other easily and naturally. They were husband and wife, but they were also the best of friends. I often made fun of the two of them and their mushy ways, but in the end, I wish for all the world I could have had a marriage like theirs.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Lynn's Comments: I have always wondered what it is that makes boys and men want to run around shooting each other, when a really good, moderated argument would resolve almost anything. My thinking is: If women ruled the world, we'd get the politics over with expediently, thereby saving the civilian population, then do our best to rejuvenate each other's economies by shopping! This said by someone who admits to having been a street fighter at the age of five!
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Monday, May 26, 2014
Lynn's Comments: Having moved to a more southerly clime, we were able to grow real plants! I went crazy finding ornamental trees and flowering perennials to fill our garden. I dug and I trimmed. The job was bigger than I had imagined, so I hired a lady to help me. She would arrive with her young children in tow; I'd feed and water them while she did the same for the garden. Eventually, we had a beautiful place to live, surrounded by pine forests and open fields.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
Lynn's Comments: I had such an island. I don't know if it was the story of Peter Pan or a project my mom gave us to do, but I had an imaginary island, and it was real.
One rainy North Vancouver day, my mom mixed up a paste using flour and water (and some other things), cut out flat cardboard bases, and helped my brother and me form an island in the middle of each one. We had to make mountains and bays, and when the paste was dry and hard, we coloured our islands with poster paint.
I took this project seriously. The ocean around my island was the deepest blue-green. There was a sandy beach in a rocky horseshoe-shaped bay. There was a forested mountain, and a jungle where I could pick tropical fruit. As I painted my island, I thought about how I got there and what I had to work with. A shipwreck was part of my story, of course, and I built an imaginary shack out of the remnants of a washed-up hull. I had a garden and I made a path to the mountaintop where I could watch for ships. Sometimes, a sailor or a passenger would be washed up on my shore and I would have imaginary adventures with this visitor. The visitors never stayed for long. It was, after all, my private imaginary space.
I daydreamed about this island all the time. When I was being bullied, I went to my island. When I was in trouble (sometimes for being a bully!), I went to my island. If I had a crush on a boy, he might be washed up on the island. Sometimes if a teacher was particularly nice, she might appear there, too. This fantasy went on until I was in high school! Even when I was well beyond childhood, I'd still find myself thinking, "You are allowed on my island." Or, "You are NOT allowed on my island!" It was a refuge. I was safe there. I had supreme control. There were no rainy days. It was a place of peace, and I think it helped me to survive some difficult times.
The island disappeared after many years--but I can still bring it into focus if I try
One rainy North Vancouver day, my mom mixed up a paste using flour and water (and some other things), cut out flat cardboard bases, and helped my brother and me form an island in the middle of each one. We had to make mountains and bays, and when the paste was dry and hard, we coloured our islands with poster paint.
I took this project seriously. The ocean around my island was the deepest blue-green. There was a sandy beach in a rocky horseshoe-shaped bay. There was a forested mountain, and a jungle where I could pick tropical fruit. As I painted my island, I thought about how I got there and what I had to work with. A shipwreck was part of my story, of course, and I built an imaginary shack out of the remnants of a washed-up hull. I had a garden and I made a path to the mountaintop where I could watch for ships. Sometimes, a sailor or a passenger would be washed up on my shore and I would have imaginary adventures with this visitor. The visitors never stayed for long. It was, after all, my private imaginary space.
I daydreamed about this island all the time. When I was being bullied, I went to my island. When I was in trouble (sometimes for being a bully!), I went to my island. If I had a crush on a boy, he might be washed up on the island. Sometimes if a teacher was particularly nice, she might appear there, too. This fantasy went on until I was in high school! Even when I was well beyond childhood, I'd still find myself thinking, "You are allowed on my island." Or, "You are NOT allowed on my island!" It was a refuge. I was safe there. I had supreme control. There were no rainy days. It was a place of peace, and I think it helped me to survive some difficult times.
The island disappeared after many years--but I can still bring it into focus if I try
Monday, July 11, 2016
Lynn's Comments: The cherry tree in our front yard on Fifth Street was tall and sturdy, and one branch afforded us a great view of the neighbours' houses. Every time we hid up there, we hoped to see something important, something about which we could tell the police. If we didn't see anything, it didn't matter. Alan and I could always make something up.
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Friday, July 15, 2016
Lynn's Comments: While writing this short vignette, I remembered very clearly the vigils we made in our cherry tree. I could feel the branches, smell the leaves, sense the movement of the tree, and anticipate the pummeling my mother would give us if she caught us up there. A cartoonist has to have a good memory and an even better sense of "what if?"
Saturday, July 16, 2016
Monday, July 18, 2016
Tuesday May 30, 2017
Lynn's Comments: This strip was done to counter the thought of death and bring everyone back, full circle, to new beginnings. Again, I received many letters from readers who felt this was an appropriate thing to include in the story. The strip was really a saga by now, and far from the "gag-a-day" ideas I'd started with.
Wednesday May 31, 2017
Sunday July 9, 2017
Lynn's Comments: We never had a dog when we were kids, though my dad, my brother, and I all wanted one. Mom put her foot down knowing a pet would be another thing she would be responsible for. She said no to a dog, and she ruled the roost. Nonetheless, we dreamed that someday, we'd be able to have this kind of close and loving relationship with a dog. Neither my dad nor my brother ever adopted a puppy, but I did. My first dog was Farley; an old English sheepdog, purchased by my first husband, Doug Franks, and I on a Sunday afternoon drive into the Ontario countryside. He later became the character "Farley" in FBorFW. My next dog was "Willy": a sweet little black Spaniel. Katie picked him out of a pet store window and declared him "family" since he had such big feet. Willy became my pet and constant companion. My mom knew what she was talking about when she said a dog would become her responsibility. Willy was certainly mine, but it was a responsibility that brought me 8 years of fun, activity and genuine pleasure.
Monday February 11, 2019
Lynn's Comments: I found that some story lines needed a break; something that would return the focus to the family—giving us a fast "glimpse" into something else. These asides were often very sweet. They made me happy and gave both the readers and myself a rest from more serious ideas.
Friday March 8, 2019
Lynn's Comments: Kate did this!
Sunday October 13, 2019
Lynn's Comments: We had a small piece of property near our house in North Bay. Friends who were involved with a tree planting program gave us two dozen evergreen seedlings to plant—which we did, hoping to see at least some of them survive. All of the seedlings grew, and today, there is a forest on that land. Hard to believe I have lived long enough to see a forest grow!