Mushroom Treasures From The Farmer's Market

    I probably shouldn’t be blogging about this because I don’t really have all the information,  but yesterday my wife came home from the McBride Farmer’s Market, with this remarkable, exotic, and beautiful collection of mushrooms.   It is extraordinary to find such unusual gastronomical delectables in our local farmer’s market, which usually just features typical garden produce (and of course, fresh doughnuts). 

    I had heard tell of a couple who live in Dome Creek (a settlement so small it doesn’t even have a store) who were growing exotic and fancy mushrooms, but that was all the information I had.   I have since learned that the couple’s farm is called the Ancient Forest Mushroom Farm.  

     After seeing the variety of mushrooms that came home from the market, I must say I am really impressed.   It must take a tremendous amount of  agricultural skill and knowledge to grow such an amazing variety of fungal treasures.

    I am constantly surprised at the unusual and high-end talent of people that end up living in our very remote, sparsely populated, and isolated Valley.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Oh, It's The Neighborhood Garter Snake

    Just about every year I catch the sight of a Garter Snake.  I am only assuming that it is the same one, I can’t really be sure, but since I always see it in about the same area, it is probably the same one.  The snake usually surprises me slithering around in the greenhouse in the spring, but I didn’t see it this year until yesterday.

    I was out weeding the garden and while taking my third five gallon bucket of weeds (I have let the weeds get out of hand) to the compost pile near the greenhouse, I caught a movement with my eye, and there was the Garter Snake sliding for cover.  I saw it stop under some loose hay and went in to get my camera.  When I returned the snake had come out a bit and I took the photo.  The snake is about 16 inches (40 cm) in length.

        The Red-Sided Garter snake is the only type of snake that live here.  They are not poisonous, and eat tadpoles, frogs, salamanders, small fish, and leeches.  They also eat slugs and insects.  They nest communally over the winter often in boulders, and so I have always wondered if they have a nest in the big bouldered rockslide on the slope above out house.

    I was happy to spot the snake yesterday, because I had been a bit concerned when I didn’t see it at all in the spring.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Uncontrolled Fight by Frances Peck

Uncontrolled Flight  by Frances Peck

    I found Uncontrolled Flight to be a compelling, fast-paced, and currently relevant novel.  It had to do with Bird Dog planes and water bombers that are used to fight forest fires.  During my years working for the BC Forest Service, a few times I had the opportunity to watch the Bird Dog planes and Bombers in action.  The Bird Dogs are the small planes that fly over the fire to assess them, then decide on a path over the fire, that the bombers will then follow to drop their load of water or repellant.

    The storyline of the novel concerns Will, a Bird Dog pilot, and his very close relationship to Rafe, the extraordinarily skilled water bomber pilot, who he worked with for ten years.  Rafe had a wonderful personality, who was not only a straightforward, trustworthy, and kind person, but he was a very skilled and legendary tanker pilot. 

        One day, Will was directing him over a forest fire near Quesnel, and as he watched Rafe follow him over the fire, with horror, he saw Rafe’s plane fly lower and lower, until it crashed into the fire.  Will, and all those who knew Rafe, were left dumbstruck  in disbelief at his death, and his crash was the mystery, that the novel slowly untangled.

    Beside Will, also caught up in the grief and mystery of Rafe’s death was Sharon, Rafe’s wife, Natasha, a crash investigator (who had recently had an affair with Rafe), some other flight crash investigators, the company that employed Rafe, and Rafe’s brother.  The big mystery had to do with what had caused the crash, was it mechanical problems in the old tanker, or was pilot error.

    Getting a glimpse of the job that crash investigators do was very insightful.  Like detectives, they have to carefully comb through and inspect all of the fragments of the wrecked and burned plane and follow the paper trail of the plane’s mechanical records, in an attempt to see if any of the plane’s thousands of parts, led to the crash.  

    I liked the way the author set up the storyline so my opinion of the characters changed, as ever so slowly, more information was revealed.  The mentions of Quesnel and Prince George in the novel, which are places not far away from where I live, also made the story more real for me.  It was a fast-paced read that I really enjoyed spending time with. 

       I felt some personal relationship to the story since in the late 1980’s, while I was with the Forest Service, a Bird Dog pilot crashed and was killed on the mountain slope beside the Blackwater (McKale River).  He was leading a water tanker over a fire on the McBride Community Forest.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca
 

A Shock Along the Trail

     This is something that happened in March of 2014.  At the time, we had hacked out a trail that looped around and went through the bush down toward the river.  We walked the trail daily, sometimes twice a day and enjoyed watching the slow changes of the surroundings as the seasons evolved.  Here is what I wrote at the time:

        I apologize for the graphic photo, but I think it is good that every once and a while, we touch base with the reality of nature.  What you are looking is a discovery I made the other morning, when I was walking the trail.  I saw some tuffs of hair on a small rise beside the trail, and walked over to investigate. I found this carcass of a deer, I assume it was killed by a cougar.  A couple of weeks ago, we had heard reports of a cougar being in the neighborhood.

        Of course, death is always sad, and especially when it is the death of a seemingly gentle, plant-eating animal, but this is the way nature works, and in the long run, it is good for the deer population that the weaker members be eliminated, and their numbers, be kept in check.  And on the other side, cougars have to eat too.

        Despite knowing all this stuff, it was still a shock to come upon this grisly scene, down below our house.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

I Think I Will Just Let That Fallen Branch Be

     We had a downpour overnight and during the tempest the wind dislodged a willow branch and blew it down close to the giant hornet’s nest that has been growing on the edge of our carport.  Normally I would take the branch away, but I decided not to do anything that might spook the hornets.  I noticed  that there were five hornets just sitting on the side of their nest, which is a bit unusual.  I wondered if they were there to keep an eye on the threatening branch.

    So far we have been able to peacefully co-exist with the hornets, and they have tolerated our constant walking back and forth, a little more than a foot (30 cm) under their nest.

    In the past when hornets have built nests on some of my out buildings, suddenly in the fall I find the nests all torn to pieces.  It looked like something had attacked and destroyed the nest, looking for food.  Some of those nests were located rather high, so I don’t think it was a bear.  I will be interested to see if that happens with this hornet’s nest.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Hurry, I Need That Litter Box

    Lucifer really loves her litter box.  I am reminded of that fact every week when I take the box out for cleaning.  I usually walk it out to our sewage lagoon, and dump the clumps out there.  Once I picked up the litter box, opened the front door, and set the box on the front porch bench, then I walked back into the house and to the carport door to get my boots on.

    Once dressed, I walked out the carport door and outside, then around to the porch to pick up the box from the bench.  By the time I got there, Lucifer was already trying to get into the box.  (I have never understood why she insists upon using litter box, when she has the whole outside world at her disposal.) Anyway, I shooshed her away from the box, picked it up, and then carried it out to the lagoon.  There, I sifted through the litter with the little slotted shovel, and threw out all of the clumps.

    I brought the box back to the carport, where I poured in some new cat litter to replace what was taken out.  

    I opened the carport door, carried the box back into the house, and put it down on the floor, so I could take off my boots.  I couldn’t believe it while I was doing that, Lucifer, who had followed me  back into the house, was already climbing into the virgin litter to try it out.  Not only did she pee, she also pooped into the box.

    While waiting for her to finish, so I could put the lid on litter box, I grabbed my camera and took the photo.  Lucifer’s love of her litter box inspired the cartoon below.

You can take a look at my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

The Actual Move Finally Happens

    The photo above shows my new office space, once the move was completed.

    When Wednesday the scheduled moving day arrived, the weather was terrible; wild and windy with six inches of snow on the ground, so the move was postponed until the following day.  In my boredom, I broke into some of my boxes to retrieve some things so I could get some work done.

    Thursday, the day of the big move things didn’t quite go as planned. Management had contracted a group from Valemount to do the moving.  At 8:00 on the day of the move, we discovered that the contracted moving crew wasn’t there. In our frustration, all of us just started moving things to the new office ourselves.  We started with the boxes, then hours later, when the movers still hadn’t arrived, we began moving chairs and desks.  

    The contracted movers didn’t show up until 2:30 in the afternoon, and to our dismay we discovered the movers weren’t a crew of hefty men with a big moving truck, but just a handful of people, mostly women, who loaded everything onto open flatbed trailers, pulled by pickup trucks.  It was a pretty “Mickey Mouse” operation, not really suited for lugging around the bulky heavy furniture that needed to be moved.

    Everyone had assumed that movers would be working into the night, but when we returned to work the next day, we found that things looked to be in exactly the same places they were when we had left the day before, so once again, we just starting moving everything ourselves.

    I drove the Forestry one-ton truck, back and forth between the old warehouse and our new one.  Luckily we were able to load and unload the warehouse items with a forklift.  I seemed to drop one of the cardboard boxes on just about every trip, because they were poorly packed and slippery.  The yard at our new compound was rough and tilted the wrong way on the curves, and that added frustration to our moving difficulties because of the loads shifting.

    On the following Monday, the contracted movers finally got my drafting equipment to the new office, so I was able to spend the day putting things away in my new office space.  I was surprised to find in my allotted space, a new computer with dual monitors for me to use with the computerized mapping that I would begin doing.  

    I was very happy with my new office space.  It was spacious and my draughting table was facing a big window which overlooked the compound yard, with the Canadian Rockies in the background. 

        The photo below, shows the Forest Service staff standing in front of the new office building we had moved into.

 You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Our Big Office Move

     The photo shows my Forest Service Draughting Office, circa 1991, before it was all packed away ready for the move to our new office.

    In the last half of October of 1991, the our Forest District was preparing to make a move into a new building that the Provincial Government had contracted to house our growing numbers of employees (39).  The new building seemed like a huge complex, considering that when I started working for the Forest Service in 1980, we just had a small office building with only about eight of us working there.

    As our staff grew, we moved to a larger office that was part of the then newly constructed Village of McBride Office Complex that had been built in 1981.   Ten years later, that office space was set to burst at the seams because of our growing number of employees, that had increased into the upper twenties.  Also, Forestry’s ten year lease for the space with the Village had expired, so we were off to work in the newly constructed Ministry of Forests building located at the end of the Frontage Road across Highway 16, west of Main Street. 

    The spacious new building consisted of a handful of enclosed offices for Management, and Resource Officers, and an open area for workspace delineated by five foot high moveable partitions, for us peons.  There was also a lunch room, a “Board Room for meetings, and a warehouse for all of the fire fighting equipment which included a much needed forklift.  There was a separate building to house things like gasoline and other fuels.

    Of course, the whole forestry staff was eager to make the move into our “new digs,” but the move kept being put off.  Finally, a date for our move was set for Monday, October 28th, so everyone spent the Friday before, dismantling and boxing up all of their office supplies.

    Packing up everything in my Draughting/Mapping area, was particularly difficult, because of all the filing cabinets of air photos, and the cabinets and hangers full of all of the many maps of our district, as well as  the large and specialized large-format printers for those maps, a huge light table, and a projector for enlarging the maps.  There was also the big drawing table set up with its draughting attachments, but by the end of Friday, I had managed to dismantle, organize and gather all of the furniture, cabinets, and equipment together on the floor, surrounded by the many boxes full of all of the other items I used in my job.

    The whole staff also had everything organized and ready to move, when our office received word from BCBC (the Provincial agency in charge of buildings) that permission to move had been denied, and would not be approved, until the furnace in the new building was hooked up and working, (it was just about November, after all.)

    This announcement left our whole forestry staff flummoxed and wondering about what we were going to do about our work, during the following week, since everything we used to do our job was in boxes, and we had not been given any date as to when we would be able make to make the move.  Finally, a new move date was set for Wednesday, October 30th, so until then, all of us pretty much twiddled our thumbs for three whole work days, unable to do our work because everything we used had been packed away in boxes.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

I Am Sure Liking Battery-Run Equipment

    While battery powered equipment has been available for a while now, it was only this summer that I climbed onto the bandwagon.   Several years ago I bought a battery powered lawn trimmer, but the battery it came with wasn’t too impressive, because it didn’t last very long.  Early this spring, I bought myself a battery run chainsaw and was very impressed with it.  It came with a much more powerful battery and I found the chainsaw very efficient and easy to use.

    This summer, I saw that the local equipment store was having a “Spring Sale” that included lawn mowers.  The sale included two extra batteries, and I checked and found that they were the same type battery that my chainsaw and lawn trimmer used, so I bought the lawn mower.  Being able to use those same powerful batteries on the other appliances was handy.  

    Once I started using all of these battery run things, I was sold.  It is so easy to start them all just by pressing a button, and not having to pull a crank over and over, hoping that the thing would start.  Of course, I still have to use chain oil in the chainsaw, but it is sure nice not to have to mess with mixed gas.   I find it is much more motivating, to just be able to start the lawnmower with a button and mow, without having to spend time mess around with filling the tank with gas and checking the oil level.

    Another of the big benefits to these batter powered tools, is how much quieter they are to use.  Their sound is more of a hum, than a loud obnoxious roar.

    Charging the batteries only takes about 40 minutes, and the fact that I have several batteries, enables me to continue with the job if a battery does run down.  The lawn mower has a space to carry an extra battery along, so you don’t have to go get another one, if you need it.  I have found that the batteries last as long as I want to spend doing the job.

    While these battery run items are rather pricy, they do make me feel good about doing the jobs and not having to use oil and gas to do them.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

A Smoking Picnic Table And A Dead Mouse

     Here is something that happened on this date in 2014:

    A group of people in the Robson Valley had organized a meeting about garden seed saving.  They set up a meeting in Dunster, so I decided to go.  When I got into my rickety old green truck, I right away smelled a dead mouse.  A few days previously I had first got a hint of that scent, and I had assumed a mouse crawled up in the trucks ventilation system and died.  The smell wasn’t too unbearable so I drove on out to Dunster.    

    It was a very hot and sunny day (30C 86F) and it got hotter as we sat around in the sun.  In the middle of our circle was a picnic table with food and drink waiting to be consumed.  About midway through the meeting, Johnny jumped up from his chair and said something about smoke.  He grabbed a gallon water jug that was sitting on the table in the sun and moved it into the shade provided by an umbrella.

    It was then that I saw what he had seen.  The jug with its crystal clear water had concentrated the bright sunlight into a beam, which was projected onto the surface of the picnic table.  The table top, like a piece of paper under a magnifying glass’s sun beam, had started to burn.  Smoke was coming out of a small charred spot.  This was an amazing thing that I had never seen before, so I took the photos below.

    After the meeting, eating, and a look at some of the nearby gardens, I walked back to the truck ready to drive home.  Because it had been sitting in the sun with the windows shut, climbing into the truck was like walking into a hot oven roasting a rotting mouse.  After opening the doors to air out the cab, my olfactory’s got used to the odor, and I began my journey back to McBride.

    As I drove down the highway, I got an idea:   “Maybe if I turn the vent fan up to ‘High’, the smell of the mouse will quickly dissipate.”

      It didn’t quite work out that way.  I turned the knob up to the highest level and the fan began to drone, then suddenly, the drone sound changed into a rapid thump, thump, thumping.

    Immediately, my nostrils were filled with the most putrid smell imaginable.  I thought I was going to faint or gag.  I could hardly breathe.  Luckily, I didn’t gag, instead I immediately turned off the fan and rolled down the windows.

    Here is what I think happened:  The bloated dead mouse corpse was lying in the vent by the fan and putting out a faint odor.  When I turned the fan to High, the corpse got sucked into the fan which split the rotting corpse open, freeing all the putrescent gases fermenting inside the body, and they got blown out all of the vents into the cab of my truck.   It was horrible.

    With all the windows down and driving at highway speeds, I managed to make it home.  I left the windows of the truck open overnight, hoping that soon all the mouse body parts would quickly dry out and cease to smell.  

    It was a memorable afternoon. 

        View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

T-Shirt Entrepreneur

     I like to sleep in long-sleeved T-shirts.  Last night when I grabbed one out of the drawer, I noticed that it was one of my “Yellowhead Loppet” shirts.  The logo refers to a cross-country ski race that used to take place annually in the Robson Valley.  “Yellowhead” is a reference to an old pioneer explorer of the area, and “Loppet” is a cross-country ski race.  

    Seeing the shirt reminded me of the time back in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s when I created a lot of logos and had them silkscreened onto T-shirts to sell.  It was quite a little business for me; coming up with the logos, ordering the T-shirts, and having them printed, then flogging them locally.  

    Surprisingly, I still have a few of those old T-shirts.  Some are pretty threadbare, but, like I mentioned, a few of them, I still wear.

    Below are a few examples of those T-shirts from that ancient era.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Free And Footloose Pigs

    Yesterday I blogged about two escapee bovines, and mentioned that other such events sometimes happen in the Robson Valley.  Here is a similar thing that occurred in 2012:

 Bark.....Bark, Bark.....Bark.....Bark.....Bark...Bark....

    “What’s wrong with that dog?”  I wondered.  

    Mac, who was outside, generally doesn’t bark, except maybe when a squirrel gets on his nerve.

    I went back to my book.

    Bark.... Bark, Bark.

    I just had two more pages to read to finish in the novel, but I didn’t want Mac to get into the habit of habitual barking, so I put the book down, got up, and walked down the stairs and to the front door, to yell at him to shut up, but when I opened the door, I was gobsmacked.

    My eyes saw, but my brain just temporarily shut down.  It seemed like I had opened the door to fantasyland, because standing right there by the porch where Mac was standing, were two pigs looking at me.  I could tell that Mac, who had seemed worried and not knowing what to do about the sudden appearance of the pigs, was relieved that I had arrived.

    When my brain began firing again, I tried to chase the swine away.  They were friendly enough, but seemed happy to be in our front yard.  

    “Where did they come from?”  The only person in the neighborhood that I had knew that had some pigs, lived a mile away.  I called my wife to come out with a broom to keep the pigs from destroying things, while I went in to make some phone call enquiries.

    I called the guy I thought had pigs, and found that his phone was disconnected.  I then called my next door neighbor, but he didn’t answer, so I left a message about having two pigs in my front yard and asked if he knew who might own them.  I made another call to the neighbor who lived west of us and explained to their teenaged daughter why I was calling.  She laughed and said they didn’t own any pigs.

    I then went back outside and took over for my wife.  I thought the best course of action would be to try to herd the two pigs into my barnyard, which had a fence all around it.  When I tried to herd the pigs, Mac’s herding instinct (he was an Old English Sheepdog) kicked in and he joined me barking and darting around the pigs.

   Unfortunately, Mac’s herding instinct left something to be desired, because he always seemed to go the wrong way, blocking the pigs from going where I wanted them to go.  Eventually in frustration, I put Mac in the house and returned to deal with the pigs alone.

    I managed to get one into the paddock, but the other took off in the other direction.  The captured pig ran down along the inside of the fence and the free one followed him, but on the other side of the fence.  

    I grabbed a rope and made a noose, and tried to get it around the neck of the freed pig, but it was nervous and was starting to think that I was untrustworthy, so he didn’t let me get very close.  I scrambled after him through brush and around the woodpile trying to catch him.

    About this time, Bruce the next door neighbor I had called, came through the opening on our property line with his two dogs, and I was happy learn that the pigs were, in fact, his.  With his help, we managed to get the freed pig into the paddock with his buddy, and my neighbor went back home to get some “slop” to tempt the two pigs home.  Meanwhile, the pigs were busying occupying themselves, rooting around pulling up plants in the paddock.

    Bruce returned with a bucket of slop and two hot dog buns, which I guess the pigs really liked to eat, and soon Bruce, his two dogs, and the two pigs were all parading back to their home.  Another exciting episode of life in McBride had come to an end.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Escapee Cows

    While living in a rural place like the Robson Valley, it is not beyond comprehension that you might be visited by escaped farm animals.  In our time living here we have been surprised to find both escaped pigs and cows in our yard.  While going through my 1991 diary, I came across this event that I had totally forgotten about:

    On a rainy Sunday in mid-September, I was forced to play wrangler, when two cows owned by Han’s, who lives four houses up the road, came meandering through our yard.  I ran to the barn and grabbed the whip I snap when herding the goats, to use in an attempt to turn the cows around, and headed back to Han’s place, but they were determined to proceed up toward the road, and head east toward Glen’s house, which I discovered later, was were they were born.  

    Andrew, Glen’s son came out and together we eventually got the two steers turned around, back on the road and headed west toward Han’s place.

    However, before they got there, one of the bovines veered off of the road and scrambled down Smith’s driveway.  I chased the remaining cow until it jumped a fence.  Eventually, Andrew and I were finally able to get both the cows together again and herd the two escapees into the corral that Han’s had made for them.

    I returned home, to rest after my cow adventure, but about an hour later, I saw Han’s walking up our pasture with a rope in his hands.  It seemed that having had a taste of freedom, his cows had made an escape once again.

    The next day after riding my bike home from work, I took my Angora goats down to the pasture to graze.  An hour later, I began to herd the goats up through our yard to get them into the paddock by the barn.  They were just getting close to the paddock when one of Han’s cows came walking down our driveway.  Upon seeing me and the goats, it bellowed out a loud “Moo”.  This totally freaked out the goats, but fortunately, it spooked them into making for the security of their paddock. 

    Once I had shut the gate on the goats, I joined Glen and Andrew, to once again try to herd the cow up the road to Han’s place.  The determined cow headed off into the bush in an escape attempt, but finally after some bushwhacking, we got the adventurous bovine back into Han’s corral.

    I think all of that cow trouble encouraged Hans to fortify his corral, because after that, we didn’t see any more escapees.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Not the Best Summer For Hostas

    The extreme heat and drought that we had this summer caused forest fires and water loss for some local families.  The shade-loving hostas that I have growing in front of our porch also suffered.  It appears that some of the hosta leaves actually got severe sunburns under the blazing sun.  Surprisingly some of the other

View my many hosta paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

    

 

John and Di Return to Jasper

    Remember our friends John and Di, who three weeks ago had to evacuate their home in Jasper National Park, because of a raging forest fire that swept through the Jasper townsite.  They have been living with friends in McBride ever since then.  None of the Jasper residents had been allowed to return  to the town that had one third of its buildings destroyed.

    After about of a week after the fire, John and Di were finally able to find out that their home had miraculously been spared from the fire, but it wasn’t until yesterday, that Jasper residents could finally return to the homes that had not been destroyed.  

    We got a call from Di yesterday, and she was happy to report that their place remained exactly as they had left it.  Even the plants in their small back yard were still green.  The two had been worried about the state of the food that they had left in the fridge and freezer, thinking it would be a rotting moulding mess when they returned, but happily, it seems that the power had remained on, or at least had been quickly restored, because inside the fridge and freezer, things still looked good.

    The two have been very impressed with the support they had found upon their return.  There is all kind of physical help available for those that needed it, as well as financial funds to pay for the expenses incurred while being evacuated.

    I think only one grocery store and one gas station remain in Jasper, so it will be a while before more such basic services can be rebuilt and restored.  

    After a few days of organizing things in Jasper, John and Di plan return to McBride for a while, before returning full time living in Jasper.  They have been very lucky to not have their home and all of their possessions destroyed by the fire.  So many of their friends and acquaintances in Jasper have lost everything, and are reeling, trying to put together a new future for themselves.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

The Lens Cap

    Way back in the early 1990’s, we went on a vacation to Costa Rica.  Costa Rica is rich in tropical wildlife and we wanted to experience the jungle and the many plants and animals that lived there.  We spent a couple of days hiking the trails and exploring in the Monte Verde Cloud Forest.  

    On one of our hikes, we found ourselves on a jungle trail that snaked its way beside a river valley.  I stopped to take a photo.   At the time I used a 35mm camera and had several lens for it.  As I stood beside the barrier that was erected to prevent people from falling down the slope, I fumbled around trying to put the telephoto lens on my camera.  I got the lens on, but when I took the lens cap off, it slipped from my hand, and bounced over the edge of the slope.

    I could see where the lens had landed; it was only about 10 foot (3 m) below me, on a ledge.  It didn’t seem like it would be too dangerous to retrieve it, so I climbed over the barrier, and carefully made my way down the steep slope to get it.  When I got down to the spot where the lens ways lying, I reached for the lens cap, and got a surprise.  Just a couple of feet (60cm) away from it, sat another camera lens cap that someone else had evidently dropped from exactly the same outlook spot.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca