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more thrilling thought, one of the mountain cats driven near settlements by cold weather when the birds and rabbits seek lower levels. For years we had been paying rent and we were beautifully comfortable in our well-heated flat. From our windows, the mighty "lions” reared their heads above their surroundings; the steamers from the world over came into the port almost within touch; BUT after all, we were only tenants. Our individual and mutual minds determined that it must be "back to the land" for us and so our search proceeded. Real estate agents learned of our longing -that fraternity seems made up of mind readers. We were shown camps and homes and farms and "most desirable" land that was high, or dry, or damp, or near the ferry or far from the "madding crowd". Any and all desires could be met. We examined all and sundry and we escaped would-be guides whenever possible. We spent many a Saturday night in deserted lumber camps and finally picked out the spot we wanted. A lot directly on the shore with a sixty-foot frontage and a depth of two hundred feet; a three-room cottage well built and the front of the lot cleared. The price was, at first, a gasper for our flattened purses - only thirty-five hundred but "the wind is usually tempered to the shorn lamb" and a way was found whereby we could make a first payment, to be followed by others. The tenth of March found us moving to our new home. Old enough to have lost most of youth’s enthusiasms, we were like two children with new toys over the "possibilities" of OUR home. Two rooms to be added "some day"; the cottage moved a bit nearer the shore so that from the sun-room windows could be seen the twinkling lights of Point Atkinson light-house when night drew on; a rose garden here; a garden of Japanese Iris there (inspired by the garden of a Caulfeilds friend); perennials - more of them than we could count; yards and yards of sweet peas against one of the side fences. And vegetables! And small fruits! No dreams of youth in its heydey could have been more glorious. And now to tell how we started making those dreams come true. First, for the practical side of life, let me advise if you love the open spaces, the pure fresh air, the joy of seeing things grow and the absolute bliss of having one's own fruit and vegetables, there must be a willingness to work and, at times, to work hard. My husband generally left his office at five o'clock. He enjoyed the ride on the little West Vancouver ferry where there was ample time to read the evening paper in peace while enjoying the scenery and fresh air. On reaching home, we had tea and sandwiches then, changing into his old khaki slacks and shirt, my "lord and master" went to work with a will. Sometimes it was hauling wood from the shore then sawing and chopping into stove lengths. The generous waves brought all the wood we could possibly use almost to our door. Again, there was underbrush to clear out or undesirable trees to chop down or most difficult work of all, huge boulders to dig out of the ground that the garden might be made. By June, we had our own lettuce and radishes and before the end of the summer, all the vegetables we used on the table were from our own garden. Just let me enumerate than. Peas, three varieties of beans, carrots, beets, tomatoes, cucimbers, celery, parsley, onions, cauliflower, vegetable marrow and com - besides our small fruits! \^en we considered gooseberries, currants and blackberries, we decided that, if possible, we would put in a few older bushes so, from a North Vancouver dealer, we bought six, three-year old currant bushes; six three-year old gooseberry bushes; and one two-year old blackberry - all we could then afford. The days passed and our bushes bore, well rewarding the care they received. The blackberry was the only disappointment. A hot week following its change of environment set it back so badly that the fruit did not ripen until far into the frosty days of fall but the vine is hardy and ready for the coming summer.