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Mama, gardener, teacher, photographer, faffer with paint and colour

Friday, 27 January 2012

For Thomas

Let me tell you a simple story of a sleepy village. Nestled at the bottom of two hills, crowned with grey granite boulders, buzzards soar by day and owls hoot by night. In the village there was a tall, young man, he had a shock of wild frizzy hair, he liked to draw fairies and goblins and loved old ways and old tales and music to jig to. He was brought up by his Aunt as his mother had died. She raised him and he was her own, she poured love into him and nurtured a gentle spirit.
It came to pass that as a young man he fell in love with a woman, fair and true, but with a temper to raise passions. She also loved to draw and brought colour into the lives of those around her, she made people laugh.They lived a simple life, both wanting to be free to create. They loved the hills around their home and married atop the granite tor, proclaiming their love for all the gathered villagers to hear, some weeping with joy for the raw honesty of their words. Rain soaked their clothes and the wind whipped the dress of the bride, swollen belly proud, the baby eager to leap into their lives.
Villagers would watch the family go about their lives, the baby daughter with a shock of fair hair and a gentle smile.They were very much loved by their friends and family.
After a time, the heart of the young man started to falter, his love remained but his heart would not work. He became tired and struggled to hold his beloved daughter. He laughed despite his fear,while his wife took the little girl alone on her back to watch the buzzards and feel the wind.
The villagers, their friends, and his family also felt the fear as his strength waned.
His heart stopped.
And now the village is in mourning, an aura of shock and disbelief surrounds the people who knew him.
He was a good man, of the type only found in fairy stories.Those left behind are bereft, of a son, a husband, a daddy, a friend, a person to while away the days and nights, to share fires and songs, stories and creatures, magic and most of all love. His spirit is still here, it is strong and present, maybe soaring with the buzzards, or the owls.You loved well Thomas, and are well loved.Carry the love with you.xxx

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

Steaming River..Winter at last

Finally after months of dull, shapeless, grey skies we have the winter we have been looking for.The land is covered in white and grass crunches satisfyingly underfoot.The cold air snaps at hands and catches in warm sleepy lungs.Winter grabs you by the throat and demands,"Are you alive?"

The morning starts with these colours. Colours to get lost in.

The frost sparkles on the wooden rails, gleaming silver, ponies in the shade look cold and unimpressed by the fence's new beauty, standing still, looking down their very long noses at my exuberance.

I am trying to walk our dog without the habitual list of stuff in my head to do once I have walked the dog, and remember why we have a dog to walk with at all.She sniffs the leaves and probably has all manner of associations that I am oblivious to. Fox smell and otter spraint, owl pellets these signs I can get but after that the woodland animals nightlife remains a mystery to me.While Jessie dog is sniffing around in her world, I can take the time to look at all the little things.We investigate our habitat, Jessie mainly with her nose and me mainly with my eyes. Seeing changes in texture and form like this lichen.

 The river side is noticeably much colder, steam rises of the water.
I can feel the river's vitality in my lungs.Yes, I am awake and alive.

We walk on through the fields to our veg garden,left over survivors from the summer, corn marigolds are frozen.

Last summer's windmill, to scare away the jays from the broad beans, is also frozen still, colours lost to the weather.

Our garden is pretty dormant apart from a whole load of brassicas that my mum gave me as seedlings, with the words, "Not sure what they are, there were some sprouts, broccoli and I think these might be kale or was that the kale?". Anyway now we have a patch of still mainly unidentifiable brassicas, maybe this was supposed to be the brussel sprout plant.Thanks for the green stuff Mum.

Tomorrow is the second day of home schooling for Daisy.Once a week we get to home school with her. Last week it was my first turn and, despite a cold, she insisted we start at 8am (gulp!) We did some yoga, researched Jupiter, planned future projects, did some maths, designed a moon landing flag, and generally whizzed through activities like space speed freaks, not quite what I had pictured!!! I am wondering how Daddy will fare, with a daughter who loves to learn but doesn't like to be told ( so unlike me ha ha ha). I am hoping they will have warm star biscuits baked ready for my morning gardening break.Yum. Enjoy the sparkly days x