tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4511111743408657592024-02-19T08:12:39.505-08:00ramblings from the riverA mix up of flowers, family and creatures of all kinds.Stuff and nonsense of life in the country.rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-68457050544783089352015-08-29T12:27:00.001-07:002015-08-29T12:29:03.904-07:00<br />
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">Peach</span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">That summer</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">we pushed each other off pavements. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">a lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">denim jackets -our shield against all that wasn’t us</span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">yelling our boredom in the park</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">swearing loudly in the bus station</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">(me blushing at the furious mum skirted by her children)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">walking the streets</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">sitting on walls</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">larking about</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">friendship</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">desire </span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">longing</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">waiting</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">confusion</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">i wanted him</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">he wanted her</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">we punched each other’s arms</span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">laughing in pain</span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">he called me a peach</span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 17.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">i beamed </span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">soft skin </span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">smelling warm</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">summer ripe</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">later </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">i realised he meant</span></div>
<div style="font: 14.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">i bruised easily.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-82328007541683612732015-08-28T05:48:00.000-07:002015-08-28T05:53:23.473-07:00Too Much Too Young<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1440764727090_8493">
<span style="font-size: large;">This was written for a friend about her mum, she has allowed me to post it here in the hope that it may help others understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="yui_3_16_0_1_1440764727090_8493">
<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Too Much Too Young</b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">She beams, says hello and asks how I am, remarks what a lovely place and then says <br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />I think I have been here before<br class="yiv5097099686" />yes I am sure I have.<br class="yiv5097099686" />I try to remember if she had visited before when my daughter was little maybe,<br class="yiv5097099686" />I don’t think so<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />She says wistfully <br class="yiv5097099686" />I think it was last week.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />The first flicker in me of knowing <br class="yiv5097099686" />this is it<br class="yiv5097099686" />this is where it goes wrong<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />She looks tired,<br class="yiv5097099686" />really tired <br class="yiv5097099686" />Like each moment is lived a thousand times<br class="yiv5097099686" />Trapped in her own thoughts <br class="yiv5097099686" />Not knowing where the door is to get out<br class="yiv5097099686" />or even what door she is looking for, or how she got there anyhow.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />Its ok that first moment, not as awkward as I had imagined<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />with a lurch <br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />we talk about a family that she knows who may have brought her there last week do I know them?<br class="yiv5097099686" />I say I don’t but that lots of these big granite houses look the same around here.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />She falls on her sandwich like she hasn’t eaten in a good while.<br class="yiv5097099686" />There is a deliberateness when she eats.Both hands on the sandwich.<br class="yiv5097099686" />Casual, carefree are not words that she will own now.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />A smaller bird than she used to be,<br class="yiv5097099686" />she used to be wiry and brown and light <br class="yiv5097099686" />going to far away places, adventures<br class="yiv5097099686" />a strong migrating bird <br class="yiv5097099686" />searching for sun<br class="yiv5097099686" />Now she is littler<br class="yiv5097099686" />ruffled<br class="yiv5097099686" />the winter bird that stayed at home<br class="yiv5097099686" />I want to protect her<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />Her daughter passes out the wrapped sandwiches to the hungry kids and the quiet mum.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />We
laugh and talk about sandwiches being so much better they are when
someone else makes them for you. If only she was able to make her own
picnic <br class="yiv5097099686" />choose which bread, which filling, shop for herself, <br class="yiv5097099686" />prepare and plan. Pack.Gather her belongings.Walk out the door car keys in hand. Meet you there.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />Her freedom has gone<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />now and then a spark of chat about her flat <br class="yiv5097099686" />or laughing about still being a mum as well as a grannie<br class="yiv5097099686" />and I am fooled <br class="yiv5097099686" />until she asks <br class="yiv5097099686" />don’t you remember me ?<br class="yiv5097099686" />The hole in the ground yawns wide. <br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />She is too cruelly young for this.<br class="yiv5097099686" />Cycles of words that wrap around and around. Mother and daughter <br class="yiv5097099686" />ask and answer, ask and answer<br class="yiv5097099686" />Patience, a kind that has been used for a long time.<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />She asks me how long I have lived there and then a few lines later asked how long I had lived there and suddenly <br class="yiv5097099686" />Did I just ask you that already? A hesitancy, an awareness.<br class="yiv5097099686" />The veil is nearly pulled away<br class="yiv5097099686" />A glimpse and then gone <br class="yiv5097099686" />The filter stubbornly remains. <br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />I show her the place on the river where I saw an otter,<br class="yiv5097099686" />thinking in her travels, her walking, that she would like that.<br class="yiv5097099686" />The wistful look flickers on her face and she quickly says <br class="yiv5097099686" />Oh yes I saw an otter too, I’m not sure where it was now...<br class="yiv5097099686" /><br class="yiv5097099686" />Later I hug her goodbye <br class="yiv5097099686" />giving all my love in that hug <br class="yiv5097099686" />I am a little girl grown now but she has no memory of me <br class="yiv5097099686" />I hug her just as a person in that moment<br class="yiv5097099686" />no past<br class="yiv5097099686" />just love <br class="yiv5097099686" />futilely whispering,<br class="yiv5097099686" />take care.</span></div>
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rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-79911364079831057262015-08-21T13:51:00.001-07:002015-08-21T13:51:14.593-07:00A dare poem.<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><u>The Heron</u></span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Down the boot strewn stairs </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">behind the usual melee of dogs eager to exit </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">falling over the stuff we would have in our porch </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">if we had a porch.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">We spew out into the late Sunday afternoon.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A single welly bumps all the way down to rest on the last stair.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The air is cool and fresh</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">ahead the dogs run <span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">scampering wildly, guessing which way we will go.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have nothing left in me.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Answered, nurtured, argued, </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">reassured, explained.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Spent.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am done.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Undone.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A walking piece of taxidermy.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I have a mother’s skin. </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Insides stuffed with love and should and need to, </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">guilt, more love,</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">held in with coping, </span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">bound with responsibilty.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Colours faded like butterfly dust,</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">music on mute.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">My stitches are pulling.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I need to remember what used to be inside.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Breathe out.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Breathe in.</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Breathe out...</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I walk along the leat</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">rich guinness brown</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">churning</span></span></div>
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">swirling fast</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">rushing to join the river again,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">leaves circling, surfacing,</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">diving.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">The left over rain </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">tap </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">taps the leaves. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Bouncing droplets.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Washed clean, the green beechwood glistens in the new sun.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Suddenly a heron rises from the river.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Pulling itself upward with a slow hard won grace</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It seems huge, this creature.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It has nothing to do with me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is awesome and free.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">It is wild.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Unbidden into my head </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">hysterical laughing relief, all I can think is</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Thank fuck, I don’t have to feed the heron.</span></span></div>
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rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-15088322690482248932014-05-12T15:33:00.000-07:002014-05-12T15:33:26.534-07:00Hedgerows and freedom.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_o8Gqr3HIoSYaHYjHMCDgozB9pA8XudFSh45DE6NrJ3e53kzPG3nC1AiqwJ3K5DhSZkxuHzqyVi8LUxk24aP3r1f-LZttrGzv9yEn_17bBztNGqIarMBq32wEtL5H6nrZkpNRBmoZzJK/s1600/IMG_6765.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_o8Gqr3HIoSYaHYjHMCDgozB9pA8XudFSh45DE6NrJ3e53kzPG3nC1AiqwJ3K5DhSZkxuHzqyVi8LUxk24aP3r1f-LZttrGzv9yEn_17bBztNGqIarMBq32wEtL5H6nrZkpNRBmoZzJK/s1600/IMG_6765.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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I left the house with a with a bit of food, some water and my dog. Oh, and a plastic dinasour in my pocket. And some secateurs in my bag that I forgot were in there but you get the general picture..... Fairly unencumbered for me. No spare clothing, wellies, or coats for a young missy, no tools or mammoth food supplies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGHjf8uyRHAA_-S_U5ve7Tzv6-CsslAfb572gTgy3a4BH9tXfbK1ofF75k3oBs-A0nNYkift7EccB2h8caSWLHmM0jGfphoGS7xpTcKJ67hOMsLKk4_hi9Zpci_sCS4mUEQozZa4yTaFl/s1600/IMG_6775_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGHjf8uyRHAA_-S_U5ve7Tzv6-CsslAfb572gTgy3a4BH9tXfbK1ofF75k3oBs-A0nNYkift7EccB2h8caSWLHmM0jGfphoGS7xpTcKJ67hOMsLKk4_hi9Zpci_sCS4mUEQozZa4yTaFl/s1600/IMG_6775_edited-1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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The day was wild and windy. My favourite kind of day.</div>
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Passing a fellow parent in his car on the way to take his son swimming, to sit in the fugg and echo of the pool. He was happy for me to be out on a walk, camera in hand and was just a bit jealous. I felt free and lucky walking on, blown around the lane. Woo hoo, bring it on wild wind!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cIx6-N2u1VU_yUFbEbLlGubOO3sFci5ya0aBgxlBGoaILa4P7eFP7laAjX_YJzbBmH3WqsCL2WV5N-0YZj4dN2CC1sK2UoT687KfBIc3ox_RcPUBzxMW8Z3t3zPzLLj6c1HOsDfLGthM/s1600/IMG_6771_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-cIx6-N2u1VU_yUFbEbLlGubOO3sFci5ya0aBgxlBGoaILa4P7eFP7laAjX_YJzbBmH3WqsCL2WV5N-0YZj4dN2CC1sK2UoT687KfBIc3ox_RcPUBzxMW8Z3t3zPzLLj6c1HOsDfLGthM/s1600/IMG_6771_edited-1.JPG" height="640" width="401" /></a></div>
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This Copper Beach turns from green to its final deep copper.The leaves are damp, unfurling and fragile, like new butterflies. Soon they will dry and strengthen and be rich and rare amongst the green.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqv_CmRTicprScC4vFlSuYnDE9kmLk3NjjfxxIFqjql4nuTOfyF9modTYKFX3lP_jpRxHYM1CiQE_9qOJGN-2Sj5CsxVBsKNgaepMPx567XQPBJf4PQW63yaK8_HH-lq2sIKh8xy3vWzUL/s1600/IMG_6768_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqv_CmRTicprScC4vFlSuYnDE9kmLk3NjjfxxIFqjql4nuTOfyF9modTYKFX3lP_jpRxHYM1CiQE_9qOJGN-2Sj5CsxVBsKNgaepMPx567XQPBJf4PQW63yaK8_HH-lq2sIKh8xy3vWzUL/s1600/IMG_6768_edited-1.JPG" height="400" width="386" /></a></div>
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The hedgerows are bountiful, with Green Alkanet, </div>
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( a confusing flower to teach little ones as the flower is actually blue).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX5V4mwvY-g8SoIfHn0b4Oe5FWvDYFkBCbFM7o0SMtUl4mROyXknfeIfecMohNdZrmw_Om-eKesRUdcdm5LBgHBlNahp3NOtRjGF4yR4hQ08RTKjGoW3nYYyZmLXhYbAG4SwCYqztBHHk/s1600/IMG_6773_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX5V4mwvY-g8SoIfHn0b4Oe5FWvDYFkBCbFM7o0SMtUl4mROyXknfeIfecMohNdZrmw_Om-eKesRUdcdm5LBgHBlNahp3NOtRjGF4yR4hQ08RTKjGoW3nYYyZmLXhYbAG4SwCYqztBHHk/s1600/IMG_6773_edited-1.jpg" height="200" width="186" /></a></div>
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Greater Stitchwort, delicate and simple.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6owJiGib6tUIiuQdW6Ogf-L4buuKKeNSvuMyuHZPROcVgEXEXFGgD39isLhkL-UVGZonLsZNPyyAQn2STzSGGVgcJWvDyv6EGYmWFktYEOyXn2scNP7KRtvfvkP3gYNh9wCkzwWnEjo1u/s1600/IMG_6804_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6owJiGib6tUIiuQdW6Ogf-L4buuKKeNSvuMyuHZPROcVgEXEXFGgD39isLhkL-UVGZonLsZNPyyAQn2STzSGGVgcJWvDyv6EGYmWFktYEOyXn2scNP7KRtvfvkP3gYNh9wCkzwWnEjo1u/s1600/IMG_6804_edited-1.JPG" height="400" width="281" /></a></div>
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The Red Campion flower reminds me of my grandad. The last time I saw him I was about ten maybe, he was in hospital dying of cancer and not always making sense. Just before I left he said, "You always knew what they were called...... 'Red Campion', you said". </div>
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I was happy that he made sense at least when speaking to me for the last time and chuffed that he was thinking of what we shared. He taught me lots of bird names too and use to cut out a weekly bird column from the paper and send it to me from Yorkshire. I collected them and put them in a scrapbook. I think he would be happy for me now in this rural paradise. Flowers in May at every step and birdsong to make my heart glad.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUKL1321dWBa-3v2O1J9FuGFldkFXb0DiYp-kEHMtIrDfvOi52GLZoanypIXnS0o308hdeMEdKRXYppfo3mlwpmBtfIh10bidR3nVMtSADrRTsSH0i9_tZuDjpetpXavz-lPjkdzFUh0a/s1600/IMG_6774_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSUKL1321dWBa-3v2O1J9FuGFldkFXb0DiYp-kEHMtIrDfvOi52GLZoanypIXnS0o308hdeMEdKRXYppfo3mlwpmBtfIh10bidR3nVMtSADrRTsSH0i9_tZuDjpetpXavz-lPjkdzFUh0a/s1600/IMG_6774_edited-1.JPG" height="305" width="320" /></a></div>
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Wandering on through rain showers and bursts of hot drying sun.</div>
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This is Stiniel common. We lived a few fields away from here many moons ago, built the frame for our yurt and slept under the stars in a place called Little Field.Whilst building the yurt we lived with a slightly crazy old man who hadn't hoovered his house since the 60's and who bathed late at night but we never ever heard him get out of the bath. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9aFAgz2rC2QYRL7nuaU87aH6_XECCdh4onMpge1Di7ClCONxRCtdSmRm_lYYw0ftiWTSmae9qYcToAqSxAML2WRIcTCKEPNGre5F1fSJzR_v8ihMUBtPjvLg1UDKMuza5537zaHRxIy6/s1600/IMG_6787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9aFAgz2rC2QYRL7nuaU87aH6_XECCdh4onMpge1Di7ClCONxRCtdSmRm_lYYw0ftiWTSmae9qYcToAqSxAML2WRIcTCKEPNGre5F1fSJzR_v8ihMUBtPjvLg1UDKMuza5537zaHRxIy6/s1600/IMG_6787.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a></div>
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I had a great encounter with a fox on this common those many years ago. I could hear the awful cry of the hunt nearby and looked up from my walk to the hill opposite the common. A beautiful fox was also walking and we both stopped and stared. Eventually I sat down on a rock to watch him and he sat down on his hill.We both looked at each other for what seemed like an age, the hunting horns calling all the while. I spoke to him in my head and hoped he got home safely, cursing the sound and the intention of the other humans. He wasn't in any hurry and didn't seem to share my stress.He was truly fantastic.</div>
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I also fell over a hare just near here. As you do. Freaked me right out, for a second I thought it was a child or a dog then a deer and finally realised I had disturbed a sound asleep hare. It was much bigger than I had imagined and a much treasured sight by me. </div>
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Anyway they are stories from another time.....but I am glad to be back in this place.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjay07jJ87vvCNbB0BKEi8AlAdK-9MM9nLu_W8VSiNSQ6NuFZ1nO2RFcGKZ5MUK9GzUKUJdzpLLyl2Q8Tv1w9dRy4IjcvBBznQmAxrLfrGPg5DInPZ-39DXipu0fFZi3e2AGITTHK0Ft5Z9/s1600/IMG_6789_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjay07jJ87vvCNbB0BKEi8AlAdK-9MM9nLu_W8VSiNSQ6NuFZ1nO2RFcGKZ5MUK9GzUKUJdzpLLyl2Q8Tv1w9dRy4IjcvBBznQmAxrLfrGPg5DInPZ-39DXipu0fFZi3e2AGITTHK0Ft5Z9/s1600/IMG_6789_edited-1.jpg" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Down the hill now, nearly there.The road is full of pothpoles, (there is no recession), and running with a spring that really does spring eternal. It's a hill that makes you clomp loudly or your bike breaks squeak if you are Daisy. Nestled beyond our land is Stiniel, first listed in 1224 as Stenenhalle <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #111111;">which means Stone hall. Our field has always been a farming field until the last 5 years or more when it was left to grow wilder with the fox and deer.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTJC9uJfzL2W_6ZQjj4DupZX2cE3RMan7CEaAgqZQqN5ej6eYT_7DSLi32vltq9yNOGEj0luge6ZWDsM6xRibLdPie3ApTQShxtqNnA20PmXpOSr8W8cND1HtsGYYdrSAkyKDNGTzWi7U/s1600/IMG_6790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTJC9uJfzL2W_6ZQjj4DupZX2cE3RMan7CEaAgqZQqN5ej6eYT_7DSLi32vltq9yNOGEj0luge6ZWDsM6xRibLdPie3ApTQShxtqNnA20PmXpOSr8W8cND1HtsGYYdrSAkyKDNGTzWi7U/s1600/IMG_6790.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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A gate at last for our field, as the last one was ...well...</div>
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not quite doing its job. Mmm a stone wall job to put on the list.</div>
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So this is where we are beginning now, clearing years of brambley scrub, and sowing new grass where the brambles were, letting light into the old coppice and seeing bluebells appear again. </div>
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There are 4 sticks near Rosie dog which are invisible to you, that mark a building to be, that will house the future goats + grazing ponies, that already have many names. Fingers crossed and all that. </div>
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Psyched is the word of the moment.</div>
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I hope May is full of beauty for you xxx</div>
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-22022615330265719562013-11-24T14:48:00.001-08:002013-11-24T14:48:46.245-08:00SpectrumIt's been a long, long while. Nearly a whole year since I wrote anything on this blog. So long in fact that I have spent the last half an hour battling to find my way here, trying old passwords in vain and being asked cunning questions by Google like, "When was the last time you logged on to your blog?"Aaagh- I don't bloody know do I. Anyway, panic over that I had lost myself in the ether net. One additional digit and here I am again.<br />
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The photos and ramblings stopped for a while and I am hesitant to begin again.... This year has been a contradiction of conflict and understanding.Our daughter was finally diagnosed with Asperger's in July. I could not write for anger and frustration, for doubt and exhaustion, for needing to read anything I could find to understand and writing the worst about our child so as to be believed ( I wouldn't recommend that). I spun around in turmoil with the amount of people that would tell me how "normal" my child was when I was crying out to say "I need to tell you.This isn't right". So it was easier to catch my voice in my throat, unless I was sure I was believed.Thankfully some people did believe us.<br />
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It felt a betrayal to write about my beautiful lovely daughter and our daily struggles and still does.Would I want someone to write about me without my knowing, pretty sure not! So here I am, not sure where to go now with this blog. I have never been one for chit chat when I have fire and passion raging and I don't think a whole blog on my old dog going senile is really going to fulfill me or you dearest reader...(though please if anyone wants to hear about endless trips to open the front door at night and trying to turn a chubby old dog away from the wall she is barking at please feel free to contact me.)<br />
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I digress.<br />
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On the day that we had the results of our daughter's assessment we took her for her usual riding lesson.The conversation turned to passions and our daughter talked about loving the Harry Potter books ( currently on the fourth time of reading the whole series ). Her riding teacher clearly has a big passion for horses and she looked at me with her shiny smiley eyes, knowing nothing about me and seeing me every week and simply asked "What's your passion?". I felt like there should be a big space that I could run into, my passion flying like a banner, but there was only empty exhaustion and somehow I said a little hysterically, "I don't remember". And I really laughably couldn't. Drama aside, it took me a couple of weeks to remember.<br />
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Today for the first time in an age I took my camera and went with my daughter into the late autumn sun. The early morning transformed by the heavy frost.We looked at our familiar landscape anew. She with her camera, me with mine.This is the way I saw it :)<br />
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See you here or there or somewhere.</div>
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-1384222921529679722013-01-03T14:51:00.000-08:002013-01-04T00:21:10.106-08:00Waves and where does it all begin?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We decided to get away from our riverside dwelling for a few days before Christmas.We left behind the sounds of the workmen at the big house next to us, manouvered past the ten or so work vans, mud spoil heaps, needy hydro, left behind our dogs who were sulking a little and went to Cornwall. I longed for some sea air, to be fed, to be surrounded by something other than the work we do and to generally be free from most of our responsibilities.<br />
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This is Mousehole pronounced like Mowzel. It is a tiny pretty fishing village with winding alleyways that lead to traditional Cornish cottages, steps with pots and gardens, courtyards, and a handful of galleries. It seemed very quiet and private so I stopped taking photos of the streets, reminded of taking photos of a decorative house in a medieval village in France when someone chucked water out of an upstairs window onto the street below with an annoyed glare.No slop lobbing in Mousehole which seemed much friendlier but you will have to visit yourself to see what I mean!<br />
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We had a sea view from our room at <a href="http://www.oldcoastguardhotel.co.uk/">Old Coastguard Hotel</a> and watched the waves crashing on a small island in front, called St Clements Isle. Gulls wheeling and calling and being blown in the mizzle and wind. Daisy set up her toys on the low down window ledge and wedged herself between her "dangerous" z bed and the view and played.The Barbies and Ken seemed happy with their room.</div>
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Someone told us of a good beach.This is Sennen cove further around the end of our isle on the atlantic coast. I love Cornwall in the winter, devoid of summer tat, icecreams and windbreaks, litter and disappointed people wishing it was sunny.Winter on the beach was wrapped up dog walkers, bobble hats and red faced babies in backpacks, a brave or nutty kayaker, me loving the wind, breathing in the spray and salt, and really getting into the unashamed greyness and beauty of it all.</div>
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Daisy had fun in the amazing velvety soft sand and relished bare feet being buried in the coolness and then followed up with the obligatory footballer's dive.</div>
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A good beach for leaping off rocks and sliding down and clambering up avalanche sand banks.<br />
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Meanwhile I am looking at the rocks, zig zags and swirls, fracturing.</div>
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Staring at the waves, curling and breaking. Bliss.</div>
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Later we go to the very end of our isle, luckily bereft of summers crowds. There is an exceptionally gaudy King Arthur's theme park and tourist shops, all closed, looking like a Mike Leigh film set. Hooray we have Lands End to ourselves, apart from two elderly women walkers chasing a stray plastic bag whipping faster than them across the car park and a young couple diligently paying at the meter surrounded by acres of empty lots.</div>
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So here we are at the end of our island, well the south westerly part of it anyway. I had my photo taken here many years ago as a kid and just felt compelled to take one of Daisy. Bit kind of weird that it is 3147 somethings to New York, especially as someone spends all summer taking photos to sell to tourists here! A sign begging to be graffitied if ever I saw one. It reminds me so much of photos of my childhood in the 70's, a typical holiday album shot. Sometimes they just need a little more colour....</div>
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Then home for Christmas. The river has been smiling at us.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9gpyV98A1XQQcj0dFxWWdMyDzvFBWFKdgsNvodRWzleET03cGAshFSkgwC9glVWCYrKVgMuoFk8v7lRDFYJHPfVQyYJa7Ms6q0ZbGVt-hsF-rrnN1VR-oTpRhfld4O1lsmRJDJhCtQUU/s1600/IMG_5729.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs9gpyV98A1XQQcj0dFxWWdMyDzvFBWFKdgsNvodRWzleET03cGAshFSkgwC9glVWCYrKVgMuoFk8v7lRDFYJHPfVQyYJa7Ms6q0ZbGVt-hsF-rrnN1VR-oTpRhfld4O1lsmRJDJhCtQUU/s320/IMG_5729.JPG" width="320" /></a>As for new year I have no affinity with the usual celebrations, I have always found it surreal and felt a fake because I didn't really feel like I was celebrating anything. So this is my beginning of the year.....You have to look carefully because I looked yesterday and I couldn't see them, but today, as I was clearing back the leaves from a bed of heathers, they were there. Hidden or curling up from the earth.Winter Aconites -the first signs of new growth here. It makes my gardening heart glad. Spring is on its way whatever winter still has to give us.xxx</div>
rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-91840758686872838622012-12-06T01:53:00.003-08:002012-12-06T01:55:27.997-08:00Copper and ice.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Orange canopy above, leaf fall below, eyes half closed in pale sunlight, autumn was on fire.</div>
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Our footsteps and paws pace out the trees along our walks.Beech, hazel, sycamore, oak, ash.....the colours change from lime green to yellow, red and copper. As they are walked back into the earth they all become brown, lose their shape and colour until they ARE the mud.</div>
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I need to remember to look at familiar views with fresh eyes, lift my head up and stare.This is where I am lucky to live. </div>
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This colour will be short lived until the next rain or wind. </div>
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Young pup Rosie runs ahead scampering in the leaves, old Jessie dog relies on her nose more these days, eyes and ears starting to play tricks on her.This path was recently covered in hardcore and looked awful, luckily a bed of beech leaves have now disguised it.</div>
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These beech trees are solid sentinels, they have such still awesome power when you walk through them. They root you. I wanted to bring my parents here before the leaves came down.Too late! That night the wind and rain came and stayed around for a while</div>
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At home during one of the prolonged days of wind and rain another massive limb of our favourite beech tree came down.</div>
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It must have made an awesome crash.Somehow, for the second time, it politely left the fence below intact, jacknifing over it.</div>
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This is the extent of the fall, the beginnings of the cutting and clearing by Ashley.</div>
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One of my jobs has been to clear and stack the smaller bits of the wood, it is my favourite job I have ever done I think! </div>
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I get toasty and warm doing it, it is good exercise and it is quiet and beautiful and I even have silent companions! ( Ashley too sometimes)</div>
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A sudden turn from autumn towards winter. Heavy frosts. Pink mornings. Blue skies.White ground.</div>
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Not long until Winter Solstice and Winter has arrived breathless and late!</div>
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Stay cosyxxx</div>
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rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-89915919462422826572012-11-12T11:59:00.002-08:002012-11-12T11:59:56.911-08:00Colour <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-47439526343180836012012-10-23T14:10:00.001-07:002012-10-23T14:10:25.517-07:00The normality of sexual harrasment.<br />
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I have been following the increasingly awful accusations of abuse within the BBC, and thinking a lot about the stories in the sidelines, not the focus on the horrifying criminal sexual abuse allegations but the stories of harrassment within the workplace that weren't spoken of until now. It would be easy to see the BBC as a separate culture particularly in the distant past.We would like to think of it as a different time, and place, removed from our everyday world.With regard to minor sexual harassment/assault this is clearly not the case.<br />
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I consider my life to have been a normal one, devoid of trauma, a happy childhood and averagely messed up teenage years and yet if I count the times I have encountered sexual harassment of a fairly upsetting and confrontational nature it amounts to 8 seperate incidents.<br />
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Three times- men exposing themselves.<br />
Teacher observing us getting dressed after swimming through hole in the wall (aged about 10).<br />
Girl guide leader's husband exposing himself to me in public swimming pool.<br />
Man masturbating, sitting opposite me in an open compartment of packed 5 'o' clock commuter train ( nobody mentioned it, so surreal)<br />
Man stopping me in busy street to whisper about my body.<br />
Parent of child in my care having an "accidental" grope.<br />
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My problem with this is, that in all these incidents I was so embarassed at the time and so shocked that I did nothing, and later accepted it as normal, just something that happens to you as a girl/women. A friend was recently shocked that I didn't realise the "accidental" groping was harassment and was confused as what to do, she imagined I would be assertive and clear and so did I until it happened.While our society in the UK generally condemns paedophilia in the strongest terms, there is still a culture of acceptance of sexual harrasment ( not, shock horror just in the BBC). I never wanted to tell anyone when I was younger and I knew from an early age that nothing much would be done about it even if I did report it. As an adult I have more assertiveness but I was surprised how fear of getting it wrong, fear of upset and conflict, reluctance to confront, still numbed my reactions.<br />
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In a group of women we once talked of all the incidents in our lives like the above. Every woman had multiple stories to tell. How can we help to create a culture where it isn't acceptable, normal to have your privacy assaulted ? We <u>do</u> teach our children more than stranger danger now, how to keep their bodies safe, who to talk to if their privacy is invaded.Sexual abuse is thankfully a topic that is discussed now but minor harassment is often ignored. If the culture is still one of apathy and indifference to minor incidents however, surely it is sending a conflicting message to children, particularly girls, that suggests when you grow up, unless it physically hurts, you just have to put up with it.<br />
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Tell me what you think.....rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-38904392332738440532012-09-24T14:58:00.000-07:002012-09-24T15:00:14.621-07:00 Squeaky pigs,dodgy apps,Bunty and Durga.<div style="text-align: center;">
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It's a wet, cold, splattery rain kind of day.</div>
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The first rain in ages, droplets sparkling everywhere.</div>
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The woodburner is bringing much needed autumnal warmth to the room.</div>
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The pup is pressing a toy squeaky pig in between my leg and the arm of the comfy chair in the hope that I might throw it for her. You get used to having phone conversations with a squeaky, grunting pig noise in the background.</div>
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Our daughter is esconsed in her bedroom with a friend, in sleeping bags, in the middle of the day watching a film.Her bedroom was really tidy as she earnt her pocket money by tidying it up this morning.The floor is now a distant memory, littered with cast off clothes, duvet cover, silver shoes and the odd sindy horse hazard. They both look like ghouls, ignoring Grannie's "Less is more" make up tip and going for "More or less". After much agonising I got her some make up without nasties in for her to play with (took me about a year but I got there in the end).The lipstick pained me more than anything but I got the red colour she wanted ( mantra -"it is for play, she is not a child prostitute"). Middle class, western, eco dilemmas all over the place.Anyway the lipstick was duly abandoned because it had peppermint oil in it which Daisy hates the taste of, so they have continued putting bright red face paint on their lips, and look, well......pretty dodgy.The rule is that she can play with it at home but she has to wipe it off when she goes outside, thanks Bex for that tip. Although initially pleased with having real make up to play with she is now annoyed at having to take it off and not be allowed out with it on. Ash forgot she had any on when he took her to drop a friend home the other day and freaked when he glanced down in town and saw her geisha face, she was proudly swinging her purse and saying, "I look like I am going out!" AGGGHHHH!</div>
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This morning I was woken up by a pressing need to accept or decline some new software rules, in order that she could play a game. Tricky to read 12 pages first thing. Whilst on her ipod half asleep I remembered to check out a new dress up game that I had meant to totally vet and hadn't...... cue LOUD WARNING BELLS.The games are usually like animated Bunty,<br />
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I know I can't believe we had actually agreed to this in a weak parenting moment. We felt it was ok-ish to spend her pocket money on it as it actually means we have less real tat in our house and she plays these games elsewhere anyway, though usually they are free. Once you have chosen trashy clothing for your model she poses about a bit. So today I carry on checking the new game out. Pressing an ominous looking male icon I found out you can choose a man for your model to flirt with, </div>
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He flirts back or rejects you in a bizzare cartoon karate chop</div>
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"No, I reject you and your mini skirt" kind of way</div>
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and then dearest readers you get the advice to end all advice.....</div>
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"Wear hotter clothes or buy him a stronger drink!"</div>
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You can then choose which drink to give him.What champion lessons for our girls to absorb, you either wear less clothing or get him plastered so he likes you.These aren't teenagers playing these games either they are 8 year olds. Head in hands. I managed not to throw the ipod </div>
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out of the window and we somehow explained in calm tones that she needed to delete it and why it was insane. Not bad for 7.30 am.Lessons learnt about checking games all the way through.The beginning of a new day. Parenting a girl so as to not alienate her from her friends,( if we didn't allow play make up make up or dress up games or music with dodgy lyrics), allow her the fun of pretending to be a grown up, and yet trying to keep some of her naturalness and innocence at least until she is a teenager when she will do all the things my mum told me not to do and I did anyway. Please give her a little longer of thinking kingfishers are cool and the river is awesome .We can try and balance it all we like with beauty coming from inside and kindness being the heart of it all but the outside world glitters and shimmers too and she is drawn to its offerings more than ours. It feels futile and pathetic, holding a shield out to stop a tidal wave and yet the most vital thing to do, to protect her in our world. </div>
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Next to our bed, a painting of the Indian Goddess Durga depicts her eliminating the evils of the world, arms in battle. Where would Durga start? Not with Bunty surely......<br />
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-32466379152416209152012-08-31T02:48:00.005-07:002012-08-31T02:48:59.447-07:00Inexorable is a weighty word.After a cold early evening walk across the fields I have realised without a doubt that Autumn is here. Summer, like a breathless child has rushed headlong into Autumn. The leaves have begun their slow turning. The Sycamore, always the first to burst its buds in Spring has begun to yield its yellow and green leaves to the wind. Every year I struggle to adapt to this change, the year is as far away from my birth as can be and I resist the descent into Autumn. I love the colours to come but my whole being yells at the change from flowers to seed with an almighty, "No! I am not ready yet!"<br />
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Coming ready or not! xxx</div>
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-48799573302663100482012-08-25T13:31:00.000-07:002012-08-25T13:33:47.473-07:00Earth works, a fox cub, and a sunset to keep.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The air is dusty around here. For those of you who don't know, we are lucky to live in the grounds of a large manor house and as the owners are now here permanently, the changes have really begun. The bank beside the main house is being carved away for a swimming pool. The digger has scratched bear claw marks down the hillside, and 9 ton dumpers are carrying the earth away to lie anew in an adjacent field opposite our veg patch.It's all pretty dramatic and I do feel a large ouch when looking at the hillside, akin to your child peeling back their jeans to show you a big bloody scrape.This is the view from our window.</div>
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It began like this....<br />
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Then got a lot bigger....<br />
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And is still growing...</div>
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Like Fantastic Mr Fox's hill the hillside is being reduced. I am not ranting, or even tutting, actually surreally detached, just watching and thinking about rabbits and fieldvoles and the animals that burrow and scurry around the hill. I think I am actually in denial in order to stay sane, with two 9 ton dumpers crossing in front of our window from 7am to 5, the noise is constant. When it stops, it is bliss.</div>
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After thinking of the tale of Boggis, Bunce and Bean all week I had my first close encounter with a fox. On our way home in a friend's car, we came across a fox cub lying in the road, on the white centre lines, facing us with its head up, watching and staring into the headlights. It was clearly too shocked to move and we imagined it had been hit by a car. It didn't move even when I stood next to it.When I clapped my hands, encouraging it to get the hell up before I got run over on the dark country road, it staggered awfully to the side of the road, with one or two broken legs. It also had a bloody gash on the inside of its groin.Thank you lovely D for helping to bundle it in your blanket, and into the back of your car! I was so thankful that you cared too and didn't want to leave it there.</div>
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Back home, I tried to work out where to put the fox if it had any chance of surviving the night. I imagined it would die but if it survived the night I could call a rescue centre in the morning. I decided on the bottom of our steep stairwell which is warm and secure with an already trashed carpet.Our puppy barked like mad upstairs as a fox smell is one of the dogs favourite things to follow. I faffed about getting water and a medicine syringe, felt a bit hopeless in the florence nightingale sector, telling a sleepy Ashley that I'd brought an injured fox home, reassuring the dogs that it was just a fox in the hall downstairs, nothing to bark about.The cub was looking pretty rough by now, I sat and gave it some water with a syringe. I remembered grandmothers' thirsty for one last drink whilst their lives were ebbing and reassured myself that at least it wouldn't die thirsty.Every time I thought it was fading it would sit up to raise my hopes before slumping back down.</div>
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I felt very connected to the life of this cub in a very short time, feeling honoured to be next to a wild animal, being able to look into its eyes and send all the comfort I could muster. I thought of <a href="http://store.barefootbooks.com/tenzin-s-deer-3.html">Tenzin's Deer</a>, a beautiful children's book ( but for adults too) about healing and acceptance. Only it seemed like this animal was going to die and there wasn't much other than pure love I could give it.</div>
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Not such a bad gift I know. I realised that it might be distressed by the light so finally said my goodbye and left the fox and it's destiny in the hall ( If you can't find your destiny it might be in the hall )</div>
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When I woke up I knew it had died straight away, something had gone, a different feeling in my body.</div>
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Daisy showed some of the workmen the fox cub's body that I had put in the stable, first thing as they arrived for work, with an eager "Can I show you something?", not quite psychologically preparing them for a dead baby fox! They were amazed she wasn't scared of it. I am thankful that she gets to see life and death in this way.</div>
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I decide to take the cub across the river and lay it's body high up in the woods.The rather ironic recycle bag felt heavy and thankfully our pup Rosie took one sniff and ignored it as we walked to the river. I didnt fancy battling pup and fox across the stepping stones. For her too the fox was gone, nothing exciting.</div>
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At the top of the hill in the woods I found several ancient oak trees. There was a scraped out hollow under one which seemed like a fitting resting place ( probably another annoyed fox's lay up).</div>
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When I had laid the fox out, Rosie whimpered at it, sniffed it and ran back away frightened. Death is a leveller for all of us animals.</div>
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I didn't want to bury the cub, but I wanted to surround it, encircle it, somehow comfort, protect it, not sure what so I used bark and bracken and a feather and an ever faithful campion flower, always around whenever you have a flower emergency. I did a bit of internal wailing (a terribly English habit of welling up and gulping and then being unable to cry). Bless you fox.</div>
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Anyway! In true local news style here are some lighter moments of the summer.</div>
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The essential potato and spoon race, at every good wedding this summer.<br />
( Where was your potato race Anita?!) I love the difference in the expressions of the competitors.</div>
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The coolest trike around, solar and pedal powered.This guy was playing summer reggae sounds at the eden project. His deck is in the boot. He looked like he was very happy in his job. Ashley just told me the man made it himself.</div>
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I would have taken photos at Nofit State Circus at the Eden Project but this year they didnt allow photographs what a shame as it is soooo much fun and I wanted to share it. Check out the you tube video if you want to see a revolving woman and the coolest pole dancer on the planet...click and click again <a href="http://youtu.be/5TAyYcRq1qs">nofitstatecircus</a>. It was incredible, if you get the chance to see them ever, do it!</div>
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Night Night.x</div>
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-68504165880935670812012-06-26T12:34:00.000-07:002012-06-27T10:46:28.987-07:00That was then..... ( May) I can't quite remember April, there was a bit of painted egg rolling, a birthday for me, but somehow the eggs rolled us into spring, tumbling faster than I could keep up with and I landed in a heap at the beginning of May.<br />
It has been wet, very wet for the last few weeks. I managed to avoid most of it by being ill, twice or looking after our daughter who was also ill twice, so we spent a lot of time looking at the river rise and fall, rise and fall, from our hall and toilet window!<br />
There is something so amazing about your first view in the morning being of a river, there is no getting away from the impermanence of life when it is so quickly changeable.Yesterday's drought replaced by a swirling frenzy, today's chaotic turbulence replaced only hours later by a calm spring valley river. It does not wait for any creature. All the river birds are busy the time we get up, dippers bobbing up and down on rocks as if curtsying. Herons beating their weighty wings in an effort to gain height, always looking like they aren't going to make it. Like birds from another age or place, they somehow look awkward, only just fitting in the valley. Effortless like bees they are not. Lately we have seen a squirrel sitting on a broken off branch on the larch tree, tail curled over his head like an umbrella, sheltering from the rain, gleefully we watched from the window.<br />
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We did get onto the moor on a wet and wild day, mostly to tire out the dogs as we had stuff to do, it wasn't a day to hang around, it was a brutal cold wind.The clouds and their shadows were racing across the pale grass strewn ground.Walking boots set a determined pace ahead.Frog boots jumped in black peat bog puddles behind..This was a rare patch of blue.<br />
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We battered our way against the wind, up through the bronze age stone rows, without ceremony or ritual just sheer determination and a lot of encouragement for the little one in so much down clothing her only complaint was that she was boiling.We changed direction to avoid the wind in our face and headed for the long stone. Always good for a lean and a think, oh and a pose.<br />
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Rosie the pup was having a wild time, racing full tilt chasing her doggy companions, ears blowing about and gait sometimes sideways in the wind.We looked up to see her running far away with her new collie friend, a brief moment of oops and a whistle and they were heading back. At times like that we are so glad she is a collie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnQXXbo9hizy4MMdUVXYnqY3l1CIc9V4wkUnJY5gemvWRQQvsgriY1qjBk7q200MG33_DdN9F-rTRshnM-45s3pO26nnIsDLl0vevgpXXMxwY2cH9gagjnHbuUlM8WN7kkwcKqPnzKw6m/s1600/IMG_4484_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRnQXXbo9hizy4MMdUVXYnqY3l1CIc9V4wkUnJY5gemvWRQQvsgriY1qjBk7q200MG33_DdN9F-rTRshnM-45s3pO26nnIsDLl0vevgpXXMxwY2cH9gagjnHbuUlM8WN7kkwcKqPnzKw6m/s400/IMG_4484_edited-1.JPG" width="400" /></a>Some of you have seen this recently but it's too cute not to include.....<br />
Rosie on Kestor.<br />
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The weather came in fast then and we ran helter skelter down from Kestor, as we have on many a day. Faces screwed up against the rain and howling wind, knowing it won't be long.Cosseted by down and waterproofs and a car ride home.The shelter of warmth and quiet, and excited blown about humans phewing their relief.<br />
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Later in May..<br />
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A yearning for Scotland finally eased by a surprise wedding and a weekend trip to Dumfries and Galloway.This is The House on the Shore where we stayed in Scotland.The beach just steps away.</div>
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We woke up to this view from our room. Ah bliss. Just what I wanted. Space, sea, sky.</div>
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Glacial boulders dropped 10,000 years ago dominate the beach. We took it in turns to shriek," Come and look at this!", amazing fossils blowing our minds.</div>
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I have a piece of coral here at home that looks exactly the same as this fossil. Except my coral was a gift from Bali.Where was this from and how long ago was the coral</div>
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The Solway Firth stretched between us and the Lake District. Scotland to England.</div>
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We spent time trying to unsuccessfully get a grip on time while Daisy also struggled with Scotland being another country.</div>
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Time, space.Hah what a trip.x</div>
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-74063692812371687572012-03-28T16:04:00.002-07:002012-03-28T16:04:47.556-07:00Spring and a fluffy puppy.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Golden mornings, the sun climbing higher above the trees now, frosted lawns and glowing copper beech paths. Not yet fully awake, I am out walking already. Clean, pure air, new. Ahead of me our old dog Jessie, stiff- legged but happy to be out so early, racing with our new friend, a border collie pup called Rosie. Here she is.The first of many relentless puppy pictures. Going for a walk with a puppy is a great exercise in seeing or hearing everyday things with new awareness. A beech nut snuffled and tossed in the air. The leat bridge with water tumbling under was something to be wary of for a while, as were the chickens! This misty view is what we can see from the top of our sledging hill, 11 weeks old and what a place to explore...</div>
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The garden is blooming. It is my favourite time of year, as colours are added one by one. It has been an amazing year for primroses, there are so many in the hedgerows and the garden too. I like them, they are kind of understated and easy to ignore but they have a pretty humbleness about them. Chagford children around here like to tell their friends that you can eat them, proving it by the mouthful.</div>
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The Daffodils are a mixed bunch ( I did write that by accident but it's staying now). Some shout their colour with flounce. Other Daffodils are trippy, if a little bit overbred. </div>
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I love the simpleness of the all white ones, they have pure, graceful lines.</div>
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In the old tennis lawn this week, (soon to be a new tennis lawn again), I had to clear away an overgrown, brambly bit of hedge by a rusting grass roller. I found a beautiful birds nest, had a quick peek to see if there were any eggs in it to see if it was in use.There was nothing there, but by the time I returned to carry another load of brambles there was this lovely blackbird sitting on it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRBBKU3tymdont_7_Aj0xXaHaIOjq0G-kQ2Cr3RPScIwVW9h_T3nOcmX3BYUvYEFceO5e6hKlQTE0FUuxbqz06hQ1s8HLJr2EXGPYzQNTsMEM1r9Gt3j3In9oEDgAF1_3JH68lAUHbdi_/s1600/Blackbirds+eggs+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqRBBKU3tymdont_7_Aj0xXaHaIOjq0G-kQ2Cr3RPScIwVW9h_T3nOcmX3BYUvYEFceO5e6hKlQTE0FUuxbqz06hQ1s8HLJr2EXGPYzQNTsMEM1r9Gt3j3In9oEDgAF1_3JH68lAUHbdi_/s320/Blackbirds+eggs+2.jpg" width="213" /></a>Today I went back to look for a tool that I had left underneath the hedge ( bad girl with no brain). Mama blackbird flew away as I picked up my tool, so I guiltily put my camera in and took a quick shot before making a fast retreat.I did look her in the eye and tell her I meant no harm so hopefully she got that message otherwise I will feel really bad and will have to work voluntarily in an RSPB shop for the rest of time. Anyway with the magic of photo shop to rectify a very dark photo, here have a peek. If she doesn't go back and sit on the eggs you have to come and work in the shop with me though.What a clever mum, an egg a day.We could have our own springwatch right here.</div>
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Well it's now very late and I have a maximum of 6 hours sleep if I go to sleep now,what with a daughter off school with earache and a puppy to get up with so I'll stop rambling and just post a few photos from this last blissfully sunny week. Someone said to me today,"I just hope it's not our summer that's all!" Honestly, British folk!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSNdWtjHiLyRVvMgL-XUwi68mIQhtG2L0suqeELFP-Kyj3CQRFo1K_58Edau5LfuA7w-E9qbpswleUGz28FgdmrX_mY7w5CebbWgRggHGbdoifeXYNpcyc2r9eNykrTvBJ3HHIygfX6a7-/s1600/IMG_4420_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-85773486989457304942012-03-09T19:15:00.000-08:002012-03-09T23:49:39.470-08:00Into the city and other worlds....<br />
Spring has been growing slowly around here it seems.Our village friends are getting on with life after death, with bravery and resilience created out of need. I am aware that there is great pain here and loss, real heart wrenching loss. The bright yellow daffodil trumpets, the beginnings of the tiny purple violets and strong sunny blustery days are tempered with the knowledge that someone is being missed,with a deepness that I haven't yet felt in my life.We know of three young parents that died last year and I am amazed at how humans cope with loss, particularly the children. From toddlers to teenagers, children that have lost a parent are playing, learning to talk, doing their homework, singing loudly to pop music,writing exams.....In a secular society where death is generally not talked of often and if they have no religious system to grip hold of it, how do they do it? The same way that the adults who remain in this realm, change nappies, make lunches, wipe tears, do school runs...they just do. xxx to you.<br />
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So Spring carries on growing and I ramble on, a bit more mindful.<br />
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This week we left the countryside for our Wednesday homeschooling day and went to the museum in Bristol.We wanted to see an exhibition of Wildlife Photographer of the Year that was touring and also check out the Egyptology exhibition. Daisy's school topic this half term is Africa, starting with Ancient Egypt.<br />
The wildlife photographs were stunning.You can see them<a href="http://www.nhm.ac.uk/visit-us/whats-on/temporary-exhibitions/wpy/onlineGallery.do"> here</a>. Spent time looking at these incredible creatures we have on our planet.<br />
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The Egyptology exhibition was pretty small but I could have spent a long time in there. I liked it being quiet and dark and none else around so that you could really look at the objects. Daisy was a bit besotted with pressing the computer screen buttons all about the objects, (which as usual say "touch screen here", and then do nothing) rather than the 3,000 year old objects themselves but she is 8, in an age where computers are kings. That's the crazy thing about time, the older you get, the more the past seems interesting and just soooo old! These were my favourite things. I would dearly love to know what this writing says.<br />
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I love this foot piece. It was used in conjunctions with masks like on the right before whole coffins become the norm.It looks to me like the colours of a Native American moccasin but also hysterically like the single slippers you can buy from "Innovations" or other such catalogues, for the elderly to keep their feet warm while they are watching TV. I am such an academic I know.</div>
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These are amulets that were often worn like crosses or given as gifts for protection, hope or rebirth.There were so many tiny carvings of amulets, a lot of people holding their faith with them.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The Egyptians believed that Scarabs were associated with the Egyptian god, Khepri. It was Khepri that pushed the sun across the sky, just like a Scarab beetle would roll a ball of dung. The scarab beetle became an ancient Egyptian symbol for rebirth, the ability to be reborn. Each day the sun disappeared, always to rise again and be reborn the following day.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The scarab beetle was also a symbol of rebirth after death. When the Egyptians mummified a body they would remove the heart and put a a stone carved like the beetle in its place."</span></div>
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Hoodies are clearly not a modern invention. As I tend to live in my comfy hoody it felt a bit weird standing staring at a three thousand year old version.</div>
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A child's cradle for a doll and a ball made out of linen and some kind of rope. Egyptian dolls also used to have jointed limbs so they could be moved. These objects made me picture real people in a way that the dramatic ornate coffins don't. According to my minimal reading, ancient Egyptian people at this time had very little freedom in their art, subjects were strictly confined to the gods, the kings, the nile etc. Maybe this formalised art, beautiful though it is, means that you don't see the individual people so much as in their everyday objects.<br />
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Being a bit Daisy biased I couldn't resist taking photos of these tiles.</div>
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Anyway that was a quick fire tour of Bristol museum Egyptology department and you didn't even need to leave your chair. I love the fact that this museum is still free and that slightly tired mums were wandering around with their pre-schoolers looking at animals, dinosaur bones, ancient art and the toddlers were absorbing it all. Daisy spent about three hours exploring,wearing her spotted fluffy ear muffs throughout, looking at crazy stuff and saying,"Awesome".<br />
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One last thing to show you was this mural on an old police station wall in Bristol. On a grimy backstreet where betting shops were breeding and chewing gum was clearly finished with. A streetwise ray of hope.<br />
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-81882832488214639302012-02-13T16:22:00.000-08:002012-02-13T16:28:02.962-08:00EarthFor all non locals this is how life and death can be in our lovely bubble of a village! The village turned out in forest colours for the burial of Thomas.We gathered at a place called Barefoot Barn, a beautiful place high on the hill used for yoga sessions and similar meditative events normally. It is lined with pale wood and its light and warmth and massive floor to ceiling windows make you want to dance around or lie and bathe in the tranquility.Thomas was to be buried in a felt shroud made by Yuli Somme who lives in the village.You can see her work <a href="http://www.bellacouche.com/">here</a>. They are works of art and really comforting to look at as they are like cocoons.Thomas' was decorated with oak leaves.<br />
The barn was packed with people, from babies to Great Grannies. A harpist also from the village played amazing angelic music.Thomas' cocoon was in the centre of the room.We sat, looking at his body, albeit covered in layers of felt, as family and friends talked about how he had touched their lives. Babies and children wailed or whizzed around on the shiny wooden floor, including Thomas' lovely daughter who wandered around, smiled at the crowd and asked a few people for "Juice please". One child asked "Is that his bag? Is he in that bag?",much to the parent's blushes. I was similarly thinking how bizarre that the person I knew was in there, I am sure there were many thinking the same. I have felt his spirit strong for weeks since his death but now there was a quietness, a body thats all and the love for the spirit that used to be there.It was good to laugh and cry with a common bond of respect and love for this man who it seemed never turned people away was open and above all kind.Open and kind and loving he had drawn all these people to him.Quite something.<br />
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We left the barn and processed through the village led by Morris Dancers with blackened out faces.We were a motley crew, bedecked in forest colours, warmed by roaring torches aflame. A beat was sounded with the wooden staffs of the dancers and we followed. A few people came out of the offices, I thought they were just having a cigarette then realised with a bit of self reproach that it was a mark of respect.<br />
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Thomas was to be buried on the hill opposite were he got married several years ago. He was carried by the strength of his family and friends, resting at stops on the way as the road up the hill is steep. At the entrance to the land on the hill we were welcomed by a sharp February wind that made no compromise, you can see by the tree stakes in this photo!<br />
Cleansed by burning sage and drawn onwards by a clarinet. We slipped on through the mud into the field.<br />
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The wind whipped away some of the talk by the grave, but the pile of earth next to it was a sight to ponder on.Thomas had always wanted a sky burial ( me too) but even our hobbit town is not able to provide that yet.Some people had made crows and birds of prey as a substitute to fly him on his way.They fluttered and flapped up the hill and then hovered as we put handfuls of soil in the grave.<br />
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Someone commented that his burial would be added to the stories of the past and it felt like that.Treading familiar routes of our ancestors where death was not sanitised and distant but right there in your face for you to wonder at and deal with.Where loved ones, not religious strangers spoke highly of the deeds of a person that they knew and missed and music played from the heart not a cd player was the lament of all. Simple and beautiful craft clothed him and would return him easily to the earth, not a box of hardwood that quite literally would cost the earth.His view is of rough moorland fields and trees, and he will have children play next to his grave, learning how to track animals that he cherished. I love this place, bubble or not, I am glad to be a part of it. Fly well Thomasxxx</div>
<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-70477884773372211132012-02-01T13:15:00.000-08:002012-02-01T13:15:54.824-08:00Celtic moon - Moon of IceI spent four hours today picking up horse muck, listening to podcasts, thinking. It may not be the career choice of many, but right now I am happy to have the time to listen to radio shows, play of the week or absorb the sounds of the river and have my own thoughts. Bizarrely I get paid more per hour for this than I did for any of my years of teaching and caring for other people's children. Remember this if you catch yourself moaning about childcare fees everyone!<br />
The field was warmed with pale winter sun. Blue sky all day. Icy puddles hardly melted and the ground was frozen mud, pitted with hoof prints. A single icicle from a leaking gutter dripped through the morning, marking time with the distant moon.... xxxx<br />
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-79106050026074187052012-01-27T14:12:00.000-08:002012-01-29T08:40:58.610-08:00For ThomasLet 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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
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.<br />
The villagers, their friends, and his family also felt the fear as his strength waned.<br />
His heart stopped.<br />
And now the village is in mourning, an aura of shock and disbelief surrounds the people who knew him.<br />
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<br />
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<br />rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-54399208513732132622012-01-17T14:02:00.000-08:002012-01-17T14:02:55.769-08:00Steaming River..Winter at lastFinally 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?"<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">The morning starts with these colours. Colours to get lost in.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfezVSOwFmGe-b0HsmokULXM00ygYD0JYd7PhAfCjS5_M4UYl42zLAexg90A991l9RZYJhVb_QpPXKed1HAjPYmuKrFWBN_4PgLt3-6bBpBDy8jyq_FI0G9kW8idS75M-DyNTTESKXApx/s1600/_MG_3923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfezVSOwFmGe-b0HsmokULXM00ygYD0JYd7PhAfCjS5_M4UYl42zLAexg90A991l9RZYJhVb_QpPXKed1HAjPYmuKrFWBN_4PgLt3-6bBpBDy8jyq_FI0G9kW8idS75M-DyNTTESKXApx/s320/_MG_3923.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">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.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> The river side is noticeably much colder, steam rises of the water.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can feel the river's vitality in my lungs.Yes, I am awake and alive.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">We walk on through the fields to our veg garden,left over survivors from the summer, corn marigolds are frozen.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDk1vRvTxI60xQ9gLjmb6xHdnQOn5QIUZKw1I6dyJPocgiG5A17pfq6sFNzWn_lPygv4954_oMuO6cfmZMGuil2VjDIwDBtdY5XT48kd6PHD5R8B-BPgFdLYXls7lpXzvXJOzy0welEyQ/s1600/IMG_3946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDk1vRvTxI60xQ9gLjmb6xHdnQOn5QIUZKw1I6dyJPocgiG5A17pfq6sFNzWn_lPygv4954_oMuO6cfmZMGuil2VjDIwDBtdY5XT48kd6PHD5R8B-BPgFdLYXls7lpXzvXJOzy0welEyQ/s320/IMG_3946.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last summer's windmill, to scare away the jays from the broad beans, is also frozen still, colours lost to the weather.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UiP0VwgAppzrTTDsIKeNOHq-6IfH7OlOjNpzJ5EWvMuf5j2V0fvcD9bJVLOU5u-3BSLUgjZLxVEkwskuGHjDQ2uYDc1Uj0PXEnQ9Pr3Be_BHnqtN5YA8bvMKZ3WPbFwAjRoDspGy9jiz/s1600/IMG_3944_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5UiP0VwgAppzrTTDsIKeNOHq-6IfH7OlOjNpzJ5EWvMuf5j2V0fvcD9bJVLOU5u-3BSLUgjZLxVEkwskuGHjDQ2uYDc1Uj0PXEnQ9Pr3Be_BHnqtN5YA8bvMKZ3WPbFwAjRoDspGy9jiz/s320/IMG_3944_edited-1.JPG" width="320" /></a>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.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptpXtNBVw4xC1J4bnhqDFYCOWNXf-hO1TAMHhK4GTYrPmDztpFuIFbGoeQjladdGh8uknC-1OXr34_Ea81FaLx84Grp35FJQrokICKPXaB4v-hS7qzqO0_eE7mH90jq1J29BPsIBX-t3j/s1600/IMG_3952_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptpXtNBVw4xC1J4bnhqDFYCOWNXf-hO1TAMHhK4GTYrPmDztpFuIFbGoeQjladdGh8uknC-1OXr34_Ea81FaLx84Grp35FJQrokICKPXaB4v-hS7qzqO0_eE7mH90jq1J29BPsIBX-t3j/s320/IMG_3952_edited-1.JPG" width="306" /></a>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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-35858051639425472132011-12-25T15:40:00.000-08:002011-12-25T15:40:32.822-08:00Merry mid winterI love the winter solstice, the promise of light increasing slowly, slowly. For now staying by the fire,warm in the darkness, hibernating...<br />
For the first time we are using ash wood felled in our own woods, hauled up a muddy slope by hand on a kind of barrow adapted by Ashley, in the summer we will use a truck and trailer .The track is slippy in the steepest part, being mud and shale it is tricky to keep your footing at the crucial moment, when my strength gives out I am glad of an extra haul from my fellow husky. It is good to be tired, lungs huge from exertion, legs wobbly, but a weeks worth of wood for our burner.<br />
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In an attempt to be a more social creature, now my work is a bit more solitary, we had a gathering of friends old and new for a mid winter celebration.Sharing food and too much mulled wine on my part.We lit as many candles as we could find, decorated the living room with evergreens and bright red holly.We played about filling these little metal heart cooking tins with berries and lichen and a pair of little felt elf slippers straight out of the elves and the shoemaker. Neat and perfect for dancing, when the big people are asleep in their beds.....<br />
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It has been a winter of dancing around for our dearest Daisy, who has gained her wings in many ways. Playing a recorder solo at the school play and discovering the joy of unashamed dancing and singing, she is flying.This is her, turning into a sparkly mermaid as she whirls dervish style.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFb8fLP1kVbTNF8lVTKpsbptYpm3y2G4GMj32xOdu74q9mZPM8HEwVjkbZveesec76Ng6Z1_YtHsFqFb9gu1P55gACd01Wka8RC5qHx3rSlLyGu3FSiAhccDQ82MuYoCFqQzs64jVli0e/s1600/IMG_3845_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFb8fLP1kVbTNF8lVTKpsbptYpm3y2G4GMj32xOdu74q9mZPM8HEwVjkbZveesec76Ng6Z1_YtHsFqFb9gu1P55gACd01Wka8RC5qHx3rSlLyGu3FSiAhccDQ82MuYoCFqQzs64jVli0e/s640/IMG_3845_edited-1.JPG" width="395" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB6UjcFH22on6JQR-VlZ2CmnZzhTxPPTd7Eu6yH8qFkRXlOIxwa1HLfohUIOzjCppWIzvrLj5ENZTdKquK0RYBN2f_ddIQ2yTvaDCmG-IeDob_QM__gsdjtQQdwR8GaQy5oEJuvS7z0Hq/s1600/IMG_3843_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBB6UjcFH22on6JQR-VlZ2CmnZzhTxPPTd7Eu6yH8qFkRXlOIxwa1HLfohUIOzjCppWIzvrLj5ENZTdKquK0RYBN2f_ddIQ2yTvaDCmG-IeDob_QM__gsdjtQQdwR8GaQy5oEJuvS7z0Hq/s320/IMG_3843_edited-1.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Tonight is Christmas night and although sleeping in the lounge, so I don't keep everyone awake coughing, I am happy thinking of friends and family as I write, as usual thankful for how lucky we are. The elves have to bide their time as I am busy but they will get to dance soon....I wanted to send some love and light to anyone struggling with whatever life is throwing at them. Have a candle and a wish for someone you are thinking of. </div><div style="text-align: left;">(Especially for Suzy, Jo and Thomas, Lunar and Pickle.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Enjoy the return towards the sun. Merry midwinter everyone x</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-20647549699067200772011-11-20T12:53:00.000-08:002011-11-20T13:10:06.630-08:00Daffodils,Tim Minchin, Change<div style="text-align: center;">So November is running heedlessly on without its coat, whooping at its own warmth and recklessly encouraging bulbs to start shooting beneath the earth. I spent one morning this week rearranging a flower bed and had to dig up daffodil bulbs underground.Their shoots were long and they will soon be above ground early.This time last year we had snow and I am wondering when this crazy warmth will end and we will get our first real frost. Some flowers are still hanging around looking a little ragged and munched, rebellious in their summer dresses.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskLnaJo2ef70P7xjj3uJ1rZikQ7zxOxx_T-FmwtIFOAQCGE26WQ2I95mDBsfX53Uh9EwKXyNN60igst0S1JejqXeSldlTj8K-ciF7iS3lVwIk5KMXaf0JPEf2k7ifaqaQmceRk9u9J8aS/s1600/_MG_3775_0497_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskLnaJo2ef70P7xjj3uJ1rZikQ7zxOxx_T-FmwtIFOAQCGE26WQ2I95mDBsfX53Uh9EwKXyNN60igst0S1JejqXeSldlTj8K-ciF7iS3lVwIk5KMXaf0JPEf2k7ifaqaQmceRk9u9J8aS/s320/_MG_3775_0497_edited-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Earlier in the week there was a thick mist hanging over our part of the moor. One of those days when its not even raining but the mist lands on everything, soaking quietly.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-0XSvVcsKMRyve3BPeMyV6D3Hyd7-fbg5ZxC0_H8AEiS2JMe0Etcqbab7s029HuXhd_ISgty4KfTH3VK0GxibKFpveW1047JLwjxhFMmHijqNKyfGdsR_0yE98D0pZEUKJPFT2gACj4-/s1600/_MG_3764_0486_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-0XSvVcsKMRyve3BPeMyV6D3Hyd7-fbg5ZxC0_H8AEiS2JMe0Etcqbab7s029HuXhd_ISgty4KfTH3VK0GxibKFpveW1047JLwjxhFMmHijqNKyfGdsR_0yE98D0pZEUKJPFT2gACj4-/s320/_MG_3764_0486_edited-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Walking home with my sparkly dog I had that eerie feeling that noone else was around, my wellies sounded loud on the lane and the oak trees holding onto the leaves stood silently in the greyness. My walk home is the time I feel most connected with the land around me. After a mornings gardening I am tired, I can walk without any other agenda than getting home at some point. I have time to watch the smallest changes in the hedgerows. At the moment, after flailing, they look like they have had an over zelous haircut.Yow.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqbTXYi_zdXAj1UoEMINwu4rAVW3T4lXEU8gI-rE9vplzkC9UJzPkxQVWDhulEldoaccLG9JTmNbzlDWUpMhZ403S0WF77pp-hLIiiztS4FupI0MOCMCPA2ZLBFqrw44L1n3pPuw3YLiJ/s1600/IMG_3738_0460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIqbTXYi_zdXAj1UoEMINwu4rAVW3T4lXEU8gI-rE9vplzkC9UJzPkxQVWDhulEldoaccLG9JTmNbzlDWUpMhZ403S0WF77pp-hLIiiztS4FupI0MOCMCPA2ZLBFqrw44L1n3pPuw3YLiJ/s320/IMG_3738_0460.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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The pregnant cows switch their tails as they lay in the muddy field, only one bothering to stand and eat.Their uneven winter coats cover their swollen bellies. The occasional flutter and whir of a wood pigeon out of the mist. A couple of crazy, barky dogs send me on my way. Homeward.<br />
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Later, in the car, we were listening on the radio to Tim Minchin's song," White Wine in the Sun", <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Qupu%20van">you can listen here</a>. We got home before the song was finished, so sat in the car and listened to the end of it.Tim Minchin makes me laugh <u>a lot </u>but this is more of a love song. Daisy turned around to hold my hand, she finds any emotional stuff hard to bear and is touched particularly by sentiment in music, (she once asked me to turn off Billie Holiday as it was too much).We listened in the dark. On the walk to our gate she carried on holding our hands and said "Daddy that's like me, I'm your blue eyed girl because I have blue eyes". Ashley agreed that he thinks of her when listening to it. At that moment we are all together......Thinking of how it will be when she is grown up and we are older.We are at a point of change, a quantum leaps into the next stage of our lives. She will start a new school soon, within walking distance, new friends to make and back in her own community. I am glad.<br />
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This month is seed falling month in the Celtic calendar, I like this name. Often in November as the leaves are nearly gone, I yearn for life, growth and I resist the dying vegetable garden and receding energy. I was born in Spring so I think this is where my joy lies. I can deal with Autumn in the sunshine but find the flat grey mornings hard.Today was, happily for me, a beautiful day, blue skies, whispy clouds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx2NDY4yVzk8eZL0K5hgN3jIcu_Y0S6Yvea9MnEoFobqCPLrAHBa3dLp9CCmvkBDInTbfGyiQJ_GjEhi9p1rfBVmG6fVFfrnLiVtfY7qMiDDJseqTYqfwh5irbbi1-JHttgDzc40PX4Lq/s1600/_MG_3758_0480_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKx2NDY4yVzk8eZL0K5hgN3jIcu_Y0S6Yvea9MnEoFobqCPLrAHBa3dLp9CCmvkBDInTbfGyiQJ_GjEhi9p1rfBVmG6fVFfrnLiVtfY7qMiDDJseqTYqfwh5irbbi1-JHttgDzc40PX4Lq/s400/_MG_3758_0480_edited-1.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWJSmioCKCT4QYgAN5bMQMjKZ2yp-cGidnk5qWx2JLwJPWxa0PNuSY4GRzy-9A7jql3coSjn4qxuKdBcIgl48248sEXbuuyZKibtfccm4BAMSJMJAuOMu66Wlf2Js4Wq-aJ4fm-EFX7YU/s1600/_MG_3774_0496_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWJSmioCKCT4QYgAN5bMQMjKZ2yp-cGidnk5qWx2JLwJPWxa0PNuSY4GRzy-9A7jql3coSjn4qxuKdBcIgl48248sEXbuuyZKibtfccm4BAMSJMJAuOMu66Wlf2Js4Wq-aJ4fm-EFX7YU/s200/_MG_3774_0496_edited-1.JPG" width="125" /></a><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gentle, low sun shining through the leaves, setting their red, gold and green aglow.</div><br />
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The garden was hiding many things of small beauty, alive, fruiting, seeding, changing.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAs0R5oqeZ2HRkwA8KDPK1XCIZkZMQevAjN9wzS_57dvPhX3iFsQAuvPslLNM3rXtECMMLJ9ZcJsr35qOF08pioCwaRPglqlfmHhzcrBCxJcm2yvt6XCxImMlxopABuaf5M8iKlvBSZxI/s1600/_MG_3744_0466_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKAs0R5oqeZ2HRkwA8KDPK1XCIZkZMQevAjN9wzS_57dvPhX3iFsQAuvPslLNM3rXtECMMLJ9ZcJsr35qOF08pioCwaRPglqlfmHhzcrBCxJcm2yvt6XCxImMlxopABuaf5M8iKlvBSZxI/s200/_MG_3744_0466_edited-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>This periwinkle has an amazing centre up close..........Have a peek.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimryInyHSeI-NYhA7SIXqS78xclZvO2Yyy2pm1DRXVxX-eFMCmF-MMGSHxnMTrk19t19muzCa6J0wYWcOYjMFoNRpTVQTZ-cnU9vaFyWAIcylLHW6RNLEDNNAtEf4KZpueLm6ePeHREvup/s1600/_MG_3743_0465_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="375" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimryInyHSeI-NYhA7SIXqS78xclZvO2Yyy2pm1DRXVxX-eFMCmF-MMGSHxnMTrk19t19muzCa6J0wYWcOYjMFoNRpTVQTZ-cnU9vaFyWAIcylLHW6RNLEDNNAtEf4KZpueLm6ePeHREvup/s400/_MG_3743_0465_edited-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It reminds me of spider eggs nestled in a sac.</div><br />
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The ivy is flowering, one of the few to start flowering now. Next time you see one, look this close, they are crazy flowers.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Shocking pink fruit from Spindle trees hang and burst open, revealing bright orange seeds.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">Nature's current colour clash.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-91650022084359164892011-11-05T13:21:00.000-07:002011-11-20T14:00:30.184-08:00End of the day play.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbtfgvXXEf6KUSU-Rr4WJALGzycvdjK0mToj1Jae823ahASLeL_u3i5dxOBWhVJpnpkgvgrOqPthyphenhyphenYTy4-Zz9qgwILLZd3_2YzZ0brqrla4Q6TxgPmNpIOYlTnFU2Aupv6rP6Ho2JXmj9/s1600/blog_0446_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbtfgvXXEf6KUSU-Rr4WJALGzycvdjK0mToj1Jae823ahASLeL_u3i5dxOBWhVJpnpkgvgrOqPthyphenhyphenYTy4-Zz9qgwILLZd3_2YzZ0brqrla4Q6TxgPmNpIOYlTnFU2Aupv6rP6Ho2JXmj9/s200/blog_0446_edited-1.JPG" width="160" /></a></div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am writing quietly, so as not to disturb the play going</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> on at my feet. After a day being out and about, going from swimming lesson to walking with friends, it is dark now and we are all doing our thing by the fire.The dog is asleep after a good walk, Ashley is reading, I have been playing with photos and am writing this blog. Daisy is happy playing on the floor, talking to her Sindy doll and a lizard .She has given the Sindy doll purple goo mittens, scarf and socks, </span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">( imagine purple chewing gum that peels off if you haven't experienced goo stuff ). The lizard is modelling an all in one hoody design. See....when she says "Will you play with me mummy?", my head doesn't quite go to the same place.Nice designs though.</span></span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> I have to write quietly as if I breathe too loudly Daisy will awake </span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">from her reverie and this space will quickly disappear.</span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So what's been happening here? </span><br />
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A lot of water has been falling from the sky, quickly followed by a swollen River.The River is cloudy with silt. It clears to a rich Guinness, coloured by the moorland peat, stirred up in the rush from moor to sea. It is hard to capture the forceful rush of the water, the air hums with its energy and the cool vapour is instantly ital. Watching the strength of flow beneath you as you cross the bridge is pretty humbling.</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“Human beings were invented by water as a device for transporting itself from one place to another.”</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">―</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/197.Tom_Robbins" style="text-decoration: none;">Tom Robbins</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1105820" style="text-decoration: none;">Another Roadside Attraction</a></span></b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">My space is narrowing, play with purple goo has changed to looking at Tourist attraction leaflets, (an essential raid earlier by the children on the way to the cafe toilet). A vague mention of when dinner is, means five minutes max before the energy shifts. Ashley has asked Daisy to get the nail clippers for him. Daisy asks me to get the nail clippers as, I quote,"We don't know where they are".No one gets the nail clippers and they get distracted by watching a song on Ashley's phone.The owls hoot to the sound of,"Your thigh bone is connected to your hip bone". Ashley and I argue over whether another weird cry is a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">goose</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"> or a vixen or deer.I don't believe a goose would cry at night. </span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><i>Phew .... the Jenga game is out, Ashley fearlessly goes into playing a game with rules, with a headstrong, only child. My space increases.</i></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: white; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway back to the water.We are surrounded by the dripping trees in the woodland and raindrops drops on bright red Acers. Such delicate beauty next to awesome might.</span></span><br />
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</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With the River in full spate o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ur bath water changes colour.Now</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> our cooking and light is directly from the energy of the water (with the aid of some high tec kit). In a few weeks our heat will also be from the hydro and then the water will be all encompassing.Awesome.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Jenga down, I'm gone.x</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</span></span>rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-17603193889996532842011-10-22T15:56:00.000-07:002011-10-22T15:56:03.384-07:00Dark story and firelight.This evening we went to a harvest party in the field at Chagfood where the beautiful vegetables from our veggie box are lovingly grown.For those of you who live many miles away you can check out some of our friends and Samson the Horse who does a lot of the work at <a href="http://www.chagfood.org.uk/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #351c75; color: white;">Chagfood</span></a>.We feel so lucky to have happy smiley people, and a beautiful strong horse, growing fantastic food right on the edge of our town.<br />
The evening was warm and star filled and it was good to sit around the fire, chatting and listen to the music of the incredibly talented <a href="http://intothehermitage.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #674ea7; color: white;">Rima</span></a> accompanying <a href="http://coyopa.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #8e7cc3; color: white;">Thomas</span></a> Hirons' enchanting storytelling. Pig tailed daughter listened wide eyed, or eyes screwed up, depending which way the smoke from the fire blew and only dared to whisper, "Is it true?" a few lines from the end.The story was of Baba Yaga, a fearful crone who lives in the deepest dark of the woods and Helena who must rescue her brother from the dreadful crone. Rima played the accordian, running as Helena's life depended on it away from Baba Yaga, or snoring like the old crone herself. Lots of ahhs and oohhhs and witchy enough to take your mind to the dark places.<br />
The food shed was raided and the children returned with pudding for us, which was an unexpected treat. In the dark we tried to work out what it was made out of, maybe plum kind of crumble?!<br />
Little children lay in their mums arms feeding,watching, or closing their eyes as they were falling asleep saying,"I'm never ever EVER going to bed". Away from the heat of the fire and just out of the adults gaze, the straw bales were torn apart and the children made straw beds and flung armfuls at each other with glee.<br />
I wonder if this will be one of the nights she will remember, playing in the dark, swinging her torch and running between the candles, just in case the story was true.rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-1993551434472244172011-10-07T14:36:00.000-07:002011-10-07T14:36:50.253-07:00I love it. Dew? Yes I love it too.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk4Ha9lttCQjcSFLtXRpND5G1tHIgKnSyQL2zEnu8D7eWvhwaScavLjOSsaTuGWWBlLhIRKv3i4NiyDoeDheFy1x-B-I2eeDC2YIz9ckCDS0IAY4wKL7E5AmUmx06WFjSlkbCrIS5NIqX/s1600/IMG_3672_0391_edited-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYk4Ha9lttCQjcSFLtXRpND5G1tHIgKnSyQL2zEnu8D7eWvhwaScavLjOSsaTuGWWBlLhIRKv3i4NiyDoeDheFy1x-B-I2eeDC2YIz9ckCDS0IAY4wKL7E5AmUmx06WFjSlkbCrIS5NIqX/s400/IMG_3672_0391_edited-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best jewels in town.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwomHQ0jUyFyyMlUs14JEIlVKcL_ejMHPprMGbu19MnlFurqZiBfbjlJrP8_pTUdsy4rw9FnTYtXyS5bT3iY9JJ7cuVWK9SX-jrmqeqQBixZxMErMooqDdNcMewEEGXAVq4Oz7Ax5BmUrb/s1600/IMG_3680_0383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwomHQ0jUyFyyMlUs14JEIlVKcL_ejMHPprMGbu19MnlFurqZiBfbjlJrP8_pTUdsy4rw9FnTYtXyS5bT3iY9JJ7cuVWK9SX-jrmqeqQBixZxMErMooqDdNcMewEEGXAVq4Oz7Ax5BmUrb/s640/IMG_3680_0383.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiders adding their own spirals. Misty autumn mornings.<br />
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</tbody></table>rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-451111174340865759.post-76229746030183589922011-09-25T08:54:00.000-07:002011-09-25T08:54:45.047-07:00Brilliant Blue<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRGbr_74KQGyMUH_7eBE1YmQRbUfWV6Rf-3BVxcX2f_UsfphDRq4iLnGWBjrTfkjWtfmn2NgmjwOYw5KcFeeHaTziZ6sMtn3bO6_igwAx6C7JOR92bt9ZNnNWGSC0WAm7J5zm0SwbYs-U/s1600/_MG_3652_0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRGbr_74KQGyMUH_7eBE1YmQRbUfWV6Rf-3BVxcX2f_UsfphDRq4iLnGWBjrTfkjWtfmn2NgmjwOYw5KcFeeHaTziZ6sMtn3bO6_igwAx6C7JOR92bt9ZNnNWGSC0WAm7J5zm0SwbYs-U/s320/_MG_3652_0339.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Ah, sleepy Sunday by the river.The sun was out and us adults basked in the gentle autumn sun watching the guinness coloured river in strong flow. The pesky pixie girls played getting each other wet in the cold rill, pixie number 1 seemed to be doing more of the water fighting while pixie 2 said she was doing it for charity!<br />
We were so lucky to see a pair of kingfishers flashing their brilliant blue down the river. I have never seen any on this river and couldn't stop myself yelling "Kingfishers!" It was such a treat.Then later as we still sat by the river,( I said it was a lazy sunday) I suddenly saw a little baby mouse hopping along the grass on the river bank.The children came to look, and it was sooo cute.We think it was a wood mouse, it had long legs (for a mouse obviously) and big dark eyes and round ears.<br />
It scurried away from the children and headed for the bank, and disappeared with a plop. Children ran back to their game while two mums watched out , just incase it had gone unknowingly into the river, judging how high the river was above our wellies. No mouse in the river, so presumed safe in the bank.Big dark eyes in a small creature had an instant protective draw.<br />
I've had two days lazing about in the natural world this weekend,woods and riverbank and love how just being still in one place opens you up to watching all the little changes that you miss when visiting or passing through.Time slows and magic increases.rachelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12100696714517814278noreply@blogger.com0