The garden of my growing up years…
there are memories of lying in a hammock … swinging on the swing seat … finding hidden paths, nooks & crannies to squeeze through…feeling spooked when we found some old medicines at the bottom near the hedge … seeing my mother weeding the beds … my sister squirrelled away with her nose in a book … my brother lurking with a water pistol … learning the names of beautiful flowers … my dad cutting the grass with a hankie over his nose to stop his hayfever … the barbeque that turned into a small bush fire …potting up plants to transport to my own garden …
My own gardens have been fairly short lived compared to this one, which I have spent time in on & off for over 35 years!
This place has seen the giddy drunkenness of teenage parties, special wedding anniversaries, 21st birthdays, weddings, it has even witnessed the sadness surrounding the death of the woman who loved and tended it most of all… and then the valiant efforts of a man determined to keep its’ loveliness because of his love for that woman.
I will never forget this place and I suspect I will always be trying to recreate something of it, either physically or in my heart, for myself and for my children for the rest of my days.
I have just watched a beautiful film by Liberty Smith & Sophie Windsor of http://www.islandsandrivers.co.uk on the beautiful phenomenon that is starlings.
It turns out that …
“Starling flocks, it turns out, are best described with equations of “critical transitions” — systems that are poised to tip, to be almost instantly and completely transformed, like metals becoming magnetized or liquid turning to gas. Each starling in a flock is connected to every other. When a flock turns in unison, it’s a phase transition. At the individual level, the rules guiding this are relatively simple. When a neighbor moves, so do you. ” According to Brandon Keim at Wired Science.
A group of starlings is known as a murmuration … a beautiful evocative word which holds whispers of magic, of secret hidden things and of something primeval, from deep within.
I wonder what it feels like to be a part of such a thing, to move and glide so gracefully and poetically.
I wonder whether human behaviour might look something like this when viewed from afar.
I’m afraid that I need to learn how to post a video clip .. but please look at this by Liberty & Sophie, it is beautiful.
how amazing that at six going on seven, my daughter knows her mind so much better that I think I did
certainly so much better than I did at sixteen going on seventeen.
I could be waylaid, misled and just plain old ‘easily influenced’ until I kind of forgot about me and the way that I liked to do things.
Not Celeste, she knows what she loves, she knows that she loves this more than she loves doing what other people are doing, or being at the ‘right’ place … she teaches me not to be afraid to just be me, to shut off the voices in my head that make me think I should be otherwise, and just enjoy what I enjoy.
I hope and pray that she never looses this, that her path is clear and strong to her, that she remains true to herself as much as she can.
Do we have to compromise as we grow up? Is it just a privilege of childhood? Can she – can all of them – miss out on that right of passage?
‘ Who wants to play ‘I Spy’ ?’ says Celeste
‘Ok then’ we all reply
‘My turn to go first!’ we hear from the back of the car.
‘ I spy with my little eye, something beginning with … C’
‘ Car ?’
‘Could it be Cow Parsley ?’
The hedgerows in Suffolk become abundant with cow parsley in late May and early June.
It is a sight that I (and Celeste) love.
It truly is a marker of the seasons, a voluptuous and generous overflowing of nature’s abundance.
I will be sad to see them go – and miss the pleas from Celeste to play I Spy again, and again, and again …
today is a special day in my heart
my mum may not be here any more, but today is her birthday
I miss her and long to see her smile, hear her laugh and just feel her presence
A recently finished knit … of the spring kind!
I have had this beautiful yarn in mind for a long, long time.
I am a big fan of Hazel Knits, the colours are just wonderful, subtle and unusual, and it just so happens that my friend Anj, at nearby MeadowYarn stocks this yummy stuff .
The colour is called Pacific, and it has this magical silvery sheen to it which seems to bring blue seas and silver birch trees together rolled into one – which can’t be a bad thing to my mind!
The pattern is called Walnuss or Same,same but different by Ankestrick / Fallmasche, on Ravelry and to be honest I’m not completely sure which one this ended up as!
But anyway …
It knit up fantastically with really good clear instructions to follow the contiguous saddle shoulder method which fits really well giving a lovely smoothness.
My main real failing was in managing to misplace a skein of this lovely yarn, so in the end I decided to opt for a short sleeved cardigan, which I am really very pleased with and am wearing rather a lot ( I have found the other skein, but think I might save it for something else – maybe I’ll need some arm warmers come the autumn!).
some days it is the smallest, most intimate things that hold the most beauty
because the big things are too overwhelming and confusing to feel beautiful
even if it is all part of the journey,
and even if it is a catalyst for change
some days all you can do is wake up, and
smell the roses
some days I guess we are very lucky to have the roses!
There are some days when the only thing that really be done, is to get out.
To go out into the big wide yonder and find somewhere new to explore. We have lots of familiar favourites, by the sea, or on the heath, or in the woods, but sometimes we need to explore pastures new.
It feels good for the soul somehow to be a stranger, to see a place with freshness, with new eyes that can appreciate the beauty even more with the heightened senses of adventuring.
We had one of those days the other day – the sun was shining and our hearts needed a little lifting, so we packed up a picnic and off we went.
We found ourselves at a river not too far from here, where a WW2 bomber had missed the bridge, but made a lovely swimming hole …
The water was cold, but the sun was hot.
The children had a great time splashing about, chasing minnows & dragonflies while gathering their courage to be brave enough to jump down into the cold water and get swimming.
Then we packed up and headed off for some more adventures, amidst conversations about what would happen if we just kept going, never went home … how far would we get by the girl’s birthday?…how far would we get by next week?….how far could we get if just kept on going forever…
Saturday mornings get pretty hectic.
I rise at 4am to begin …
shaping … proving … heating the ovens … egg washing
all the kinds of things that will lead to these
then at 9am the doors open
the bread walks out the door, the cakes find new homes
and the crumbs are wiped away
At the moment Friday mornings look a lot like this ..
rolling…whisking …. mixing …. chopping
slowly … surely … steadily …methodically
before the early start and ticking clock of saturday morning