Kelston Round Hill and boxing hares

Kelston Hill in September

Recently I had an email from someone writing a book about racecourses, he wanted to know about the 'sun disc' on Lansdown.  Now up to a couple of years ago the lansdown had been part of my walking life with my dog, a place to wander and think.  Over the years I accumulated a lot of history about the barrows, Roman sites, etc.  But its greatest treasures were the birds and wild flowers, the great ash trees that lined the sides of the valleys.  The deer early in the morning as they browsed the edge of the woodlands, the little muntjac that would run somewhat ungainly across the open to the safety of the trees, and old brer fox, wandering idly back from a night out hunting.

But once a few years back, when we had got to the viewpoint looking out towards Kelston Round Hill, where you are supposed to see seven counties, including two in Wales, I saw in the field below, boxing hares, a rare site for Somerset. They are a rarity round Bath probably because they get shot, but the dog did once chase one from one end of the course to the other, a good mile, he did'nt catch up though.

Well this week my Resurgence magazine came through the letterbox with a lovely photograph of a winter hare on the front cover, a reminder that March is the month for mad boxing hares.  And it also reminded me of a blog I had written about  Saint Melangell in Wales, who protected the hare.

Toadflax on the race course

The race course was undergoing some drastic changes when I left and I fear for those wild flowers so easily crushed beneath the weight of earth moving vehicles, the animals will always be safe though, the rugged nature of the landscape means that the woods that cling to the sides of the valleys are virtually impossible to eradicate.

Whitby

Whitby;  There is a 'buzz' about Whitby even when  it is windy and cold, and raining as it is today.  Looking out of my bedroom windy and the abbey stands on the cliff tops, , shadowed by the mist and rain.  This house is cold, its tall windows rattle with the wind, the children's voices echo from upstairs, they have to walk quietly because the plasterer has been in to do a hallway ceiling, so no thumping down the stairs.
The small cottage, which is now mine, I approached with some trepidation a couple of days ago, but it is as I remembered it and very cosy. 
Now of course is just the start, probably gas central heating to put in, plus a new bathroom and the chimney to be resealed, but to be truthful it would be easy enough to move in today.
Going to the solicitors for final signings and he had a great fat folder of its history, which we both explored.
The land dates back to 1612, Chumleys were the owners, it presumably was abbey land in Whitby, and the Chumleys took over the abbots land after the Dissolution of the abbeys.  The cottage has a date of 1712 on its front, but like all these small tenement places in the yards, had been added to and rebuilt over the last 300 years.
Yards are common in Whitby, tiny cottages grouped round a small square, sometime in the past, if you went up the steps  I would have owned a 'privy', nothing remains of it now, but I do have a tiny space where I can grow plants against the large wall just in front of the house.  This would have a 'kitchen' in times gone by, what the deeds uncovered is, that this bit of land had  not been registered on the land registerybut  it is mine. 
My next door neighbours came out and explained my 'rights' yesterday, they are a very sweet old couple, and said they had learnt that I loved flowers, and showed me the rather grotty flowerboxes I had inherited plus of course a large rhodendron, also my 'dustbin' which was  rather grotty, but they very generously offered me the use of theirs.All in all it is quite exciting, exploring all this new stuff.  People, are of course very warm up North, ready to talk, and best of all they have real flowers at the greengrocers.  Not those terrible coloured monstrosities you get at the supermarkets, but bunches of daffodils - bliss!

Bits and pieces

the weather was good for gardening today, clipping and tidying; lavender, mints, and a whole host of things at the front.  Daffodils, tulips and crocus pushing through, in the pub garden miniature irises poke their bright purple heads through. 

I have managed to mostly finish my kitchen dresser though it awaits french polish and gilded door knobs,plus of course dusting some sawdust off which the accurate camera eye reveals.So my mind thinks about the next woodwork project, a corner cupboard maybe, or even a davenport desk?

Then there is the cottage in Whitby everything finalised last friday, and a long trip down there next week, to see what there is to be done, a certain amount of trepidation and excitement.  An article written on Isobel Smith - archaeologist.  One of my gripes is that there are not that many women archaeologist who have gained fame.  There was a Times letter on the issue of reburial of  bones this week, 40 professors, 38 male, 2 female!

Isobel Smith wrote up the notes of Alexander Keiller's excavation of Windmill Hill, and Avebury, I think he had become ill, so she devoted several years to this job and being of an unassuming nature her name does not appear on the front of the book.  She went on to become a senior investigator for the then Royal Commission on Historical Monuments, and then on retirement lived in a small cottage in Avebury. 

so who else, Maud Cunnington - early 20th century and of course Jacquetta Hawkes who wrote with such elegance about history and archaeology.  Not many, true we have a few more 'leading light' female archaeologists now, but still not enough.

Blakes Wood

A moss covered path leading to the glade

A blue skied day (the only one) sandwiched between grey, grey days, and whatever comes our way tomorrow!  The above photo is slightly Japanese in its mossiness, but the woods are still bereft of greenery.  Though heart shaped leaves of the violets are pushing through, catkins of course, and honeysuckle leaves  starting to show.  Plus of course the whine of a chainsaw as a great tree came down, we didn't see it but it made a loud noise when it hit the ground.

The computer lost its internet connection yesterday, due to my security system closing it down when a 'hacker' presumably tried to connect.  LS spent a couple of hours with BT on the phone trying to get the connection back but no luck, But a phone call to Dell, and my computer programme got whisked through the airways to Delhi, and a technician cleared the problem.  Tis a wonder of this world, watching someone take over your computer and zoom through all the programs.

It reminded me of the time when my old computer was plugged into Skype and Ghana.  Coming down one lunchtime to it, I could hear the steady drip of water and someone moving in the room, but no it wasn't in Bath it was in Accra thousands of miles away, Ephraim must have moved his computer into the kitchen.

Old Giant

Children often build hideways in the wood

http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2010/10/fungi-in-blake-wood.html
http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2009/05/blakes-wood.html

Tissue thin paintings

Bamboo ink painting

Recording LS in the studio, or at least taking photographs of what is happening is an ongoing interest of mine. To be honest many of the scrolls are not to my taste, but the complicated putting together of the many facets of a scroll is fascinating.

Two paintings,if not more on the drying boards, are being restored. The first is a bath scene with two women squabbling. The other is a brush and ink painting of bamboos.

Bath House

The choosing of papers and silks is complicated, mostly done by the collector, but then there are scroll knobs to be found, braid to be bound, and often the added expense of the boxes they are kept in.

The bamboo ink drawing is large, and when finished will probably be bigger than the work bench. From the following photos it can be seen that the papers used are tissue thin, and water has to be applied to take off the two backing papers on either side of the painting. Luckily the old papers came off easily for this bamboo painting, the right amount of paste had been applied 50 years ago, though one false move as they are removed and you tear the painting.

Old paper removed

New ones added

If a hole does appear, or is already there, the wet method of repair is used whereby a small piece of tissue/paper is introduced to the hole and 'wet moulded' to fit, weft and warp of paper matching....

Sometimes paintings can be left on the drying boards for weeks at a time at a tension, and the humidity of the studio has to be watched, this tension helps with the creases, that may have had 'strengthening strips' (another complicated process) to iron them out.

All of this requires a lot of patience, but is fascinating, to watch last year there was a great 18th painting of the Buddha in the studio, it required a lot of work, but one of the fascinating aspects afterwards was the computer expert who had to record it for a catalogue.  He analysised it through a special programme to get the colours rights and also to highlight the seals hidden in the paintings, that told of the school of painters and collectors scroll, the following photo shows the seal of the artist.

Imbolc or Candlemass

February 1st for Imbolc, when the first shoots of greenery are to be had, and the lambs are born. An Irish festival, celebrating the four cross-days, and the beginning of spring. Candlemass of course is the 2nd February and is the christian tradition. Photos from 2007 of the neodruids walking around the bounds of Avebury stone circle...

A good companion

One of the things I haven't written about is my dog Moss, who stayed with my ex-husband last year.  He was a very special dog, my companion on holidays and walking the downs, - Somerset, Wiltshire and Wales we wandered quite happily together.. Collecting all his photos for one album, I realised he had been everywhere with me.  Well just before Xmas he suffered a series of fits and had to be put down, it was a great shock at the time and plenty of tears.  When I thumb through my photos for megalithic stuff he was always there, so as it is his birth date tomorrow (he would have been 11 years old) I decided to put all his photos in one album, well 50 so far, and I realise I shouldn't be too sad because he had a damn good life.

He was beautiful, a blue merle collie with a dash of spaniel, came from Pensford out in the countryside and was a pack leader, sensible and intelligent, he protected me and always managed to find the right path back to the car.   He would chastise young male dogs by taking them by the scruff of the collar and giving them a good shake, but would tolerate small yappy dogs nipping his legs. He carried his ball around most of the time, in fact walking him was wearisome always throwing the ball, and it would have to be hidden.

Anyway to that gorgeous little puppy that grew into an obstreperous teenager who gave me such problems for a while, till he got castrated, who then became the gentle dignified dog for the rest of his life who was much loved  - thank you.

Sacred spaces

Greensted Church, its Saxon timbers caught up in the buildings of later centuries

A rather lovely explanation of the word Temenos, from which the sacred grove or Nemeton arises, see down below......

roses and honeysuckle

Blogs on sacred groves (Devon) and gods     http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2009/02/sacred-groves.html

http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2008/04/shrines-and-rivers-continued.html

Forests and Woods

The papers have been full this week end of the proposed forest sell offs, which the conservative government is proposing.  They will have a fight on their hands because a large amount of people do not believe their rather feeble arguments that privatisation  of the forests is for the good of everyone.   We now  have a public consultation on the subject, which are next to useless, governments still go ahead with plans whatever the public says, but I have a feeling there will have to be a lot of compromise. Both the following articles make pleas for woodland and coppicing, an old tradition that could well be used today to safeguard some of the flora to be found in our old woodlands.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2011/jan/30/monty-don-woodland-coppice-sustainable

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2011/jan/30/forest-sell-off-woodland-conservation

http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/blog/2011/jan/31/forests-sell-off-opposition

Ruth Fuller Sasaki

Ryoan-ji rock garden

My partner, who I shall call LS from now on, is a fount of knowledge on many things Japanese, mostly because he lived in Japan as a conservator for 20 years.  Well not exactly all that time, for when he arrived, age 20 and penniless, he became a Zen Buddhist lay monk at the Ryozen-an temple in Kyoto,  I think he found the strictures a bit hard, but his tales from this particular period are interesting.

He lived in a small hut just by the gardens of the temple, very cold and seemingly full of strange large insects such as a 6 inch poisonous centipede (fancy all those little legs scurrying over you at night) and an outside hole in a hut for a loo.  He starved on a diet of peanut butter and apples so I am informed, there was no money for food but the small amount his father sent monthly plus any money made teaching English to Japanese students.

Now this was the decade of the 1960s, when everything was on the move, young people were not only 'hippyish' but were also actively seeking out new religions and beliefs, my own half-brother, who was a so-called drug addict, was occasionally brought back to my grandfathers house to 'dry out' from squats in London, or even at one stage someone had to go to India to bring, or at least to rescue him from I suspect a 'guru' and his menage. My Canadian sister-in-law later on was also to go seeking a guru on some Pacific Island leaving behind her 3 children and husband, so this touched many families.

But I stray from the subject matter of the title, Ruth Fuller Sasaki, who intrigued me and was the person who invited LS to be a lay monk after he had written to her.  She was American and in a way was influential behind the movement of Buddhism in America in the 1950s, she had married a Buddhist priest, Sasaki though he died within a year but he was one of the first Japanese masters to teach Buddhism in America a Japanese Rinzai (one of three sects of Zen)  roshi (old teacher, old master); explanations are sometimes necessary! so Sasaki was a teacher of Rinzai.

When Ruth Fuller settled in Kyoto she became a priestess at the large Daitoku-ji temple which had 22 sub-temples, one of which was the Ryozen-an temple, she did not fulfil the role of a priestess however because as she said "because I was a foreigner, a woman, untrained in temple procedures, and because I needed the years left me to carry on the work of spreading Zen to the west."

Daitoku-ji temple

At Ryozen-an, apart from LS, there were other western lay-monks, Gary Snyder for one, and as he is a great hero of mine I was intrigued as to what he was like.  He lived in a small house in the larger precincts of Daitoku-ji, with his then wife, a poet called Joanne Kyger,*  As he was bi-lingual he was, with two other Americans, translating the works of an earlier monk under the leadership of Ruth Fuller, called the "Record of Rinzai".  Now this was in 1961, and apparently Ruth Fuller accused one of the Americans of stealing the text, Snyder resigned in protest, and it looks like he took a trip to India at this point with Joanne, for he wrote a book called "Passage through India", which was reissued in 2007.

 LS did'nt go to Kyoto till 1966, so Gary Snyder must have returned by then and continued his translating at the Ryozen-an temple, apparently he had a large motor bike, on which he would take friends either up the hills or down into town to a coffee shop. Hopefully in November this year we will take a trip to see the temples. Everyone's life moved on, two of LSs friends have moved to Hawai, another back to America to make pots.  His life also sounds interesting, for he built a wooden house at a place called Bizen so that he could make pots and fire them in his kiln.  There is an old news article about Ruth Fuller, which LS found yesterday, she is tall and graceful in her monk robes and rather beautiful.

Like my previous article on the green 'back to the earth' movements written earlier, there was a corresponding, and very much stronger movement in America, a backlash also against the Vietnamese war.

Photos from Wikipedia Creative Commons

* Though apparently he was'nt married to Joanne for long and had remarried a Japanese girl;

http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2009/11/imperial-palace-gardens-kyoto.html

John Seymour and self sufficient communities

A couple of days ago whilst hunting through the news I came across an article on the Brecklands that borders the counties of Suffolk and Norfolk, a rather desert like heath landscape you drive though. It has Thetford Forest as part of its territory and of course also Grimes Graves, prehistoric mines. Only of note in the archaeological record is that the scotch pine trees are being cleared from around the mines.

I had known it from years back, when we went to excavate at Castle Acre priory, but it was here that John Seymour lived for several years in a large rented cottage with his then wife and daughters.

He is the great guru of the self-sufficiency movement, and his books are classics. In them you will find the whole armoury of making things, be they baskets, blacksmithing, growing food, killing your produce and farming on a small scale. It is surprising really that he chose to live in this bleak landscape, its fertility quickly drained away through the porous sands, and he did eventually move on to Wales, the home of self-sufficient escapists, still today of course.

It brings to mind Tony Wrench in his roundhouse under the Preseli mountains, a hard life for most of us and still living on borrowed time from the council and eviction. http://www.thatroundhouse.info/index.htm.

Being self-sufficient is hard work, if you want wood you have to find it and chop the logs for winter, growing your own means that there is a limited amount of greenstuff in winter, and unless you are prepared to give your chickens some light in winter – no eggs. Yet living lightly on the Earth is important, that is what the whole green culture is about, it probably only suits a very small number of people but some communities like Tinkers Bubble in Somerset have been going for quite a while. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jz7UXTDkfo

Sally Seymour, John Seymour's first wife illustrated occasionally for his books, and perhaps it is these illustrations that capture the essence of relying on ones own skills, they are packed with information, given a brown overtone to give the impression of 'old worlde', at least that how it seems to me.  She was also a potter, and her daughter lives near to Carn Ingli, running a small printing press with her husband given over to her parent's work.

 Of course this is a favourite part of my world, Preseli Hills with its bleak air and prehistoric sites, and Tony Wrench's roundhouse is not too far from here either.  There was also another settlement being planned in the Pembrokeshire countryside as well a few years back, though whether it got off the ground I never found out.  But I remember giving a lot of my green magazines and books to a young American in Bath, where he lived with his wife.  He had a very gentle manner, and was very appreciative of the books, noting in passing that I had given up on my dreams!

I had advertised them in Freecycle, which is probably another offshoot of green ideas, it means that stuff can be recycled into the community.  My first offering was a bike with tyres that needed fixing, a young man  collected it, and the very next day he came back, tyres had been mended, he had cycled into work that morning and he was as pleased as punch with it.  Books went, but also my very large loom as well, which I did not expect anyone to want, but one saturday a woman turned up with a  spacious estate car and we managed to get it in, she was starting some sort of business, though weaving of course takes up a lot of time.

Sometimes I wonder if it was a green 'stream of consciousness' that flowed through the veins of young people from the 1960s onwards, or perhaps that mind stopping moment, when the spaceship looked back at our earth and photographed that living blue planet, making us all so aware how fragile our Earth was. Yet today we are still plundering its resources with a recklessness that will be our undoing

To close for the moment, the Seymours reminded me of the American couple Scot and Helen Nearing on their land in Vermont, I have only read two books by them, and it is mostly Helen Nearing I remember, as she built built her 100 foot stone wall round her vegetable garden to keep the rabbits at bay, and the book 'Loving and Living the Good Life'.  Scott Nearing chose to die, at about a 100 years old I think, and simply stopped eating, just occasionally drinking some juice now and then,  Helen tended to him throughout this period accepting that he had grown tired of life.  He was a pacifist at the time of Vietnam, and had lost his job as a lecturer of economics because of his views, and I expect was a rather outspoken and grumpy person.

Koans and restoration

Slowly I have been sorting out the furniture for the dollshouse, and all the bits and pieces that have lain about for years, next thing is to restore the broken furniture, and I worked on four chairs this week.

They needed restaining and new covers for the seat, which took an age because I had to cut the cardboard out to fit the inside of the chair whilst leaving enough room for the material. 

My tools are also being expanded as well, I do have a miniature drill, which fits into a miniature lathe so that I can turn table and chair legs, but yesterday at Hobbycraft I notices they had all the little drill bits for buffing and shaping.

Why a koan, well the one below is quoted at me quite a lot when I get anxious about the myriad of things that happen, the Clapping of One Hand, has its message of course is in its title, but the explanatory story below tells more.

Yesterday I woke up thinking of roses, and realised it must be the bleak grey landscape of January, that forces one mind to remember the colour and shapes of roses, and especially their perfume at this time of the year.  The thorns that tangle in your hair and grip your clothes as you tussle with long wands that need to be cut back, and that lovely fresh green smell as you clip.  Still summer is on its way..... 

These are little kit chairs, that you put together, and very fragile, often breaking with time

 The Sound of One Hand

The master of Kennin temple was Mokurai, Silent Thunder. He had a little protege named Toyo who was only twelve years old. Toyo saw the older disciples visit the master's room each morning and evening to receive instruction in sanzen or personal guidance in which they were given koans to stop mind-wandering.

Toyo wished to do sanzen also.

"Wait a while," said Mokurai. "You are too young."

But the child insisted, so the teacher finally consented.
In the evening little Toyo went at the proper time to the threshold of Mokurai's sanzen room. He struck the gong to announce his presence, bowed respectfully three times outside the door, and went to sit before the master in respectful silence.

"You can hear the sound of two hands when they clap together," said Mokurai. "Now show me the sound of one hand."

Toyo bowed and went to his room to consider this problem. From his window he could hear the music of the geishas. "Ah, I have it!" he proclaimed.

The next evening, when his teacher asked him to illustrate the sound of one hand, Toyo began to play the music of the geishas.

"No, no," said Mokurai. "That will never do. That is not the sound of one hand. You've not got it at all."

Thinking that such music might interrupt, Toyo moved his abode to a quiet place. He meditated again. "What can the sound of one hand be?" He happened to hear some water dripping. "I have it," imagined Toyo.

When he next appeared before his teacher, Toyo imitated dripping water.

"What is that?" asked Mokurai. "That is the sound of dripping water, but not the sound of one hand. Try again."

In vain Toyo meditated to hear the sound of one hand. He heard the sighing of the wind. But the sound was rejected.

He heard the cry of an owl. This also was refused.

The sound of one hand was not the locusts.

For more than ten times Toyo visited Mokurai with different sounds. All were wrong. For almost a year he pondered what the sound of one hand might be.

At last little Toyo entered true meditation and transcended all sounds. "I could collect no more," he explained later, "so I reached the soundless sound."

Toyo had realized the sound of one hand.

Grandmas loft

Gorgeous photos on spinning which was shown on my weaving forum, must be American I think, the photographer has taken photos of his grandmas loft, a veritable heirloom piece of spinning wheels and wools to be spun....


http://www.flickr.com/photos/stocksphotography/2421551226/in/set-72157609629601114/

Hanningfield Reservoir

Always love the browny-creamy colours in this little pond, reminds me of some Japanese material on Ebay

Its a female woodpecker I was informed

It seems ages since I last wrote something, could be because its winter, or that other hobbies take my time but on Sunday we went for a walk round the reservoir.  It was created in 1957, and covers a small hamlet, though apparently there are no houses still lurking under the water.  Not like the 'drowned' villages and forests round the West coast of Wales.

The mood of the place is grey and brown, leaves rotting, mud and conifer trees.  Ducks and geese congregate at feeding stations and people wander round with camera equipment.

So apart from hundreds of seagulls on the water, the birds most viewed were in front of the visitor centre.  Long tailed tits, chaffinches, yellow tits, a black and white woodpecker all fed at the bird tables, plus of course squirrels.

Of course acquiring a laptop, was supposed to take me away from the computer, it could be put to one side on my desk and I could concentrate on other things  Yesterday we made up a modular small bookcase from Argos, it took 2 hours and was supposed to balance the rather large dollshouse which is in need of some repair, and to hold some of my knitting/weaving books. The bookshelve was put together eventually, though one of the long wooden dowels broke and another had to be made out of a bamboo skewer, then of course there is the inevitable screwing together of pieces so that they face outward instead of inward. 

Barnes Mill

Drowned reedmace

Barnes Mill in winter without the protective covering of green leafed trees at least shows some of the water works that must have made it an impressive working mill in its day. I have never ceased to be fascinated by mills, they have been with us from an early age, and the great turning wheels of the later centuries show a harnessing of water for energy that we could well emulate today.

The river is in full flow, not quite flooding yet, but the water meadows are an essential part of the landscape to capture the run-off from the surrounding land and the Chelmer is well protected by them. There is an excitement about swift flowing water, it ripples softly and yet noisily over the shallow mill races, foaming small white waves curving and twisting to join the mother river. The swans and ducks caught in the currents in the mill pond are swept to the far side, but they are well fed at the mill, and the two creatures are probably resident here.

No water wheel remains and one would expect the original mill to be very different to what it is today, on one old photo there is an old nissan hut just by it called The Cabin.

What else, reading a 2002 account by someone who lives there, wildlife abound, kingfishers, herons and cormorants fish the water, what lurks underneath is a bit scary the great pike can be found here as well, probably feeding on the graylings, and there is the more exotic carp to be found in the mill ponds. If I had a dog I would walk all the river banks for there are kingcup marsh marigolds to be found along the way, an exciting nature walk exploring the flora and fauna.

One of the outflow ponds, see how the water us diverted into two streams around the pond

Barnes Mill pub in the background with the now disused overflowing leat in the water meadows

The Chelmer almost full to tipping point

Barnes Mill, converted now into three dwellings 

There seems to be more than one mill race, several mill ponds of course

http://northstoke.blogspot.com/2009/05/barnes-farm.html

Sunday

Sunday and the weather is glorious, the birds are in full voice anticipating spring - think they might be a bit presumptious there, but they are probably rejoicing that the snow has disappeared.  Yesterday out for my  birthday lunch at the Cats pub, we drove along lanes that were running with water, and the Chelmer was lapping at the road at Paper Mill lock, rain, snow and the runoff from the fields must be the cause.

Everything was gray, dark and muddy; spaniels scampered along in that dirty muddy wet state that shows their true character as water loving muppets!  The following photo shows the bleak greyness of the Essex countryside, yesterday whilst out we went through a very narrow lane with deep banks, and it suddenly reminded me of hollow ways, those old roads stretching back in time that had been worn down by constant use of carts and carriages.

Life is sometimes at a standstill through the winter months, time to knit and spin and think, my cottage (notice the proprietal air) goes on apace, the builder has been to see it and thinks its gorgeous with all its little details, and does'nt think there needs much doing except for the chimney outside and decorating. The surveyors report was long and thorough, and looked worse than what it was, a certain amount of damp being found in the walls, but I think that this is power for the course for 300 year old places.

The holiday letting aspect might be difficult, all to do with fire arrangments but we will see, hopefully it will all be wound up by the end of this month or into the early part of February.

So it is time to read my books 'Wild Garden' by William Robinson and knitting books and magazines, and hopefully go for a walk this afternoon along the river.

Computers

On New Years day, this computer decided to accept my password, and now works - just like that, I'm pleased, though everything I wrote yesterday on my blog got swiped, so I am approaching it with great care!

The following photos are of the gypsy horses, it was difficult to recognise them under their dirty winter coats, I worry over them, but they had been fed hay over the snowy period, and they look quite relaxed. Someone had thrown bread to them (with plastic bags), which they did'nt seem particularly interested in. My partner fell in love with one
dark eyed beauty with a great fringe falling over his eyes, perhaps when we move to the country, we may get one - who knows......
Life is still in holiday mood, sales everywhere before crunch day 4th January when VAT goes up, sales are'nt my scene, most of it is tat. But we might walk down today to our local retail outlet, just to look at Computer World, this marvellous thing called Wireless, from which my computer works,
means that I can pick this one up and work anywhere in the house, visitors can also use my code number as well for their computers. But to get back to what I was saying, Wireless can also pick up printers in other rooms, so we need a 'joining' cable to feed info from one machine to the other - all very clever, I can't quite get my head around invisible beams!
The mill pond photo is to remind me that summer will eventually arrive, this time of the year my mind would be on raising seeds and perusing the Suffolk Herb catalogue...

Summer

Winter

Mill pond

Quietitude

Well I have'nt written for ages, but the words below were a start over the weekend, my main problem is that my new computer will not recognise my North Stoke blog, and to add insult to injury my email server is also not recognised..
So should in the not too distant future my blog come to a halt, I shall start a new one under the name of North Stoke Two (I think).  My old computer still works, albeit slowly, there I was all hyped  up to clear my desk of keyboard and monitor, and fit a smaller laptop, which could be taken off when I wanted to sew or write, and now it is not possible until my son comes down and sorts it all out!

A mass of presents around my make-do xmas tree, not being mean but there was not enough room for a large tree and all of us. So on Xmas Eve morning (4 am to be precise) the family set off from Whitby across the snowy moor road on their trip down to us in Chelmsford. Okay, hot water bottles, blankets, food, crates of presents and more food stacked high in the dependable land rover was the order of the day, and of course the obligatory spade! They were lucky to get away, the snows came in once more, and the long hill through the village of Staithes became impassable, stranded cars being rescued by the coast guard a few hours later.

The rest of the journey was uneventful, and they arrived later on in the morning, and we all went out to lunch at the Fox and Raven, which was full but two glorious log fires in the old farmhouse is a sight for sore eyes. The children played with the games I had bought most of the afternoon, though there was a drama next door.

At least for the house, for the people had gone off to Thailand for several weeks; a great bang on our front door and an off duty policeman said that it was flooded next door, and boy was it flooded!

The water tank in the roof had given way, it looked as if it was raining on all the windows inside, and the ceilings had collapsed to add to the chaos. Fire engine came to turn off the water, though we did'nt see it, police came and sorted relatives addresses, and so we are now in touch with our next door neighbour in Thailand. Moral of the story; Turn off the water, leave some heating on in your house when you go away in winter, and do leave a key and contact number for panicking neighbours!
continued......
Well it was dramatic, he still has'nt come back from Thailand yet, though there are emails now and then.
I see we have a new format on the blogs, which looks elegant.... Christmas went off with a bang, they travelled back yesterday, the weather is warming up and we now have grey skies and fog.  We played games of the boxed kind, though 'Family Fortunes' was a bit difficult for me.  Children got what they wanted, computer for the eldest, phone for Ben, and Matilda and Lillie, got smaller presents, because they had already received their big ones.  Lillie acquired a set of fairy wings from Hobbycraft, she also nobbled a jumper and bag from my sewing bench, which was meant for another. But a good christmas all told......

                                                      The Fairy or Madame Pompadour

The Darkling Thrush a poem by Thomas Hardy

Snow, upon snow.. amid the bleak mid winter carol has been going through my head lately, no prizes for guessing why. People are getting tired of all this snow, out in the countryside according to Farming Today radio this morning, the task of feeding outlying animals, and getting food into the villages is a hard job. Oil is at a premium, let alone getting the tankers to the farm, or to BBs house stuck up high on a hill. People lie around airport terminals waiting for their planes to take off, travel comes to a standstill as road and railway lines freeze up over night.
We are safe, near to shops, our heating mended after one week of no heating, and there is always an open fire in the sitting room. Doubt if my family will make it down, and I don't want them to venture out onto dangerous roads, Xmas can always be postponed to the following week.
Not sure its chaos, the English do so love a drama, and snow is fulfilling that role superbly, perhaps what we need is an extended holiday period, so that people can fly abroad over a longer time, and the festival days can be spread.
My thoughts have been with the birds, out in the cold every night, the doves look miserable, but the starlings still come to the table happily as do the little fighting sparrows.
Anyway it reminded me of my favourite author and poet - Thomas Hardy and his poem to that little old thrush who sang on a cold and miserable evening such as we are experiencing now........



I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy unlimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware

Snow again - and a return to warmer days maybe?

=

The snow arrived all of a sudden whilst we were out in the car picking up logs, it was the usual 'whiteout' the roads covered in minutes. The countryside suddenly transformed itself into a winter wonderland, though everyone was driving very carefully on the roads, and as we turned down into the road where we live, a car had slid into another one, denting it badly. We were supposed to go out for a birthday meal, but I doubt the car will be taken out of the garage again, so it is either walking to the Fox and Raven or fish and chips!

This morning, I received a long email from one of my old internet miniaturist friends who lives in London, and cares passionately for cats. Or at least the stray ones, she makes miniatures of shops, greengrocer and florist come to mind though her tiny little nut fairy house filled with furniture (no bigger than a pansy flower) was something else. Years ago, when we all made miniatures, we would exchange stuff, and Claire made delicious little cakes out of clay of course.

My other friend in Wales, Gwen who lived near to Carew Castle, in a very romantic setting by the great tidal mill there, also made miniature shops in clocks (the insides taken out of course).

It made me look at my album on the site, two of my efforts are below, both destroyed now.

The one is of the chapel at Farleigh Hungerford, the guide there had told me of the story that someone had bet that she could'nt stay the night in the crypt there. Well the crypt was down a flight of stairs outside, and had three little stone coffins of children from probably the 15th or 16 th century. She had taken up the bet, and locked herself up behind the iron grille door. No, nothing terrible happened but she did say that she was visited by a little (ghost) girl who said she was very cold and wanted her cloak......

The other is of a long hall, which my oldest grandchild used to play, mostly stringing up the dolls to hang from the hooks I made, and then skewering them with the sword, grisly child that he was; all gone now though they took an age to make.

Anyway one of my new year resolutions, is to get back to miniature making when the weather gets warmer and I can cut wood outside...

Wittering

A painting that hangs in a gallery in Bath; Geese coming down to drink

Geese photos are in tribute to that marvellous tv programme 'Edwardian Farm', last night a gander was introduced to see off the fox, who had mauled one of the female geese - which survived luckily...

Life is busy, christmas beckons, cards are almost done, and so are presents, the next thing is to go out into the countryside to collect ivy my favourite xmas decoration. Yesterday we bought my present, which happens to be a teapot and cups and saucers, for what I call the traditional ritual cup of tea in the afternoon, which is never served too well by the mugs we drink out of on a daily basis. Leaving all my china in the move was not exactly a wise thing to do, as it can be exceedingly expensive to buy afresh, but the pretty turquoise teapot chosen in the end will do.

Next week before the advent of xmas it is of course the winter solstice, when the balance between dark and light starts tipping the other way. It's the pagan festival day of old, though I'm not quite sure how they knew it would happen.

At the local reservoir, on a hot and sunny summer afternoon

Snow ready to come back again on friday with strong Arctic north winds blowing straight down the length of Britain, its a bit surprising all this snow before the 25th, it was always the harsh cold of January and February that one remembers.

The survey report came through on the cottage by email, which was slightly depressing, though at 30 pages long was excellent. He had practically examined every nut and bolt of the place, though not the back wall and its roof, due to snow.

Analysising his findings, I find a couple of things are essential, the chimney stack has to be overhauled, there is slight water ingress into the attic bedroom, the house has readings of damp, which of course is not unusal for its age, but it might be wise to put in gas central heating to contend with the dampness and it has a bressumer beam, which is rather thrilling though not quite sure what sort of beam it is..

Hopefully jobs will pick up after the festive season, and my son will find one, though he is still engrossed in his projects on the computer, which may be coming to fruition next year, there is a 'mmm' in my soul as to the outcome. There was rather a worrying programme on Channel 4 news last night about the expensive use of a particular type of insulin, analogue as opposed to the humalin types. I suspect he is on the analogue one as a type 1 diabetic, as it is supposed to respond more quickly to hypos and keep weight down, though to tell the truth he could put more weight on. The good news last week is that his annual blood glucose check up for two years now has been almost perfect, but I would dearly love to see some sort of stem cell cure for diabetics, promised by my doctor 12 years ago and still not on the horizon.

Insulin of course means a life and death issue for people like my son who have type 1 diabetes, its not something my mind always faces up to, but he is sensible and has far more nerve than me. His trip to Ghana for a year was a brave choice though he went with friends but that moment in time was a worrying one for me. Seeing them set off in a car for the airport was a strange moment of whether I would see him alive again; that I waved goodbye outside the chemist, where I had been waiting for his large supply of insulin (late delivery) to take to Africa. It arrived, and I handed it over, still worrying that they would keep it cool on the plane, and not knowing until a couple of years later that he had had a massive hypo on landing at Accra.

So my christmas present to him if possible, would not be the sweater I have bought him but a cure for his diabetes and not the daily regime of needles and testing he must always go through....

Edwardian Farm review; http://news.scotsman.com/entertainment/TV-review-Edwardian-Farm.6661953.jp