Thursday, January 30

If Winter comes Can Spring be far behind? (Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Stepping in to the garden this morning was like stepping into an energy field. The air was crisp with the lightest of airy blue skies and I was surrounded by the sounds of blackbirds quarrelling, robins singing and the neighbour's hens making happy hen noises.

Leaves and twigs were brushed with the lightest of frost and in the sunlight they sparkled and twinkled catching my eye, filling me with joy. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly my spirit is lifted by days like these.

Whilst I was out, I fed the birds and cracked the glassy lid of ice on all their watering holes. I knew I was being watched as the trees rustled with blackbirds leaning forward to see what I'd left for them.

The cat has remained in bed - as is her want - she is a a bit of an 'old dear' and likes her creature comforts and usually I want to do the same, but not today. 

Today is too beautiful to miss.






Tuesday, January 28

A definite lack of rainbows

Being driven home in the dark whilst the car radio on allows my mind to wander. Himself is occupied by the drive and by nature is not a chatty person so I entertain myself with staring out the window.

The windscreen is stained by dried rain splatters and flicked up road dirt. This time of year it seems pointless trying to keep the car clean as every time I drive to and from work, my little white car has filthy streaks trailing down his sides. Yes, my car is male and he has a name - Bob.

In the distance small lights flicker as trees pass between us on the freeway and the farms sprinkled out on the hills. Sunday was a rather long day, we'd spent it with Youngest who'd put our a plea for help laying tiles on his kitchen floor and it turned out to be one of those 'takes longer than you think' jobs.

Storm Herminia was building up as Youngest's lovely girl and I were outside measuring the garden and discussing possible plans and layouts. It just got too wild and windy to linger so we retreated to the house and with mugs of tea and the internet we searched for ideas and inspiration whilst we watched the weather thrash about outside.


Monday was still reeling from the storm and although not as intense as the previous one, the walled garden suffered more damage. So after a meeting I started rescuing obelisks and wooden fence panels and dragging them into the glasshouse where they can dry off, get repaired then return to the garden. Some days at work - regardless at what life throws at me - I step up to the mark and come home satisfied. Then there are some days at work - I just want to shut the gate behind me and throw away the key.


Now, today, I am watching the finest of guti (that dreadful 'Scotch Mist / mizzle / drizzle / mist) that seeps through not just clothing but manages to dampen down through bones and flesh too. 


I know it is the dying days of January but surely we are due some nicer weather? I'd like to think so!


The pictures were snapped on Sunday evening on our drive home








Saturday, January 25

A thorny issue


The garden was quiet again this morning once the storm had passed. There was a certain stillness - almost a sigh of relief - a moment's breath. The birds were flitting back and forth, making up for lost time I suspect. Today we'd planned to do the Big Garden Bird Watch  something we've tried to do annually for quite a while now. However, instead of sitting down in the summerhouse, notebook and mug of tea to hand, we were having to wrestle a 20 year old climbing rose who'd succumbed to Éowyn's howling winds and was now lying prone across the back of the garden in a very sorry state.

Himself and I armed with not mugs of tea or binoculars but with loppers, secateurs and the shredder got to work soon after breakfast. Metres and metres of heavily thorned and tangled rose branches were first lopped then shredded into piles of chippings. As we worked, the woodshed began to reappear from behind the unforgiving tangle.
To be brutally honest, I was not sorry the rose had to be reduced to a pile of wood chip. It had grown so big that the flowers - as beautiful and as scented as they were - were beyond our reach. We estimated it had grown over 12 metres (40 foot in old money) and was truly a monster. Now, hopefully it will recover and flower again in a year or two but at head height.

Did we still manage to see a bird or two? Well, surprisingly so - yes, many. They were so busy being birds that our shenanigans with the rose did not seem to bother them. 







Friday, January 24

Storm Éowyn

At some point during the night and through sleep deadened eyes and ears, I could hear the occasional gust of wind or rain splattering the window. Not enough to fully awaken me, but enough for me to notice.

This morning although blustery at home, it did not feel that threatening and it was surprisingly mild as we hopped into the cars and set off ..... until we hit the freeway. My car bounced and bucked and behaved as if he'd had too many oats and his feet were fizzy. By the time I'd reached work I was quite on edge as I trickled carefully along the lane into the park. It was strewn with twigs and sticks but very little else. No trees seemed to be down or branches dropped.

Then as the skies lightened from inky blue to leaden grey the wind built to a roar, ripping through trees and screaming around buildings.  The bright yellow weeding buckets we hang up on the raised beds were flung in to the air as they bounded through the garden before colliding with the wall and gate. Café chairs stopped huddling around their tables pirouetting swiftly before disgracefully nose diving with a resounding metallic thud. 

We watched from in the building for a moment or two before I ventured out down to the glasshouse. Although double strength safety glass, it is always with an amount of trepidation when I enter while the weather is as wild as today. The wind droned and groaned as the trees creaked and wailed however, in the glasshouse, radio and plant heater on, it felt warm and almost cocoon like.

However by lunch, when the wall was being stripped of pieces of brick by the wind, it was time to retreat. I sent volunteers home - it was not worth their safety (or mine) to linger longer than necessary.  With the winds behind me on the freeway my car raced home faster that I wanted however, now, sitting with the cat asleep on my shoulder, my second mug of tea nearly finished it seems that the winds may have tired themselves out - although still blustery and the trees still rocking and rolling, I think the storm may have blown itself thin.

My heart goes out to those further north and in Northern Ireland who have really felt the wrath of the storm xx


During last night's  'Winter Watch'  - the mindful moment,
 the cat decided to sit in front of the television
 to try and locate where the bird song was emanating from -
 when she had her 'Lion King' moment.

Wednesday, January 22

The calm before the storm


Locking the house this morning when leaving for work, we were serenaded by the male Tawny Owl (who is affectionately called Mr Hootie by Himself). The owl was mournfully hoo hoo hoooooo-ing in the tree at the bottom of the garden. We'd heard Mrs Hootie (she trills back a shrill kewick) roughly a week or so ago, but nothing since. 

The mist swirled around the house, clinging thickly around the lights along the road out of the village. It was still dark and murky by the time I arrived at work, the inky black sky was now a deep rich purple fringed by a silvery brume. The park, usually brought to life by dog walkers and bird song was subdued and muffled. I took my cellphone and snapped a couple of photos.

I returned to the Coach House and was struck how 'Dickensian' the buildings looked in the early morning gloom. The mist didn't fully lift all day, with a few teasing flashes of blue sky about midday however they soon slipped away as the mist returned.
It clung to everything, dampening eyelashes and decorating spider webs with sparkling gems of condensation.
And, despite my longing for light and sun and warmth, today was rather beautiful in it's silvery opaque shades.



Tuesday, January 21

Liquid sunshine🌦️

As the rain steadily falls and the room feels gloomy, I know it is time to turn the fairy lights on and fill the kettle. I am influenced by light levels and although I don't suffer SAD as painfully as others do, I do feel it and it weighs heavily on me. I find that walking or gardening help however I have had enough of being out in the rain and have chosen to drop my plans for a yomp up and out of the valley and am turning inward.

So, once I've finished tapping away at the laptop, I shall get my SAD light, my water colours and lose myself in colour and mugs of tea. I have just glanced up and the cat is staring at me with such a frown. She is visibly accusing me of either causing the driech wet weather or my lack of ability to fix it. My dear cat, if I could, I would.

All this sounds rather depressing and it's not meant to be. It is what it is (dreadful phrase but it fits here). 

Moments later, the cat has just returned from an attempted foray into the garden. She is drenched, her coat sparkling with raindrops as she leaves foot prints across the floor. I suspect that she will now situate herself behind the wood burner and steam herself gently dry for the rest of the day.

As predicted, she did indeed vanish behind the wood burner, 
this photo is from a day or two ago


I shall just have to embrace the rain, it is January after all and use it as an excuse to give myself the day off. 

And, just for a moment's entertainment I found this ....

104 words for rain here in the UK

  1. Ache and pain (Cockney rhyming slang)
  2. Bange (East Anglia), a sort of dampness in the air, w/ light rain 🚿
  3. Bleeter (Scottish) 💧 
  4. Bluffart (Scottish) ❄️ ⏳ 😲
  5. Blunk (Shropshire) 💧 
  6. Cloudburst 💧⚡😲
  7. Cow quaker 💧
  8. Dag of rain (Scottish) 🚿 
  9. Deluge 💧
  10. Dibble (Shropshire) Slow rain
  11. Dimpsey (West country) 🚿
  12. Downpour 💧
  13. Dreich (miserable weather, Scottish)
  14. Drencher 💧
  15. Dringey (Norflk, Suffolk, Lincolnshire)🚿
  16. Drisk (Cornwall) 🚿
  17. Driving rain 💨
  18. Drizzle 🚿
  19. Duke of Spain (Cockney rhyming slang)
  20. Flist (Scottish) 🚿
  21. Flurry 
  22. Fox’s wedding (The West Country) 😲
  23. Haar (Cornish, Scotlish, N. English), drizzle from the sea 🚿
  24. Harle (Lincolnshire), drizzle from the sea 🚿
  25. Haster (England), a violent storm⚡
  26. Haud (Scottish) 😲
  27. Hemple (West Country) 🚿
  28. Hig (England)⚡ 
  29. Hurley Burley (England) 💧
  30. It’s beating down 💧
  31. It’s chucking it down 💧
  32. It’s coming down in buckets/bucketloads 💧
  33. It’s coming down in sheets 💧
  34. It’s coming down it torrents 💧
  35. It’s drumming down, heavy rain heard through a roof 💧
  36. It’s getting biblical out there 💧⚡
  37. It’s hammering (it) down 💧
  38. It’s henting (Cornwall) 💧
  39. It’s hossin (Cumbrian) 💧
  40. It’s hoyin it doon (N. E. England) 💧
  41. It’s lashing (it) down 💧
  42. It’s lattin (Shropeshire), Enough rain to make outdoor work difficult
  43. It’s letty (Somerset), Enough rain to make outdoor work difficult
  44. It’s luttering down 💧
  45. It’s maumy (N. English/Scottish) 🚿
  46. It’s pattering 🚿
  47. It’s peeing (it) down 💧
  48. It’s pelting (it) down 💧
  49. It’s pissing (it) down 💧
  50. It’s plothering down (Midlands and N. England) large droplets with no wind 💧
  51. It’s pouring/pouring down 💧
  52. It’s raining cats and dogs 💧
  53. It’s raining chair legs, painfully heavy rain 💧
  54. It’s raining like a cow reliving itself 💧
  55. It’s raining sideways 💨
  56. It’s raining stair rods, painfully heavy rain 💧
  57. It’s raining upwards, rain so heavy that it bounces 💧
  58. It’s siling/syling down (N. England) 💧
  59. It’s spitting 🚿
  60. It’s spluttering 🚿
  61. It’s sprinkling 🚿
  62. It’s stottin (N. England and Scotland) heavy rain that bounces 💧
  63. It’s teeming from the heavens (N. Irish) 💧
  64. It’s thrashing (it) down 💧
  65. It’s throwing it down 💧
  66. It’s tipping (it) down 💧
  67. It’s tippling (it) down 💧
  68. It’s yukken it doon (Cumbrian) 💧
  69. It’s trickling 🚿
  70. Kelsher, a heavy shower 💧 
  71. Liquid sunshine, sudden rain on a sunny day 😲
  72. Misla (Irish Traveller)
  73. Mizzle (N.Engis), misty drizzle 🚿
  74. Mochy weather (Scotish, N. Irish) 🚿
  75. Monsoon, heavy summer rain 💧 
  76. Mothery (Linconshire) 🚿
  77. Nice weather for ducks!
  78. Onslaught 💧 
  79. Peeggirin (Scottish) a stormy shower 💧 
  80. Plash (Northumbrian) 😲
  81. Pleasure and pain (Cockney rhyming slang)
  82. Plum shower (Scottish) 💧
  83. Posh (Shropshire) 💧
  84. Precipitation
  85. Rain
  86. Raining forks’tiyunsdown’ards (Lincolnshire) like it’s raining pitchforks 💧
  87. Scotch mist 🚿
  88. Sea fret (N. English) mizzle from the sea 🚿
  89. Shower 
  90. Skew (Cornwall) 
  91. Skite (Scottish) 🚿 
  92. Sleet ❄️
  93. Smirr (Scottish) 🚿
  94. Smizzle (Scottish) 🚿
  95. Soaker 💧
  96. Soft weather (N. Irish) 🚿
  97. Squall  🚿
  98. Steaking 🚿
  99. The heavens have opened 😲
  100. The smoky smirr o rain (Scotland) 🚿
  101. The Wet
  102. Thunderstorm 
  103. Torrent/Torrential 💧
  104. Yillen (Scottish) 🚿 💨

Thanks to Starkeycomics.com for the list

Sunday, January 19

Gentle Sunday nothings


A small downy white feather was lightly drifting on our pond. The slightest of breeze gently twisting it around - a little swan in it's own little lake. 

Although still, meteorologically speaking, late winter today felt a bit like spring. When the weather is quiet, with a muted air about her, Spring has a certain stillness that feels clear and fresh.   

With a sense of anticipation. 

Snowdrop and daffodil leaves have pushed through the decaying leaves left by autumn promising much - just not yet.....I will have to wait a little longer.

The birds have been singing their little hearts out - Robins, Coal, Great and Blue Tits, Blackbirds, House Sparrows and both the Gold and Bullfinches. They are also celebrating that the seasons are turning and each day further from the solstice is a day nearer spring.

In the greenhouse I'd left an untidy mess from an end of year pruning of the vine which - to my shame - I never cleared up. However just by a lucky turn of events, I am now to teach a Spring Wreath workshop and the once discarded vines are now twisty hedgerow wreaths ready to fully dry and then be decorated with hand made nests with faux eggs, moss, feathers and ivy.




Friday, January 17

Whilst waiting ....

 Whilst waiting for the carpet fitters.

Watching the trees gently breathe as the air warms - tendrils of mist lift and twirl up and through the branches catching the light

Watching a neighbour's elderly cat carefully sniff around our garden, find then, blissfully enjoy, the cat nip ball we have up at the back door for our cat. His closed eyes and pushed forward whiskery chops the epitome of a moment of feline pleasure

Having my eye caught by every passing van (of which these days appears to be a lot more) just in case one of them is anticipated carpet fitters

Listening to the radio, which alternately annoys me or engages me, but will always be on to help mask my tinnitus

Working on quizzes, bingo sheets, kid's trail questions and anagrams for work. Constant small streams of income for a charity are a life line

Planning the next display for work, contacting the relevant parties to encourage them to get their posters ready earlier rather than later - so no last minute panic. Not quite managed so far ...

Answering my cellphone - the fitters have got lost in the village - please can I direct them  


Whilst listening to the carpet fitters

Hammering, sawing and blokey grunts as they drag or cut or stick down first the underlay then the carpeting

Watching them remove doors and pile them up in the dining room 

Making them mugs of tea (sugar please)

Not* watching them admire themselves in the mirror in the hall and mutter things about how grey their beards are getting

Quietly (in comparison) painting a still in the green hyacinth to keep myself occupied whilst the cat hides and the workers work.




Thursday, January 16

You can do it

During Wednesday's sublime light, this little flowering moss glowed in the sun


After the snow, there was rain, followed swiftly by driech grey mist which seemed to not only hang around the house and garden but around me too.  

Then yesterday the skies cleared and the sun filled the day. 

At work, the volunteers and I revelled in the warmth and light - it felt uplifting. We tackled something I'd planned months ago as an early autumn project which was then thwarted by the weather.

Finally on Wednesday, with a huge pile of chestnut palings, saws, mallets and steaming mugs of tea we started and the joy was palpable.

I quietly listened to happy chatter and bird song. Volunteers and birds all soaking in the light and gentle winter sun. However what made me smile the most was the obvious pride these ladies felt by the end of their session. They'd completed a rather manual and physical task and it looked bloody fantastic !


Tuesday, January 14

karma

It is early morning, the snow has all but gone, replaced by a gentle dull drizzle and drifting grey coloured mist. The brightness and clarity of the last few days has dissolved into the more usual leaden hues of a northern winter.  Everything is coated in a fine mizzle with jewel like droplets at the end of each branch. And it feels cold.

There is a whirling flash of wings flying back and forth past the bedroom window. 

The starlings are back. 

Our neighbour's bathroom roof has a conveniently starling size gap beneath the slate tiles and the millstone grit stones. It used to be inhabited by a garrulous family of house sparrows until the starlings in a rather nasty take over bid killed all the fledgelings and hounded the adults. It took nearly nine years before the sparrows returned to our garden.....

I digress. The present incumbents - the starlings, have raised between two and three broods every year for over a decade now and seeing that in the wild, starlings live between three and five years, it does mean several generations have passed beneath those slate slabs.

After the flurry of raising fledglings until the last minutes of summer, the starlings suddenly vanish, turning from parents to small dots within those magical murmurations. Then, as autumn begins to soften then decay, they return. They (are 'they' the same birds from summer? without ring ID - who knows?) return and begin prospecting, researching nest sites for the coming spring. 

Winter comes and goes, or lingers depending on her mood however the starlings have a fixed schedule and for the last three or four days the birds have been flitting in and out, squeezing below the snow melt to investigate their potential nesting spot for 2025.

The roof space above the neighbour's bathroom must be filled to the rafters with decades of nesting material. The previous owner, an older lady who although she owned the house for around ten years only really lived in it for about four as she suffered ill health. She was quite happy that the birds lived in her roof saying she was more their landlord that the owner resident herself. There are now new owners, a young couple who have been rebuilding the entire house for the last 18 (very long and dusty and noisy) months who I made aware of 'our' starlings in their roof and until today I thought the birds would be safe for another season. 

Today I heard work starting in the bathroom. I might gently remind them about the birds in the roof or suggest to the starlings that their residency, like the house sparrows they evicted, has now too come to an end.

           

Monday, January 13

Old news New news


 It was Himself who discovered this bundle. His head and hands buried beneath the floorboards as he scouted for any further unwanted issues. He tossed it towards me and returned to his 'below board' position. 

Carefully peeling it open I discovered the date - 30 December 1976 - this paper had been hiding beneath the floorboards for 49 years.

A gentle turning of pages revealed the frontispiece with the cost of the newspaper only being 7p, however the stories felt very familiar. Taxes going up, prices rocketing, unemployment etc etc. However the biggest difference was an advertisement for smoking. A full spreadsheet sized one.

For a princely sum of 45 pence you could get your grubby little fingers on a packet of 12 KING SIZE cigarettes. I looked up the company and in 1976, this company was at it's height with it eventually being hobbled first by taxes, then health sensibilities, finally being absorbed by an American company and fading away. 

Another full page advert was for a car - I looked up it's number plate on the MoT checker and it reported that yes this was indeed the car in the photo but it also informed me that it had a red livery.


There was a 'pocket cartoon' - which has a woman asking a bloke whether ' kissing was a health hazard' as well as a simple weather report stating that it was a cloudy and rainy December - yup - some things never change........






To purchase the current version of this paper is £1.70.

The Fiat was sold for £1500 at the time, I have looked up car and classic car type websites and the same model can command a price between double and 12 (yes TWELVE) times the original cost. wow.




Sunday, January 12

Not quite as planned

Today has been an odd day, one that any plans, simple or otherwise have taken a journey of their own and despite all good intentions - 'things' have happened.

An entire can of carpet glue exploding upstairs and spiralling furiously as it sprayed the stickiest 'web' everywhere until it expired

A water pipe being pierced by a nail by a previous unknown workman and on removing the nail some decades later - a present workman created an unwelcome water leak. He was horrified and very apologetic even though it was not him.

Decades old pipes, wires and a 1976 newspaper lying amidst so much filth and dust between the floorboards that it felt like an archaeological dig rather than a repair job

A lemon drizzle cake - usually the mildest and meekest of bakes - fought back and caused so many deviations that subsequently a lot more washing up was created.


All this before lunch............

And now, sitting on the floor, listening to the ice melt dripping, the neighbour drilling and the radio churning out over-cheerful yabba, I am mending Himself's hat. 

And it suddenly feels a whole lot better.


Friday, January 10

tip my hat

 A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

***************

Having come home (albeit a little earlier than normal) from the day job, I'm doing my 'homework'. A portion of my day is computer related which I choose to do at home. Today I am planning and designing a treasure hunt for children based around the park, a 'bingo' card for littlies to tick off as they run around the gardens and an adult level anagram and word search. 

However, I keep being distracted.

I'm in the lounge which faces the lane through the village. Any movement makes my eyes flick over towards the window. So many bobble hats, beanies, trapper hats, berets, slouchies, hoods and caps trog by. After my eye was caught yet again by something colourful bouncing along as the wearer made their way down the footpath, I stopped trying to avoid looking out, leant back and gave myself permission to enjoy the visual feast.

Most folk seem to be ensconced in some variant of woolly type head gear, whether knitted professionally or by their gran, they all seemed to be tugged firmly down around the ears, resting just above or over their eyebrows. 

A few fleecy type hats have loped passed, usually more trendy in appearance with bright colours or patterns. The best so far has been a furry trapper type hat. The kind that have long 'ears' which can be fastened tightly below the chin with the hat part pulled down deeply, keeping the head and a goodly part of the face covered .... except this one was not.

The hat was jauntily perched above a cheeky chappy's face with the ear flaps sticking out horizontally, very reminiscent of Grogu's own ears, bouncing quite merrily in time as he walked.

About a half dozen of teenage lads then lanky-legged by in their school uniforms - no hats or scarves and certainly no coats. At what age do lads mature into hat wearing, coat donning, scarf wrapping, fee paying members of the public?

I 'double-hat'. 

I wear a thinnish skull cap type - usually crochet cotton courtesy of my sister in law, this acts as a heat trapping layer, topped off with a thicker knitted slouchy beanie. This allows me to removed the outer hat if I get too warm without actually exposing the horrendous bird's nest hat hair that lurks beneath. It does not matter one jot if I contain my feral hair as tightly as possible, I know that once it is hidden deep in a hat - it goes even more wild and makes me look like I have been dragged through a hedge backwards.




The view through the Victorian Folly towards the Italian Gardens and Chinese stone lantern
we are all things to all nations if nothing else here at the park...


Thursday, January 9

Surround Sounds

  A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

***************

I have a busy brain. It chats happily to itself and to me, organising, discussing, replaying, planning, making lists and anything else that it fancies to annoy me with. For a few years now, I have been gently practising the art of silencing the incessant chatter.

Some days it works and others - not so much. I have learnt and regularly practise ... to just listen. Listening to the sounds around and not letting my busy brain discuss them. Listening in silence.

The tearing of the wind as it rustles through trees.

The crackle and bursting of air bubbles when a river tumbles over the rocks.

Birds singing for territory, for mates, to impress.

The sound of boots slurping in mud, crunching on frosted snow, clipping on tarred pavements, scrunching on pebbly tracks.

The drag and whush of the retreating tide on a rocky beach.

The crisp sound as a page is turned in a new book.

The clink of a paint brush as you swirl it in water to clean it.

The quiet breathing and sometimes the deep snoring of a fast asleep cat.

That deep chest thudding roar of rain swollen rivers as they crash down a ravine.



......and just a gentle enquiry - how many of you heard the sound as you read the words?

Wednesday, January 8

Laying down the first tracks

 A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

***************

The crusty crunch of our boots on the now frozen snow was the loudest sound first thing this morning as we kissed our goodbyes. It was still dark and the thermometer in my car said it was -7°c .... it certainly felt like it.

the track last week before more snow 
was unceremoniously dumped in large quantities

At work, I turned into the small access lane along side the park. It is a rough and unforgiving little track in the best of weathers so I knew today was going to be a rather bumpy ride. And it was. As I reached the far end, I noticed that were no other tyre marks - I was the first to arrive but not only that - the first to drive up the lane and onto the carpark since the more recent heavy snow .... I slowed down, carefully pulling into the small space we share with the Council lads and gently reverse parked hoping I would be able to drive back out.

Later I was cheerfully informed that everyone who'd tried to drive in a day earlier had to be dug free ....   It was good to catch up with some of the volunteers and the staff.  My 'work family' are actually special to me - but don't let them know that, it would go to their heads! 

Glad to be home though, I've had enough of this intrepid-driving/working-in-the-snow-lark - give me warm sunshine any day.



Tuesday, January 7

simple joy

 A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

***************


Snow flurries dance past the windows, whirling and rolling before landing on the already frosty white ground. I'm glad to be inside. During the winter months I am home more - as primarily employed as a horticulturalist, I am busy beyond belief during the 'growing season' and although I diversify during the winter months into arty, craft or wreath making workshops,  I have the utter pleasure of have days off during the week to 'play'.

I recently discovered something new to me - 'perpetual journaling'* - which entails sketching or painting an item from nature once weekly in a book and repeating until that book is full which if done correctly can last for years.  Be still my beating heart.

I started mine in November (when I first made this wonderous discovery) and look forward to painting and adding my work each week. I love that each time I add to my book - you can see a visual change in the seasons.  It also makes me look at my subject of the week so closely - making me notice the tiniest of holes in a leaf, the thinnest of spines on a stem, the curliest of fronds, the crispest of dried foliage and it feeds both my gardening and arting heart.  

I love that when I am out walking I could just chance upon the perfect subject for scrutiny then sketching. All this joy and pleasure from something so simple.

 A snow topped teasel from the walled garden


*if you are on instagram - have a look, there are some absolutely beautiful journals out there.
#perpetualjournal
#lgperpetualjournal

And thank you for your lovely comments, they are much appreciated and it is lovely that I am 'meeting' some new-to-me faces - welcome to my little corner of the world 💚x

Monday, January 6

Madam does not approve🐾

A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

***************


Working from home today. 

The snow has triggered where I work into a health and safety hyper-alert. It does not take much for paths to be slippery or access to become difficult and seeing a fair number of folk who use the community building and gardens on a daily basis are mostly older, it seems better to err on the side of caution.

So, instead of doing garden planning, checking on our seeds/tools/potting soil, making shopping lists and welcoming back the volunteers, I am at home having just endured essential mandatory training.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm happy to be at home when the weather is like this, I can wrap up and chat to the cat whilst I am working (not that she approves of this kind of frivolous comradery - she is more the 'you-work-and-I-watch - through closed eyelids - type of cat......)

Any hoo - I am now fully certificated on anything to do with fire prevention and safety in the workplace.  The cat was not particularly impressed when I let out a ooooof of relief on the final assessment.... however, I am just glad to have finished it. 

The eyebrows of annoyance say so much more that words could ever do!


Sunday, January 5

Ginger cats

A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

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Like much of the UK, when I flung the curtains open this morning, I was welcomed by a brightly white view. Snow.

Himself and the cat seemed firmly burrowed in the duvet, so I pottered downstairs and while I waited for the kettle to boil, took photos with my mobile. Quick snaps as proof in case the rain came and spoilt everything, washing the brilliant white away and replacing it with the usual dismal and drab northern winter.

Sipping our tea and coffee, watching the snow flurry this way and that through the window,  suddenly message after message from the family pings up - photos of their snow, their happy snow chatter, so I sent them ours and it felt lovely that despite the boys being in their own homes - we were 'all together' watching the weather and comparing depth and snow fall type.

Himself wanted to get out and experience the snow so we wrapped up warmly and set off. The cottages in the village appeared to hunker down in the mounds of snow, clustering around the lane running through it. There was a thin wind curling around the trees and funnelling through the stone walls and slicking across my face making my cheeks feel brittle, however I could not feel my toes...

After about three miles, Himself and I returned, shed our many layers, put the kettle on - time for a mug of tea and  still warm 'ginger-cat' biscuits.



Saturday, January 4

Before winter really arrives

A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

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There is a crunchy crispy note to our footsteps as we walk up the side of Dewbarrow Ridge.  Puddles are lidded with a layer of ice and the air although cold, feels and smells earthy and fresh.  It is really good to be out. Snow and icy conditions have been forecast to start this evening - winter is on her way - so we are out on the hills making the most of the lull before the storm.

Although there were several cars stashed here and there along the lane, it appears we are the only ones up in the woods. 

Some walks, I come home tired but happy, others I need to recover before I can appreciate them, but today's.... today's five miles have left me feeling elated!

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Birds either spotted or heard:

Buzzard, Rooks, Nuthatch, Yaffel (Green Woodpecker), Greater Spotted Woodpecker, Crows and the most beautiful of Barn Owls.




Friday, January 3

'Keewik keewik'

A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 

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Carrying a small tub laden with toast crumbs, dried sultanas, cold bacon fat and cake, as well as a full kettle of not quite boiled water, I carefully picked my way through the garden to the bird feeder. The Robin was giving running commentary and a cluster of Blackbirds were loitering by the pond watching me with bead bright eyes. 

The bird snacks were emptied into two trays and the water used to help dissolve the thin layer of ice in the water bowls in the garden. 

The sky was the thinnest of clear blue with ragged white contraflow criss-crossing the expanse. In the distance a barrage of shooting - a 'side effect' of living in a village on the edge of privately owned moorland......

Suddenly the female Tawny Owl whistled a plaintive 'keewik keewik' triggering the garden birds to send up warning calls and flutter nervously through the trees. 

I retreated back to the house, more layers needed as my fingers and feet felt lumpen and cold. I returned with my camera and snapped a few photos of frost covered leaves with daggers of ice acting as temporary armour.
Vinca leaves encrusted with sharp stilettos of ice

I recorded the garden birds - Robin, Blackbirds (male and female), Dunnock, Jackdaw, Mistle Thrush, House Sparrow, Great and Coal Tit who were all still grumbling defensively about the now silent Tawny Owl.

a watercolour of a hen Blackbird from my #perpetualjournal - 
ignore the dates, I wrote them incorrectly, I have since amended them.


Thursday, January 2

Dawn

A personal challenge - try and write something every day for January 2025 - let's see how it goes.

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Throwing the curtains open reveals a dark almost blank canvas with just the bedside light reflecting in the glass. A solitary street lamp struggles to shine through the unruly hedge at the bottom of the garden. Then a moment or two later an icy blue slice appears beneath the steel cold grey, emerging from the nothing depth of the night sky.  It was Himself's first day back at work after the festive break and my last day off before I return. So I take the luxurious liberty of returning to bed with a mug of tea, the cat and a book. 

Looking up after a while, I watch the the icy blue sliver slide into a faint lemon yellow, the grey was now a pale sea reaching up and through the retreating tide of the night sky. Colours soften as the daylight returns while trees begin to reappear from the early dawn gloom. The occasional bird flits across my view, flapping in the still air - a start contrast to the last few of days of wet and wild weather.

Photo from a day or two ago looking through the village


Wednesday, January 1

Rain runs a thread through it

 Friday
After days of grey dank with the sky having no colour and mist filling all the spaces, we met up with Youngest and his lovely girl for a walk. We slipped and slid our way across muddy fields, deeply pock marked by sheep feet. I listened and failed to hear any bird song - not even subdued twittering although I watched a couple of flocks of starlings fly overhead in tight clusters. The afternoon stealthily darkened so we cut our walk short and returned. Carefully picking our way back, we finally reached firmer footing. With the mist thickening and the light failing, I was grateful to return to Youngest's home and wrap my fingers around a mug of tea. I know we will walk the route again, but hopefully when the weather is better, the sun is shining and the paths are dry.

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Sunday

Himself and I headed off to the Dales to make the most of the mist finally lifting. We set off in fine fettle, looking forward to getting out and although it felt rather fresh with a frisky breeze (well it was December) it was rather nice to have no commitments and know that the day was ours.

It seemed also to belong to many other walkers as the pathways and parking places were the fullest we'd seen for some weeks. We strode out, listening for bird song, watching for wild life and breathing damp cold air.

The pathway - well trod and muddy in places wound and wove itself alongside the River Wharfe, dipping down to the water's edge, following a farm track away then returning to the riverine margins.

We stopped, sitting on a damp ledge with our boots on a sandy 'beach' and watched three mallards steadily make their way towards us as they battled against the river flow and noticeably increasing winds. They were rewarded as we tossed a few crumbled shortbread crumbs before we continued our walk.  The wind now carried rain droplets and on the other side of the river we watched sheets of rain make their way up the valley. Coats were pulled tighter and hats more firmly yanked down over ears and eyebrows. The inclement weather was winning the battle so we turned away from the river, joined a small quiet road and worked our way back to start. Once in the van, heating on, kettle whistling away cheerfully we watched rain creating runnels down the windscreen. 

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Tuesday

New Year's Eve - and with weather warnings being issued with stern voices we all set off to meet up to celebrate the demise of 2024 - which has been a notable year if only for the tide of life being a double edged sword throwing us mixed fortunes amid small glimmers. With both our boys and their lovely girls, we ate (too much) drank (tea, coffee, tonic water and beer - but not simultaneously!) played board games that both flummoxed and frustrated us with equal measure causing amusement and howls of laughter. We watched fireworks on the television and through the rain streaked windows, listened to music, joked and shared stories, cuddled cats and hugged each other.

Wednesday

Rain, so much rain overnight, rivers flooded and fields drowned. After hugging everyone we returned home - today is the first day of the new year, time to reset and think about returning to normal. Here's hoping that you all find 2025 in a better place.


2025 - please be gentle and kind and far far nicer than your predecessor - thank you.