Wool-gathering on a Tuesday

 The house at the moment is revelling in the warm scent of freshly made marmalade. The jars have been filled and the lids are beginning to click down with the most satisfactory snap. Although still a little too warm to cradle a jar in my fingers, I have already sampled some for my lunch and it was heavenly.

I am making the most of today, it will be the last Tuesday I will be at home as now the seasons are turning and the earth awakens, the gardens I tend during the warmer months are calling me back. It is always bitter sweet at this time of the year, I am just beginning to enjoy the longer daylight and the gently warming air when I return, at least I am out and in the weather - more or less whatever she throws at me!

At work we have been preparing for our bees to return from their 'holidays'. I am looking forward to their reappearance with both anticipation and trepidation. They left us in autumn under a cloud and it was a relief to have the walled garden back from their tyrannical rule. The bees, as the season progressed, became increasingly defensive then aggressive and we had to keep the visitors and volunteers alike well away. The background hum of busy bees which is usually comforting, now made us all very wary. The bees had been gentle during the previous three seasons then with the passing of the old queen and a new and tetchy replacement whipping up the hive to an angry mob - working near the enclosure was nigh on impossible especially for me as I am allergic to their stings.

Our beeks (bee keepers) have been on a fact finding tour and peace keeping mission to see how our girls are fairing in their winter holiday location and to try to ascertain their present mood. 

Contrite I hope.

Following our favourite footpaths

Sleeping in the van is like crawling into a cosy cocoon, dark and warm and deep. I seem to fall into the pillow and sink through the mattress and vanish. 

And sleep.

When I awoke on the Sunday Himself was already awake, the kettle on and he'd opened the window covering revealing the tide was in and the River Lune looked like a sinuous silvery snake languidly wandering across the Glasson marshes. The briny water twinkled in the early morning light - the palest of blues flickering on cobalt and teal bands. 

After a breakfast where our eyes filled our souls and our mouths filled our bellies, we stepped out of the van and walked a familiar and favourite walk. Down the lane into the village, around the pub and it's many friendly felines however we only stumbled across one who hurtled across the lane squeaking and yowling at us until we stopped for the demanded tickle. 

On to the marina to find a large herd of vintage motorbikes and their equally vintage pilots. Aged blokes in aged leathers, their faces creased by time and weather, gathered around eating bacon rolls and slurping coffee out of paper takeaway cups. Himself immersed himself in their oily scent and rattled under his breath the name of each bike with an added nod of approval or surprise depending on the vintage or model of the shiny black or green or red or blue two wheeled beast.

I eventually managed to pull him from the captivating metal gaggle, we crossed the road, around the old bowling green, down the steps on to the marshy foreshore away from the increasing numbers of dog walkers, bike riders, talkers and walkers and cyclists along the old railway track. 

Birds and marshes were our company now. Old boats, the scent of decomposing bladderwrack, the trill of sky larks, the rustle of the reeds and slurpy-sclutch of the silty path beneath our boots. 

That path moved upward and returned to the railway track, we crossed the bridge and turned right following a small rough lane with a reputation of drowning during high tide. All the houses along that route either high up at the back of the garden or with flood gates and walls to keep out the waves. Plenty of drift wood and litter confirming how high the water can reach.

A bit of zig zagging through muddy paths, country lanes and a brief moment of busy road before we leave all that behind and wander up the long tree lined drive of a converted mill now noisy and popular wedding venue. One that usually has folk in various stages of drunkenness and dress howling with laughter as they celebrate raucously in the gardens of the venue however this time - utter silence. We were confused - as were a number of other walkers who seemed, like us, a mixture of relief and confusion. It was once we'd returned home we discovered that despite it's apparent popularity that it closed due to bankruptcy.

We sat alongside the canal, watching coots, moorhens and listening to gulls, sky larks, curlews as we drank tea and felt the sun on our faces. 

Eventually we tore ourselves off the bench and walked along a gently rewilded canal, where swans silently glide alongside walkers. The sky and the water were the blue which almost breaks my heart.

The towpath took us back through farmland to the marina. Most of the motorbikes had now gone, we walked through the village back to the van, choosing the quieter backwater paths where, once we returned, the van door was flung open, the kettle put back on and we sat feeling the breeze, listening to the birds and watching the tide retreat.

Sunday - you have been a gift. Thank you.

Saturday

For the first, in what seems an age, Himself and I managed an escape in the van for the weekend. We did not stray far, the van had been dismantled over winter to act as a workhorse and Himself had only recently returned all the interior to some semblance of order and he wanted to test it in case of any issues.

So we meandered our way over to Heysham - in particular - Half Moon Bay. A romantic sounding name for what is a rather edge-lands coast line wedged up against a ferry terminal and a power station - yes, I know, sounds 'very glamorous'. 

However, if you do the 'instagram thang' where you cut out the grot and only show the glory - it is a lovely little place. Surprisingly so. We followed the coast line discovering sculptures and ruined chapels, ancient churches and cute cottages. 

Our first 'wow moment' was the Anna Gillespie sculpture 'Ship' - it was amazing, the detail or rather the lack of it with its implied meanings were so poignant - the gashed chests hinting at the piece of you left behind when you leave your homelands - that struck home.

The church grounds were awash with glorious purple crocus, we walked up the pathway where several other visitors shared similar sentiments and their memories - it felt like a privilege.

In the church - we had hoped and then were delighted by, to find it was open so we could see the Viking hogback stone. We sat on one of the pews and in hushed tones were just astounded at the visual story telling.

We were joined by another admirer and the three of us just marvelled at the ancient monument. Apparently this type of stone carving is peculiar to the British Isles, appearing nowhere else.

The neighbouring chapel ruins had what must rate as one of my all time favourite views and I think I must have photographed the door arch a gazillion times before Himself was able to drag me away.

The small village of Heysham must be very loved by its residents, every corner, space ground or garden seemed to be filled with flowers and sculptures or signs or coast findings - drift wood, boats, shells and fishing buoys. It was so cheerful and uplifting.  I'll have to share Sunday's stories - they were just as uplifting - it is amazing what a little bit of sunshine and a lot of blue skies can do for the soul x

Today I did a quick water colour of the 'Ship' sculpture - it made me appreciate it all the more.

Three

 Three good things on a Thursday 

Glorious spring-like weather with gentle blue skies and a warming sun,

Spending the morning and lunching with Youngest in his new home

and the snowdrops in my garden are the best they've ever been,

Where does the time go?

Twenty seven years ago give or take a day or two, Himself and I were in a worn around the edges suburban park in Johannesburg. It was uncomfortably hot and sweat was running down my spine and plastering my fringe to my forehead.

We were on a bit of a mission and despite the midday heat, were out walking. I can clearly remember the decommissioned old steam train with countless layers of thick shiny black paint covering every last inch. In spite of the metal being hot to the touch, kids happily played in and on the old monster. Strangely Himself has no recollection of the engine despite him loving trains.

I felt listless and, although normally not supressed by heat, I felt heavy and drained and very uncomfortable.

There'd been very little rain and the grass, though watered by the municipality, had a crunch to it as we walked towards some trees with benches in their shade.  We sat a while, which although being out of the direct sun was no cooler. The stilled air clung around and stuck to our skin, at least whilst we'd been walking, we'd caused a small draft which our sweat drenched bodies were grateful for.

Eventually we turned back towards the car.  Which had the glorious promise of aircon. Himself was careful and concerned and took me back home. I was what felt like 12 months pregnant with our first born son and he was two weeks over due. The ruddy faced midwife had cheerfully told us that walking would shift 'the little lodger' and so we walked, or rather Himself did while I waddled feeling the size of a house.

Sunday was his 27th birthday and we celebrated the best way we knew how - family, food, stories, candles, cake, films, pancakes, cats, gardening and fun.  Happy birthday Eldest !

The only time his feet were small........