Talk about into the deep end ....

Yes, it does seem like I have been missing in action and I suppose to a certain extent that is true. I've not written anything here since the 1st May - is it really that long ago?

So, instead of trying to fill you in with EVERYTHING that has been happening, I'll just give a few snippets.

Hi - my name is kate although I also go by the alias hawthorn and yes I do choose to write them both with lower case initials. I also prefer to write in pencil and when I have to be all 'grown up' and use a pen and unless legally required - I refuse to write in black. (school related trauma here!)

I love taking photos.

Last week were were up in the lakes on paddleboards - Himself has been cogitating over the last couple of years about them and when I let slip I wanted to get out and get back to wild swimming (something I did for years until I came to the uk) he took that as the nudge HE needed and literally 48 hours later we had SUP boards and all the accoutrements required. Talk about being swept up in the moment.

The first couple of sessions - learning to paddle board in the rain and trying to teach a dog how to be a safe passenger without panicking all whilst trying to negotiate a swell on the sea .... were not the best and probably poorly judged.

But we have persisted. Although I still feel apprehensive as we cross the lakes with very deep dark water below me, the sense freedom it gives my headspace has been worth the angst leading up to each set off.

The turning point from fear and uncertainty to tentative joy was when quietly sitting on board, with the dog whilst surrounded by puffins, guillemots and razor bills at Flamborough Head. It felt I could reach out and touch the sky.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures from that moment - I was still too on edge to stop concentrating on the board to wrestle my cell phone out of my buoyancy jacket - my hands would not let go of the paddle. 

Apart from my own gentle pride (relief ?) that I am finally getting less apprehensive, my delight is in how Willow has blossomed. When we first had her, she was very water-aversive - not even trotting through a puddle out on a walk. We had been carefully introducing water into all walks but not really having much success. Until now. Despite falling in several times, having to be hauled out of the sea, out of Coniston Water and Ullswater - she now leaps onto the boards, plays in the shallows, will actively choose to walk into a river for a drink or a wallow if she is hot. We are so pleased.

So - I am back. 

If you have read this far, thank you. I had been tinkering with instagram and it didn't  quite hit the mark, it seemed very 'I'll follow you if you follow me' only to be unfollowed almost immediately. Felt very shallow and self serving.

With that - I shall leave you with a sunset - we've seen some cracking ones this year - hope you have too xx

making things a 'hole' lot better!

Some years ago, when in a charity shop, I came across a modern punky interpretation of a woman's kilt in a dark grey, black and cream tartan. A heavy full skirted affair cut across the bias with a multi layered handkerchief hem.  

I loved her. She twirled and swirled and hung with a weighted and rebellious charm.

Then, for some reason she seemed to migrate to the back of the wardrobe. Quietly becoming invisible and then forgotten.  

One winter we had a terrible infestation of clothes moths and several items of clothing were rendered as holey as sieves. Some were given careful repairs, others thrown or repurposed and one or two mended very visibly with joy and defiance.

Couple of years later, now that I am at home and feeling feral and free (although my freedom slightly curtailed by truculent weather) I decided to continue with my 'operation de-clutter' and targeted my wardrobe. EVERYTHING was hauled out and piled on the bed, then the space was given a wipe down and refresh. 

Now I was ready to go through each item of clothing.

I was honest with myself - would I really wear that again? Does it still fit? Do I actually still like it? Did I like it in the first place? By the end I had a large pile for the charity shop, a small pile for the bin, a clean and surprisingly well arranged row of clothes ...... and my skirt ... which had inexplicably been missed when I did the clothes moth check.

My skirt seemed to have been feasted on by the clothes moth caterpillars and created a rather 'fetching' network of holes on one side. There was only one thing for it - reach for my embroidery thread and repair all the holes with love and defiance.

Randomly selecting a colour then enhancing each munch hole and adding little seed stitches around kept me busy for a couple of evenings (especially as I had to unpick several embellishments coz I stitched them inside out - duh)

15 holes later - I was done.  All my skirt needs now is a wash and a light press and she is good to go! 

I might just be wearing her again a lot more this year!

Have you been mending?
It is certainly a form of rebelling against fast fashion.

Did you also get 'mothed' a few years ago? - I remember the infestation even made the news!

Is it still raining where you are?

It is here and us three - Pan, Willow and I are heartly sick of it. We do all still go out but - enough now!

Fields and footpaths

This morning we walked with the sound of bird song filling the hedgerows. The usual silly memes which are rehashed every year round about now call this a false spring or a fake spring and yes it does feel very springlike. Garden edges and lane sides are filled with the promise of daffodils while snowdrops are still abound, they are beginning to fade a little and crocus are shooting up only to be flattened by the wind or the rain. Even if this is a false spring - I'll take it, I have had my fill of a wet winter.

My mind is a whirl of debate and discussion as I try to drag myself out of my head and listen to the birds and the scrunch thud of my boots on the stony track. Willow also in a world of her own, follows scents - lead free - occasionally throwing a look over her shoulder to check I am still there. And I am.

The sky sinks lower as the clouds drag their bellies over the hill, a passing walker clutching a brolly quips up that she thinks that it will rain again - she is beautifully dressed with not a hair out of place as she happily strides down the muddy track to meet the main village road. Whereas I am togged up in my dog walking jeans, mucky wellies, old coat with a scratchy beanie perched above my eyebrows making my forehead itchy.

As we reach the furthest point of our 'dog loop' I impulsively lengthen it by turning left through the marsh field where Willow and I pick our way between the deeply muddy puddles, dark chocolate brown earth glistening with retained water. Ducks are startled by our appearance having thought the marsh field was theirs and theirs alone today. With wings clapping and a chorus of disapproval - three or four take to the air, curl round through the damp air around our heads watching as we slip and slide around the path and then with a noisy clatter land back at their original spot to continue whatever they'd been doing before we appeared.

Willow - who a few short weeks ago would have been startled in fear at the sound- now just glances up, watches briefly then returns to the serious business of following a sticky scent which is calling to her. I am relieved when we finally reach the stile and hop over back on to the stony track. We are not far from where we'd turned off however it added much needed interest and stimulation for Willow Walnut Brain who is loving learning things new.

I can hear little voices through the stand of trees between us and the primary school - play time - which seems to have a fair bit of screaming and shouting involved. Instantly we turn away, choosing another lane to make our return journey. This one narrows to a footpath edged by wildflowers and in summer is beautiful. Now, in simplified late winter garb, it is bare earth with tiny shoots, snowdrops, tete a tete daffodils and crocus drifting down between brambles and moss. At the end we reach a tumble of stone cottages jostling for space along the lane and it is time for Willow to put back on her collar and lead.

As we walk back home, I can feel a pin prick of rain on my face, glancing up I can see the clouds are definitely promising more rain, we only just get home in time, boots off, kettle on when the cat comes in with fur sparkly and wet. She stalks off to dry by the wood burner and in a few minutes, Willow, now towelled down and in bed watches me as I open the laptop and sip my tea.

photos from the weekend - 

Top - Willow in her walking harness - loving her first 'proper' miles and miles walk - most of it off lead, one very tired little doggums that evening
Bottom - wild and windy moorland walk behind the village, with a small dog who wanted a cuddle.

The spark

Cool grey air swirled around us, leaving misty droplets on my eyelashes and making Willow' coat twinkle. The horizon was greyed out and all the villages in the valleys just did not appear.

We walked out of the village, up on to the ridge, sploshed through the playing fields and then along the road before dropping down into the neighbouring hamlet. 

The weight of the mist dulled sounds giving a strange eery feeling - almost liberating!

I stopped briefly to chat to a farmer who had been reroofing one of his sheds however two of his helpers had called time, jumped in their van and were driving off. The farmer was feeling deflated and muttered things about the unreliable state of agency staff. He looked cold and dejected but defiant... He was off to ring the company who'd come recommended and give them a blasting.

When we returned home, Willow was absolutely famished and fell upon her food which such gusto I am sure she inhaled the entire meal in milliseconds.

She now has fallen asleep with twitching paws - think she enjoyed her walk.

Procrastinating is a fine art - which I am attempting to perfect

Despite the months rolling on towards spring, winter definitely is not letting go of her grip - mind you, I should not be surprised, it is only just February and I should not rely on the positive (if a little misguided) joy of seeing snowdrops everywhere!

To be honest I am gently procrastinating this morning's dog walk for another few minutes or until at least I have finished my mug of tea - Willow on the other hand has no concept of '𝓭𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓮𝓪 𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓶' and is giving me the collie hard eye..... She seems to have forgotten we have both galloped down to the bottom of the garden twice this morning. Me hanging on to my hat and coat as she scampering so far ahead all I could see was her 'tail light'.

The weather is remarkably unappealing today. The sky is leaden grey as the trees tear at the wind making it roar around the house and through the village. Never mind, my mug of tea is still warm and Willow has given up living and has thrown herself back to bed with a most.put.out.sigh. Wait there dear dog, we'll go out shortly I promise.

The house has a rather delicious scent at the moment, the last of the chrimbly Hyacinths are filling the lounge with their final fragrance and the kitchen and dining room are both filled with that gloriously warm spicy perfume that Stocks exude. 

Willow, when she moved in, brought very little with her. We'd purposely not purchased anything before we collected her on the off chance things might be duplicated. However, as I mentioned, she brought very little with her. So new beds, bowls and toys were the order of the day and yesterday a lovely friend who only ever buys 'the best' she can, gifted me or rather Willow, a lovely Kath Kidson dog bed. Her dog refused to use it, choosing to do 'unspeakable things' to it which my friend could not utter without blushing to her roots🫣! She quickly confirmed that the bed had been through the washing machine and so it was clean and ready to use. She does make me chuckle.

However, Willow has fallen in love with the erstwhile 'love-toy' bed. Himself and I wondered if she had ever 'owned' her own things before and we think not. She adores her Kath Kidson bed (sorry dog, the one I ordered for you, and is coming today, is not quite up to that standard). 

The sky at the moment has slipped from a driech silvery grey to a rather puce yellow, I think our walk will require some serious wrapping up and urgent scurrying. Fortunately - I am still drinking my tea and Willow is contemplating the extreme disappointment of a new owner who is a practising procrastinator. 

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

Bit Later:
We're back from a blustery buffeting windy walk which was surprisingly enjoyable. There were few other dog walkers about - all bearing the same grimace with damp dogs. Willow and I took the moorland field - which in weather like this is definitely a welly boot walk and we sploshed and slid our way across towards Goose Green Lane. We worked our way around the forest school field, another muddy route, then down through the village and up to the cobbled tram lines before heading for home.

She is napping in HER bed, I have another hot mug of tea and a pebble commission to paint - so, better stop nattering and get on with it.

Have a lovely Tuesday x

It's raining cats and dogs☔

It is dark and wild outside. Trees dance and contort in the wind and sheets of rain dash against the windows. Himself has already left for work and the cat who chose to slip outside very quickly returned, spiky and wet then stalked off to bed to sleep off her brief but horrendous outdoor experience.

I am sitting downstairs listening to the wind howl round the chimney and scream past the kitchen.  I, like the cat, have also been out. Willow and I galloped down to the garden and back in record speed. Me because the weather was foul, her because her breakfast was calling her rather loudly!

I am not keen on central ceiling bright lights, so we have side lights, stringed lights or standard lamps in all the rooms. Sitting in the dining room I am gently bathed in a soft yellow glow of stringed café lights above my head and the repeated reflected pattern on the wet window while the garden lashes back and forth outside rather pleases me. 

The last few mornings - even before Willow - I have woken before the alarm, unusual for me as I am not a lark but more of a night owl. However I think I might try and harness this recent 'superpower' as I want to make the absolute most of my new freedom and having a dog who thinks any time is a good time to do 'things' just might help!

Later: Having just come back from a quick dog loop - I am beginning to think that having a dog, in the northern hemisphere, in winter ... is certain type of masochism ........

An increasingly soggy dog with her rather damp owner not far behind

This gentle waffly post about nothing in particular is more about getting me into blogging regularly again than I actually have anything to say!

Hope you are staying safe and out of Storm Chandra, I saw several branches down and a damaged roof in the village.

What do you do with a dog on a day like this? Bearing in mind I can not even blink without Willow going 'GREAT! - you moved - what adventure shall we do next huff huff huff' 😆

Strong armed walking

Recently, between work days, I have borrowed a dog and he's dragged me around the local village pathways.  

I say borrowed, his mum had a small but significant tumble down some stairs and wrenched her elbow and shoulder so isn't up to hanging on to him as he snuffles about.  He is a 'big lad' - a rather portly border collie with an irascible nature and eye wateringly foul breath, however for some inexplicable reason - he not only tolerates Himself and I, but will drag his shrieking owner over to say a wooferly hello.

She obviously adores her dog and it amuses us greatly to see him rolling his eyes as she screeches at him to come in from the garden or to stop pulling her around the corner on one of their multiple (but very short) daily walks. You can hear her ear piercing voice trailing off in to the distance as he determinedly waddles off to read his favourite pee-mails or sniff out any new scents.

He has tried to drag me around as he does her and to a certain degree I have managed to put up some resistance so that I look less out of control (work in progress, work in progress). 

We did try going up a rather steep and at the time very muddy pathway out of the village on to the tops thinking that he could pull me up .... that didn't happen. We stopped for a puff every few steps and I swear I could hear him gasp that he needed to look at the view (me too Jed, me too).

I am off today and am contemplating seeing if my furry fat friend would like to go out - it is raining and I know that he is not keen on wet weather - will be interesting to see if he agrees 😆

Not a particularly spectacular photo - but he does not pose, he does not stop (unless a really stinky scent or a steep up hill then we are both gasping for breath!)

Edited to add: he was desperate for his walk, just got back and I swear my lead holding arm has stretched by 10 cm!!

Observations

Most of the droplets glisten when they capture the meagre early morning sunlight, others appear opaque. The window pane is littered with static rain beads giving the appearance of pockmarked glass. Then when the fast moving grey clouds curtain the sun, the droplets become almost invisible allowing my eye through the distraction. I now watch the trees in the garden are dancing in the brisk breeze, it fluctuates from a gentle flip of the lighter branches to whole tree contortions. 

We have a stained glass plaque in the window and at the moment, brief flashes of sun sing through the colours scattering speckles of colour on the glass.

Himself left for work while it was still the last drifts of darkness leaving the cat and me in bed, his parting shot - I'd stay there if I were you. So we have. Although I suspect I will be up long before the cat.

The hyacinths in the lounge have both decorated the room and the air with their delicious scent and blue flowers however they are beginning to fade and I am sorry to see them go. It will be another ten months before we have them up on the mantel and in the window again.  Primula have been brought in to fill that hole.

The cat is rhythmically snoring beneath Himself's aged lumberjack shirt - one reserved specifically for gardening and tucking around a cold sleeping cat.

I can see, but not hear, the wind chime in the garden twirling around in the wind. It is an elegant spiral of tubes which normally share a gentle chime as they tink against each other. Today I suspect it is more of an angry clash than a melodic background sound. The blackbirds do not seem to care. They are busily foraging around the plants and bird feeder breaking off only to chase each other around and across the garage roof.

I plan to paint once I have posted this. I  can feel the compulsion to sketch and run a watercolour filled brush across paper. It sometimes feels like a rising tide which I used to suppress - somehow 'adulting' seemed more important - but now I heed that urge.

Life is for living.

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

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.

           

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.

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

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. 

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

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.

Turning of the circle

Winter Solstice - it is not a single moment, we don't see a change in the light for several days however, the lightness can be felt in the head and the heart - spring is on her way.

Today Himself and I managed to steal a few hours away from the world and take ourselves off for a walk to mark Winter Solstice and it was wonderful. We set off in Zeb, our van -  a big burly bloke of a vehicle to find a small waterfall up in the Dales.

The weather was wild, with winds and rain making driving and walking 'interesting'. Views slipped in and out of focus as curtains of rapidly moving mist and rain flew by. Himself and I followed a stony path alongside Cotter Beck in Wensleydale towards the falls. All the rain had filled the beck to almost bursting and the water boiled and roared in a coffee coloured torrent. 

Long before we reached the falls, we could hear it. A chest thumping roar of water crashing down the limestone - we were not disappointed when we saw it.

We were the only ones there and the wildness, the wind, the crash of the water and the spray in the air felt so primal - we caught ourselves grinning at the rawness and beauty of it all.

We walked up along the falls to the top and felt the power of the water as it crashed through the rock gulley - the spray drenched our legs and wet our faces. And it felt good.

We returned the same way as we arrived, only this time we noticed different beauty. The fence posts were host for tiny microcosms of lichen, moss and fungi. The gate was a patchwork of rust and lichens and just shone out in the gloom.

What a wonderful way to celebrate Winter Solstice - May the turning of the wheel bring you light and love, kindness and clarity - Blessing be xx