It's not just a sunset

 

Life is, as you all know, is limited. It is not however limiting but, yes, it is limited. I find that my day revolves around simple things. 

Cooking. Walking the dog (and my head). Gardening. Crafting when the inspiration takes hold. Looking inward and keeping family safe, conversations light and positive and making sure I find beauty and good where I can. 

I refuse to be dragged down the the constant news of CV19, the still lingering and long term mess of Brexit, the 'when-will-I ... get a holiday/be able to go shopping/go to the pub/restaurant/hairdresser' moans, I will not be smothered by doom and gloom, whether it is via the news, the internet or people. Don't get me wrong - I am not blinkered and am well aware that all of that nightmare is real and is very frightening and very present and the medical profession is stretched to almost breaking point.

However, if I let it in, it will drown everything. So my way of dealing with it is to be buoyant and to remain afloat and to limit my time and energy with the negativity of it all. We all have coping strategies, this is mine.

Yesterday's walk was one such coping strategy and we were truly rewarded by the sunset. It made us both feel alive and so very glad to be alive.

Oh, and having dog that has absolutely no concept of all that goes on in our heads and probably has confetti and unicorns in her happy little heart - that helps, that helps a lot. 

Here, let me gift you a hug (if you need one) a smile (please smile back) and some of that light from yesterday's syrupy golden sunset - it will warm your heart, there is such beauty about, we just need to see it ❤🐾 

Good Luck Millie ❤

Continuing with the theme of very little being wasted by the poor when it came to their clothing, Himself reminded me that his grandmother had been a Millie ( I only knew her as a very old lady who'd worked since she was about 13) and that she had saved scraps of fabric all her life, turning them in to quilts and rag-rugs.

Hidden deep in our airing cupboard I have three of her quilts. Thin, soft, gentle aged fabrics with many many repairs. Decades of stitches adding patches or reattaching the quilt to it's backing fabric.

The vast majority of the stitching has been done by an old treadle powered sewing machine however it appears that most of the repairs have been done by hand. 

In some places, the piecing has been machined but the seams have then been turned over to tuck in the frayed edges and sewn by hand.

Two of the quilts have been hand stitched to sheets. One of them is made up of a random pattern - pieces of fabric are sewn together with no planning and it appears the only aim was to end up with a finished item large enough to fit a small double bed (which incidentally is over 100 years old and the one we use).

However, the soft pink version, in a log cabin pattern has been made with better quality fabrics, machine stitched and is a vastly superior quilt. The underside is also quilted but in a simple large block pattern.

Why am I mentioning this? Well Grandmother-Millie used to work in a weaving mill making dress material and we think that any snippets of fabric that could be brought home would have gone into making these quilts. Which would explain why there is such a gently random layout. 

Himself also reminded me about our proddy-hook - a hand held hook used to pull long ribbon like strips of waste fabric through hessian in a looping action. These were then 'crocheted', knotted or stitched at the back to prevent from disintegrating, making out of necessity, warm and soft rugs.

I sat here this afternoon with a brew and gave it a try - using snippets of fabric and some hessian - it is not as easy as it sounds. My hat's off to those hard working women that laboured at the mills for 12 hours a day for six days a week and still had the energy to make the home comfortable and warm.

And my Millie ? - well, she is finished now, ready to go down to the post office, I just have to email the organisers to confirm she is on her way and then send photos to their webpage. I shall be sad to see her go however - she have given me such pleasure.

There was one last addition - a genuine reel of linen thread from a mill, now long gone, from our village,  gifted to me by a friend who used to work there years ago. So, it seemed very fitting to send it away with Millie.

Good Luck Millie, we've both been through a journey to get to this point - thank you :)

One of those moments

Today Himself and I wistfully acknowledged the swifts have gone.

We'd seperately been keeping a half cocked ear for them for the last few days and today, we reluctantly agreed... yes, they have left.

The swallows are still about, flitting around, getting their maps and travel plans ready and it wont be long before they all start congregating on 'phone lines and organising their day of departure.

I miss the screaming parties of swifts as they cut through the sky above our heads at phenomenal speeds.  These birds are, to me the spirit of summer. When they go, summer goes too.

Another animal that has a hold over me is the wild brown hare. Secretive and wary, it is a magical moment when you come across, however fleeting, a hare quietly getting on with it's own life.

Last week, during a rather long and very warm walk, (over ten miles in the end) we came across this special moment. 

To be honest, I was tired, very footsore, limping slightly as my knee although as good as it will ever be, gets tired too. Our conversation had dried up as had our water and tea in the flask, it was now just the final push to get home.

And, as we trudged our way up a dusty farm track, I was halted by this site - we stopped immediately, hissed at Moss to lie down and ..... apart from my camera coming up slowly, we stood stock still.

I could barely breath, especially as the hare after what felt like an age of not moving, quietly began to lope towards us. Unhurried, unworried and unaware.

Then, after the hare had come delightfully close, it must have spotted us, and calmly sprang up on to the banking into the field and vanished.

Wow.

We stood for a moment, stunned by this precious moment. Then continued with our walk, only this time we had a bit more oomph in our step and our conversation has returned and was filled with what we had just seen.

Now, as I type this, sitting at home, I can still feel the heat of that day, taste the dust and smell the ripening grain crops in the fields and the hot pine tree resin scents that surrounded us.

Magic!

what comes after a Friday?

Saturday of course

Saturday was a day of three parts.

Part 1 

A warm day, warm, warm start. We had late breakfast on a hill high above the sea. But before we could go down to the water's edge, we had a hill to climb. Well, a hill with several mini hills atop. The air felt thick and dry, Moss went from boggy patch to boggy patch, wallowing happily. By the time we got to the top I was very glad I had my hat and a large bottle of cold water - we managed to find a much needed breeze while we sat amongst the rocky outcrop. We scanned the horizon with my spotting-scope. It was lovely watching distance views, small people and even small dogs on the beach, tractors working their fields, motorbikes trundling along narrow lanes, small boats slicing through the water, trains sliding through the countryside.  Our return back to Zeb was a lot easier, not only was it DOWNwards but it was into the breeze - bliss.

The sea was calling and I was not about to ignore her dulcet tones.

 

Part 2 

We pulled up alongside the beach - a rubbly pebbly scrubby sort of precious strip of land between a carpark and the sea. The air was salty and fresh beneath the jewel-blue sky. The sea pushed out lazy rolls of small waves and cheerfully growing between the pebbles were the smiliest of faces I have seen in a long time.

Moss turned into a selkie within seconds of running into the salty water. I have never seen a dog dive under water and surf instinctively as she did. We worked our way along the water, my eyes just ate the view, skimming over the stones, soaring over towards the horizon, following a skane of gulls flying through the view ... each one a panacea for my soul. 

Part 3

We lingered, the tide slipped out and the pebbles now fringed a wide sand beach strewn with pools of mirror like puddles. The sky turned from a clear blue to a rich apricot splashed with purple clouds making for a spectacular light show.  I made us something to eat and we sat and watched the sun slowing slip down behind the horizon. We dried Moss, wrapped her in a fresh towel, then lifted a tired dog onto her bed in the cab of the van. Packing completed, everything stowed away securely; we looked at the now dark sky, the sun fully gone - time to go home. 

Zeb - thank you for a lovely break - having you has opened our small world into one of many possibilities and advantures. You have given us the freedom to quietly escape and still maintain the pandemic restrictions and you have made a dog very very very happy.

Until next time xxxxx