Whatever Happened to My Good Intentions?

Outside our home in the snow.

Here it is, the 12th February, and only my third entry to this blog-diary. To say this has been an eventful year so far would be putting it mildly, but sadly the events have not been happy ones. The unexpected deaths of two friends (followed by truly inspirational funerals) and the illnesses of family and friends, together with the whole gloomy financial situation which seems to be affecting so many people we know, has not got this year off to a good start.

Our biggest concerns, of course, have been about Kim, and John and I went down there end January/beginning February to help out whilst she was back in hospital again for more tests. It was such a trying time for her, poor soul, but eventually they did come up with a diagnosis, and she has returned home with the problems with her eye gradually improving.

Whilst down in Hampshire there was the heaviest snowfall for years, and the glorious scenery in the countryside along the Test Valley was transformed overnight to a real winter wonderland. The schools were closed, so the four kids were able to enjoy the rough and tumble of snowfights and toboggan rides, whilst we two oldies took a long sedate walk along the almost traffic-free local roads, just marvelling at the beauty all around, and trying to capture it on camera. The many and varied thatched cottages in the area looked so cosy wrapped in their snowy blankets, and families of ducks paddled happily in the icy streams, sometimes venturing out on to the banks, where their webbed feet didn’t always stop them sinking (amusingly) into the snow.

It was great to spend time with four teenage grandchildren, and to take a peek into their world. So much has changed since our own five were that age, not least the huge amount of technology which they seem to handle with such casual dexterity, and the sometimes incomprehensible language that they speak Still, it is reassuring to see that not everything has changed , and that teenage concerns and angst remain the same as ever. I could half close my eyes and see our 17 year old grandson, with his fashionably untidy hair and droopy denims morph into our own boys at that age….. who have now become such worthy pillars of the establishment, of whom we are rightly proud. That particular grandson delighted us by cooking a splendid breakfast for us all when the snow closed college, and on another occasion he serenaded us with a Bach Prelude on his guitar. Just some of the many pleasures that as grandparents we are privileged to enjoy.

So now we are back home in Somerset. We missed the heavy snowfalls here, but there has been more snow since our return, which though giving us the pleasure of seeing the surrounding countryside and our garden covered like white icing on a wedding cake, soon melted away. (…’there’s one thing about snow – it makes your lawn look as good as your neighbour’s!’) The fields beyond the stream had huge puddles everywhere, which froze overnight and glinted in the early morning sunshine before gradually soaking away into the ground. Much of Somerset has been flooded as a result of all the melting snow, but apart from great pools of water along the sides of local lanes, which our cars merrily splash into causing great crashing sprays over the nearby hedges, we have not had too much trouble here.

Whilst having lunch in the garden room earlier this week we were distracted from our TV viewing by the sight of two little egrets landing beside the stream beyond the paddock. Little egrets seems a strange name for these birds – they are pure white, about the size of ducks, but much more aerodynamically proportioned. They were clearly enjoying a little courtship routine – who told them it was Valentine’s Day on Saturday? Actually we have seen, and heard, lots of birds all a-twitter on the rare dry days recently, so surely spring can’t be too far away.

Having this cosy studio away from everything at the end of the garden, with a view from the window across miles of countryside beyond, allows me an unexpectedly close up view of the local wildlife as they go about their business. They seem totally oblivious to my prying eyes, so that the studio acts as a sort of ‘hide’. The other day, as I was working at my computer, I looked up to see a fox nosing around in the snowy grass just a few feet away. He seemed hot on the trail of something tasty, his nose twitching and head down as he searched the area in vain, finally heading off to pastures new. Perhaps he had caught a whiff of the cat, which earlier in the day I had been fascinated to watch sniffing about in the snow for some considerable time. I always thought cats didn’t like getting wet, but this one even had his underbelly drooping into the snowy wetness, but carried on intent on his purpose, till he did seem to find something to his liking, for I saw him high-step off with something wriggling in his mouth.

Another visitor we have been really delighted to see back again has been ‘our ‘ heron, who has appeared several times since our return. His ungainly flight and descent, like a heavy old transport aircraft, always catches our attention. He lands at the same place on the bank of the stream every time – as do the little egrets. We can’t see the stream itself from here, but there must be some particular feature at that spot which attracts these ‘fishing’ birds. In fact, one day last year we caught sight of our heron struggling back up the bank with a large fish struggling furiously in its beak. The fish put up a frantic fight, but of course the heron got his dinner in the end. We were so surprised that the little stream should support such a large fish but sometimes after a lot of rain, we can actually see the water from our windows - it is so high, so I suppose it is little wonder that fish, and perhaps other river creatures, are to be found there.

Whilst typing this, the tabby cat has been perched on the fence beside the paddock, gazing down into the rhyne below. In warmer weather TC, as we call him, is often to be seen picking his way carefully along the top of the fence, like a performer on a high wire, but in winter we don’t see him so often. Today it is relatively mild, so he has probably been lured from his fireside retreat, and although well fed by his kindly owner, has decided to look for a tasty snack to keep him going until his next proper meal. He spends simply ages sitting atop a fence post, peering down below, his head occasionally turning to one side, and now and again takes a leap down on to the bank. We are puzzled to know what he is looking for – surely not fish – but he must get lucky from time to time, or he wouldn’t keep returning to that same spot.

It must sound from all of this that we spend our whole time just watching the world beyond our windows ….. but for OAP’s of 74 and 70 we lead very full and busy lives. During the past few days, for instance, I have given a Talk to an audience of 80, have entertained people to supper, and been given a superb Valentine’s Evening supper by our lovely Irish neighbour and her husband, have attended an orchestra rehearsal for a Concert a couple of days later in Bristol (for which I had to find time for much needed cello practise), and have played 18 holes of golf with John out on the windswept coastal course at Clevedon. Together with all the usual housewifely pursuits( how delightfully retro that sounds), there is less time to stand and stare than I would sometimes wish. The day will arrive no doubt, but till then both of us are so much enjoying the energetic life we are so lucky to have.

Looking Back on January

This has not been a good week/month/year so far what with thevery worrying health problems of two of our daughters, both in hospital at the same time (hopefully now both seem on the mend) - the unexpected deaths of two friends, and the illnesses and worries of credit-crunched chums. I had strong feelings of impending gloom as midnight struck on 31st December, and was much disquieted, as I can usually trust my instincts. Only now that our eldest daughter in particular, has emerged with an almost clean bill of health from an utterly miserable time having endless tests with potentially dire outcomes , can we her parents begin to think clearly again.

Meanwhile life goes on here in our little corner of Somerset – and how precious even the most mundane things seem now that our girls are happily back in their own homes once more. I can sit here at my desk, looking out over the landscape beyond, and revel in the small everyday occurences

A dear little robin, Christmas-card perfect, is perched on the freshly shooting honeysuckle tangled around the wire fence between my studio window and the paddock beyond. He has been watching me intently with his head cocked to one side. When I smile back at him I can almost see his eyes light up.
I have bird feeders hanging from the old, now winter-leafless apple tree in the studio garden – a paved and gravelled area along the lowest level of the garden, separated from the lawn by deeply sloping rockery beds and stone steps which are almost over-run with winter-withered erigeron . These provide endless distractions for us as we sit by the garden room window at mealtimes. A grey and blue pottery bell has a hook where the clapper would be, so that a fat ball can be hung from it. Rather over-enthusiastically I fixed two netted fatballs to this, and when both had just small nuggets of food left in them, we were greatly amused to see a starling balancing precariously on the edge of the bell, frantically pulling at the green netting till he successfully lifted it off its hook. As it fell to the ground he dived triumphantly down to demolish its contents, before flying back up to try for a second helping! This proved far more difficult, and in spite of repeated frenzied pecking at the hooked end of the netting, and highly agitated wing-flapping, he had to give up in the end, and sat frustratedly watching from a nearby bough, whilst smaller birds finished off the feast.

Unlike the preceding three to four weeks, when it was VERY cold and frosty but with blue skies and sunshine, the past week has been very wet and mild. The field beyond the paddock must now be very soggy indeed, as we keep seeing puddles in the grass which take some time to disappear. Maybe this is the reason we haven’t seen ‘our sheep’ for over a week now. During the summer months from May to October, the field is home to a herd of cows, who provide fascinating ‘moving scenery’, and we do miss them so much during the winter when the field lies empty. However last year the cows having only just departed , presumably to provide succulent steaks, puddings and pies, we were thrilled one morning to see that a small flock of sheep were now excitedly investigating their new surroundings. Though delighted to see them, we thought they were probably just staying for b.& b., as this has happened before ….. but they have remained here, causing me frequently to be heard singing ‘Sheep May Safely Graze’ , or ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ depending on my mood. As I have absolutely no idea at all of how to hold a tune, this doesn’t endear me to my long suffering husband…. but I can’t help myself.

Anyway, for this past week the cumbrous but cuddly-looking creatures are nowhere to be seen. We hope they have just been moved to dry land higher up the nearby hills, but fear they may now be lying in shrink-wrapped portions on supermarket shelves. So the landscape beyond the garden seems somewhat bereft, and we miss their daily diversions ….. but at least the singing has stopped!

In the gardens, back and front, all is damp and drear, and looks particularly messy as somehow I never got round to cutting back the dead plants at the end of last season (I left them for the birds, is my excuse). Still, we have noticed the green shoots of spring bulbs peeping up through the lawn, so it shouldn’t be too long before we see blessed colour in the garden again – I simply must get out there with the shears and secateurs. I was really uplifted to see daffodils beginning to bloom on the roundabout just outside a village close by …… but even these are very late as last winter they were already blooming by the end of December. No doubt the extremely low temperatures we have been ‘enjoying’ in recent weeks are to blame. It’s all down to Global Warming I suppose.

... so to begin...

I'm sitting here in my cosy studio at the bottom of our garden, watching dusk fall across the paddock directly outside my window, and over the rhyne and fields beyond. Our single-storey home (okay, a bungalow then, but that conjures up visions of uninspired, dull dwellings for the elderly - none of which applies, except that we who dwell here might be considered by the young to be literally 'over the hill') - sits on the gentle southern slopes of the Mendip Hills, with views to die for. From our front gate we can see the cleft in the hills which is Cheddar Gorge, some three miles away, and we have uninterrupted views across the Somerset Levels from every rear window. On a clear day in winter, when the trees across the countryside are bare, we can just see Glastonbury Tor if we lean against the picture window in our garden room/kitchen and peer leftwards.

I was researching a fresh subject to add to my List of Talks on life in the Edwardian Era (around 100 years ago) and came across a book entitled 'Pot Pourri from a Surrey Garden' written by a Mrs. Earle around the turn of last century. It was made up of random diary entries over the course of a year, covering happenings in her garden and the countryside beyond, with the addition of interesting titbits about her family and the wider world. The book seems to have gone into many editions, and I found it so absorbing that I decided to keep a similar notebook myself, using the computer which is installed (along with great numbers of Edwardian magazines, newspapers and books) here in my garden eyrie.

Two of our daughters have got themselves Blogging, and dear sweet souls that they are, encouraged me to do the same. So here goes....