What's Another Year?

Journey's End 2012 -
try to keep within the speed limit!

It's the night before the page is turned and lifted on the 2013 calendar. The year we called 2012 is done and dusted, and while it can be a drag to dwell on what is passed - it's good to reflect on the highs and lows, and the lessons learned along the way. Maybe even the lessons ignored that we - inevitably - will face again once we are better able to take them on board. 

The year started fairly quiet for the folk of Holly cottage. The day job always kicks into extra high gear in early January and the delights of budgets and five year plans always seem to crush any pleasures save for the thrill of a lie in at the weekend, a bit of digging in the garden in winter sunshine and maybe even a trip to the cinema. I took the plunge last January and signed myself up for a creative writing course under the tutelage of Adam Wyeth - a poet based in West Cork and part of the Creative writing Ink initiative set up by Olive O'Brien. It was a great way to spend the dark winter nights - lots of weekly assignments and critique of my own writings. Plenty of lessons learned there and plenty to make the winter nights more meaningful that switching the tv on - highly recommended even you are only half interested in writing. It definitely revealed some of the cliches and pitfalls of writing creatively and thereby failing miserably. 

By March we had almost everything planted in the Holly Cottage garden - early spuds were in and onion sets were in the ground. Beans were sprouted and getting ready for the outdoors. By Easter time we had carrots, parsnips, beetroot, peas, beans, salads and seedlings in the greenhouse for tomato, cucumber, broccoli and brussels sprouts. It was all going great and we even had a week of summer in April. That was until the rain fell. From once it started to fall - it seems to me that time stood still in the garden from April to July - nothing seemed to advance or grow - except for the thriving slug population of course. It was a difficult summer, especially after three not so good ones before it. Worrying trend indeed. 

Picnic Basket's solo outing -
2012 Fungarvan

We managed to make the most of the one very sunny weekend in May - the jeep was loaded and we set off for the bright lights of Dungarvan (also christened Fungarvan after our antics there) in County Waterford. Dog was abandoned to minders so it was a puppy free and adult only weekend. Nice. This part of the country has so much to offer. We hadn't enough time to eat in every restaurant but those we did manage - Merry's and the Indian Ocean restaurant were absolutely superb and we are planning a return to the acclaimed Tannery as soon as the sun pokes it's head out the clouds and we rebuild the travel budget ;) It has a magic all of it's own - very different from the wilds of the west and calmer, yet no less seductive in its own way. We will be back ;)

In June it rained, rained and rained some more. Even in Sweden ;) Getting off the plane in Stockholm for a bit of a work thing I had dressed for sun and long lit Swedish midsummer nights - only to be met by the coldest weather recorded in a Stockholm summer. Hmm. Noticing a trend? When I got back to Ireland it was more of the same. A few days in June in the university city of Bangor (Wales) and a short day in August in Giessen in Germany proved a bit better, but not much. All over Europe and the planet Earth there were unsettling weather trends - the like not experienced before for the time of year and very unexpected. This causes problems. A wider trend then than just for poor ol' wet and soggy Ire-Land. 

Sunset on the Telford Bridge
June in Bangor Wales

And so the summer passed. I do recall that hat and gloves were required while walking the bogs in Mayo in August. And I do remember not being able to wear anything but wellies on our muddy walks through Charleville Castle woods. It was pretty miserable but we made it through - just about. Lots of Irish farmers were to the pin of their collars trying to get crops in those few good days in September and plenty was left in the field to rot. It's sad to watch crops abandoned to the wet and the mud. Something we may have to start planning for in the coming years though as the wet weather in summer seems to be showing every sign of becoming a long term trend. 

We did manage to get some sun on our toes though - remember swimming with the turtles? And all the lovely days and evenings spent hanging with the cousins watching the sunset in Barbados? If I close my eyes and concentrate I am back in Bathsheba treading my toes in the restless Atlantic foam. Home from home indeed. 

That led us to the autumn and lots of kicking of leaves in the autumn clad wood. A trip to Austria was the tonic for a yogini in need of refreshing her teaching skills; and then a December of music recording to flex the creative forces and divert the gaze from the dark and cold outside was another seasonal tonic.    

September in the Nephin Valley Mayo - Nice ;)

Sometimes I wonder how we manage to pack so much into the year - but we all do it. Look back on your own year and a whole gallery of faces and places, conversations - inner and outer - flash by. Sometimes the memory is to the fore - etched forever on the brain, like a tattoo that forms from the strength and intensity of that experience. Like watching the sunrise over the cliffs in Dungarvan that May Sunday morning or the sight of the city lights as I flew (Aerlingus of course - my superpowers not that well developed yet) over Britain in the darkness of November. Things that stay with us, that change us, that mould us. A phrase from an article, a funny picture on Facebook or an inspiring quote from Kahlil Gibran. All contributing to our own evolution. One thing's for sure we are not the same as we were when we started the journey last January 1st. 

And what for 2013? Plenty of hope, plenty of courage and plenty of gratitude for this precious life,  for what has past and what is sure to come. 

Happy New Year !

By the way - check out the youtube clip of Johnny Logan singing What's Another Year - it's a classic! Skip the first minute commentary though...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vccwzuttIQY

Christmas at Mornington (and a Holly Cottage Christmas Rose)

Quick - the Holly Cottage greenhouse is falling down!

The drama of the longest night is over, and it is the turn of Christmas to take the spotlight. Chicken Licken and Henny Penny might have been waiting for the sky to fall down, but nothing of the sort happened. Did anyone think it would? 

Here in the Holly Cottage a few things went bump alright - mostly in the night ;) The winds of Saturday night managed to take the greenhouse half down - a pitiful sight for a sunny Sunday morning. It was fixed with a few plastic ties and a bit of strategic propping - should get us through this week when there ought to be little or no cares and worries. And then the rains of the last few nights have seeped through the broken roof tile and the underlay to create a beautiful brown, foreboding damp spot on the hall ceiling - visible only this morning but hinted at for the last few weeks. Ho Hum. Dear Santa - please  send a builder and a roof fixing technician to make our Christmas dry and warm and make sure the roof doesn't fall in. Too big a job for the busy toy-giving man methinks. Let's just think positively and hope for the best...

And so yesterday, after a bit of emergency DIY on the greenhouse I headed over for the annual (and not be missed) excursion to see Katy O'Hara and the folk of Mornington House for a bit of a Christmas do. I was left to my own devices as the love of my life was stuck to the Mac keyboard mixing and adding bits to the next song to be posted on Reverberation/catherinewilkie. But not to worry, I would only have to eat and drink enough for the both of us in his absence ;)

Mornington House - home from home

I first met up with the fabulous Miss Katy O'Hara whilst working for a summer in Cape May, New Jersey over 15 years ago. There was eleven of us Irish living in a very small three bedroomed bungalow on Union St in Cape May. I slept on the floor most of the time, and even though there were many moments when friendships were tested, one or two of the girls I met that summer will be friends forever. And so, almost every Christmas for the past near 20 years, I have been heading to Katy's house in Mornington for a bit of a Christmas do - ranging from a few leftovers sandwiches on a sedate Stephen's Day to full blown New Year's Eve Black Tie Ball. It's definitely one of the best places that I know of for a party and the welcome from Warwick and Anne makes it feel like I am one of the prodigal children coming home licking my wounds after a long year on the battlefield of life. To be greeted with love and kindness and usually a full plate and glass to celebrate my return. Oh so nice.

Once inside the door of Mornington you are literally transported back in time, back about a hundred years at least - the wood panelled entrance hall, the fire-lit warmth of the 1896 drawing room and the magnificent dining room that rings with the laughter of the many candlelit dinners and glasses of wine shared there. Warwick and Anne managed to feed 40+ guests aged from 3 to 93, and keep everyone  cheerful on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Warwick was hardly without a bottle or a pot of tea in his hand to pour for man, woman or child, (plus one dog and small kitten) while Anne was overseeing the smooth running of the show. Katy and Pat - the next generation - managed to row in from the shadows making sure the 40 or so of us that rambled in from the four corners of Ireland were kept cosy for the afternoon.

Anne is Number 1 cook (follow her lovely blog http://morningtonhouse.wordpress.com) although Warwick's experience is to be also sought after. Three types of curry - ranging from creamy, fruity and spicy - nothing too hot, and all the trimmings - raita, chutney, yogurt, fruit, naan, and popadoms freshly cooked. Followed by lashings of trifle, chocolate log, meringues, apple pie and my indulgence - the annual mince pie. Now, I am not a fan of those dreadful thrown together mince pies - especially the mass produced variety - but after my own mother's, Anne O'Hara's comes in as a close second. Feeding frenzy over, and seconds had - we bathed in the warmth of the Mornington embrace.

The children chased the kitten around the drawing room, Ned the dog sniffed every trouser leg and shoe going, the donkeys - Holly and Molly - basked in the rare winter sunshine outside and the rest of us in Mornington shared the stories of the year passed and the hopes for year future. Days like that in Mornington remind me that often times friends become family, and family is of course what Christmas is all about.

Not to be trifled with ;)

And so for everyone who shares this blog - friends, family and friends not yet made - enjoy Christmas for what it is. A chance to stop and share a mince pie, or a drink with an old friend. Enjoy making new ones. And be thankful and grateful that we made it round this way again. It didn't quite work out like that for Chicken Licken and Henny Penny, but they did forget to live in the present and were too freaked out worrying about future. For the future will come despite all hesitancy and trepidation, and it will pass. No doubt. 

One last thing - I wanted to share our garden surprise with you - a rogue rose that appeared in the garden this week in the midst of an overgrown mess down the back corner. A thing of great beauty in otherwise darkened surroundings - our Christmas rose. A Happy and Peaceful Christmas to all from the Holly Cottage gang. Enjoy it wherever you are.

Our Christmas Rose

Making Music in the Dark

"Ah yes, guitars a bit higher methinks..."

The last week has gone by in a bit of a blur - maybe it's the barely lit days; the fact that the glorious sun struggles to lift itself above the trees to brighten the Holly Cottage garden; or maybe it is just the time of year when all days seem to be building to the crescendo of holidays and time off work and an end of year breather to unwind and stay by the fire for at least three days in a row without having to drive somewhere. 

Sunday was a glorious day here - the one day in weeks where after a late breakfast I chose to linger in the garden and get a few jobs done. You know - the kind of day when the wellies are on and you're in no rush to retreat to the warmth of the fire because the sun is actually doing its job - warming your face and hands, and making otherwise-dreary winterscape golden. I took to pulling frost ridden spinach out, digging more sweet parsnips and the last of the sadly overdone turnips, and weeding out the few stray dandelions and young buttercup scourges that seeded themselves over the summer. I dug out the scraggy, slug-haven chives that originated two years ago from Cappaduff farm - we have loads more new plants - chips o' the old chive -  to replace that collapsing mess. I'm sure it's a good idea to replace old herb plants for new from time to time, but we'll stick with the hardy and generous thyme and rosemary plants for another season...oregano will more than likely be replaced in the spring. In terms of our limited space and general organisation we are faced with the reality that you really can't grow herbs and strawberries in one bed - especially when the strawberry runners are so enthusiastic and eager as to overgrow everything - rhubarb included. Some slight rearranging required there for the spring. 

Sunset at 4pm in midlands Ireland

On the inside - we've started to work on the green tomato chutney, having finished the last of the tomato chilli jam (see previous posts for details). Having just finished a block of gouda with the green tomato deliciousness - seriously, don't  pass up on an opportunity to make your own form of relish or chutney. It's one of the most rewarding things - along with the strawberry rhubarb jam - that brings the taste of summer to the winter table and helps in the good fight against the effects of winter darkness.

That said, it's hard to find any space these days on the Holly Cottage kitchen table. It seems to - nay, it has - been converted into a makeshift recording studio - not complaining! Both of us have been writing songs for years, and really most of those have been sitting wasting away in the corners of our minds for years if not decades. And so, this winter the aim is to get at least one song recorded and uploaded a week. The going is good this week - we have two of Craig's done and working on a second one of mine as I write - some spanish guitar playing in my ear going into the truly useful and easy to work GarageBand (more like kitchen band when you think about it).

It's great. Great to finally release these children into the cyber world for the amusement and hopefully pleasure of anyone who has time to listen. I always felt a bit weird about recording my own songs - always felt a bit like why would anyone bother to listen - always a bit shy about showing them off to the world - obstacles of the mind really. But, I don't think like that now. Any thought, any creative idea should be pursued. If it stays with you for a while, if it grows into something bigger, if it keeps growing - follow your instinct. Pursue that thought. For if in its creation and its fruition, that sound or expression of you, resonates with the rest of the world - even a small part - then its job is done and it is free.

http://www.reverbnation.com/catherinewilkie

http://www.reverbnation.com/craigwilkie

Finally - check out Holly's christmas time hair do...

"Did someone think this was a good idea?"

Making the Most of Darker Days

Winter sunset - blurring the boundaries between light and dark 

We wake in the dark here now, and we come home in the dark. The light creeps in slowly from the east from about 7.30am - not fully bright until after 8am - at which the time the car engine has been started and the slow winter ritual of teasing ice off car windows and mirrors begins. This morning-ritual ice-melting phase is pushed along with generous helpings of warm water from the Holly Cottage kitchen tap - steam rising as melting ice on car windows meets warm water meets cold air of December morning. And we shiver as we wait in the cold car for the windows to clear. Holly sits in the boot of the jeep wondering why there is no movement - c'mon let's go to the bog! - and I try to console myself in the knowledge that in 10mins we will at least have started the journey to work. However long it may take. It's the same story all the way up and down the street. Busy working class folk trying to get there on time, children wishing the snow would fall so school might be cancelled, and then me and the Holly dog sitting, waiting, car engine ticking over...waiting, waiting....watching intricate patterns of melting ice disappear as the sun too begins to rise over the roof tops of midlands Ireland.  

BRRRRR ;)

The cars crawl along the roads these mornings, ours crawls too. Too many skids and near misses, as well as several hits have taught me to be patient and respect the lethal power of ice and cold. And really - what can't wait for the cold claw of nature to thaw and release? Sure - there's the antsy boss or the cranky teacher, but you know what? There are forces stronger than them that must be obeyed.

And what waits for us? What promise of light before us? Truth told, another two weeks of this relentless dominating darkness and cold. Less than two weeks really. For by that time, on the holy day of December 21st, the tilt of our planetary home starts to reverse in our favour - sorry about that southern hemisphere ;) - and the light comes back. It is the winter solstice - the longest night or the shortest day, call it what you will.  In a moment of madness - nay, near insanity - I once climbed Knocknarea in County Sligo on a dark and foggy morning of December 21st. How I made it to the top unscathed, I'm not so sure - it's a slippy and rough climb at the best time of the year.  I guess I thought I might greet the sunrise on this pivotal day - welcome back the sun and all - and that might mean something more than just another day. But the fog took the hope of magical sunrise and killed it ;) 

Us enlightened folk of the 21st century know the story of planetary motion well of course and for most of us the winter solstice probably passes by un-noticed, un-significant. But in days long ago, one might never be so sure that it - the friendly warming sun that allows life on Earth - would return. More than 4,000 years ago the people of Newgrange in Ireland followed the path of the sun and moon more closely and the return and lengthening of the light from that day in cold December marked the gift to live another year, to sow and reap crops and revel in their harvest. 

And so too for us in the Holly Cottage garden. There is little in the depressed vegetable patch now save the cold-defiant celery and spinach, and the Brussels sprouts to be picked for Christmas dinners. The garlic must go in the ground soon - before the shortest day - so there is some real urgency to complete that task. But that is really it, for now. I generally use this time to sit back and reflect. To watch the light fade on another year, like the fading credits at film's end. To think about the good, the bad and the ugly; the relishing of beetroot; the relentless rhubarb; the unfortunate blight afflicted spuds; the astronomical bounty of strawberries....and the hours spent doing forward bends on endless rows of weeds. All the other stuff too of course - the trials and tribulations of work, the global travels - the general ups and downs, and sidewards bends and twists of being human.  

Morning sun - winter in Lough Boora

And so, you will understand now when I write that this week was tough for us lovers of the light. Next week will be tougher, most likely the toughest. But after that - from Friday week - the light will return and we will sigh relief and yell bring it on for another year. In the meantime for these short few days left ahead, we wait...and we wait...with patience and some surprisingly resilient philosophical endurance. Must be all that standing on one's head ;)

By the way - look out for some new music coming your way through the Holly Cottage production company. As a taster - check out this link - more on a rainy theme, something we get plenty of in Ireland...

http://www.reverbnation.com/craigwilkie/song/15426978-god-damn-rain?utm_campaign=opengraph&utm_content=song&utm_medium=link&utm_source=facebook

More to come.

Going Back to (Yoga) School

Seeing the mountains for the trees

It’s been five years since I trained to be a yoga teacher. Five years of living, loving, and getting on with the rich and challenging path that my life has taken. But no yoga teaching, not yet ;) Plenty of personal practice but I never had the time to give to a class – too busy with the day job, meeting the love of my life, traveling the world and tending to the needs of a tiny cocker spaniel and her Holly Cottage garden. It’s time to change that, time to add teaching to the mix and give something back (by the way - the more I say I'm going to, the more I'll have to do it!).

As the car approached the Sivananda ashram at the foothills of the Austrian Alps, waves of delight and joy washed over as my eyes reminded my brain of those mountains that had become friend to me during the month long TTC.  Time kicked in reverse as the car pulled up to the door and the events of the last five years melted away from me like the snows that melt away from the mountains that surround the ashram each spring.  I was back at the beginning, again.

Of course the underlying reason for my return was purely academic - to refresh my teaching skills and get ready to start teaching when I got home to Ireland. But something deeper was happening, and would continue to happen during my week there. The magic of the mountains, the magic of the ashram, that healing and nourishment, that feeling of coming home – that retreat from regular living, and the promise of pure uninterrupted yogic living for at least seven days...interesting ;)

Some of the teachers from the TTC (Teacher Training Course) were still there. Their voices were the same but their encouragement was stronger – breathe into it. In that week, I became a noble Scorpion and a determined Locust – something that five years of home practice could never achieve.  

And I remembered the very first time I walked into a yoga class on a dark winter night in the west of Ireland ten years ago - those first introductions to spinal twists and backward bends and the peace that comes with steady pose and concentration.

And I remembered the firm and gentle encouragement of my very first yoga teacher.

Yoga has given me inner strength I didn’t know I had until I was tested, and really tested again. And yet I know that I am so near the beginning.  Some mornings as I head into the world, I am filled with excitement of the prospect of a new day – what it will bring and where it will end.  For at the end of everyday and every experience, we are changed and we are new. And so everyday we begin again, somewhat different yet always new.

And so I am ready to begin, again ;) Student come teacher, come student again. 

http://www.sivananda.at/en/index.html

Winter Thoughts (and a beetroot chocolate cake!)

Leaves undone

It's official. Winter is truly, deeply and darkly upon us. The darkness is winning over the light, and the light - when it comes - is filtered only through a thick blanket of cloudy grey and eerie frosty mists that may or may not lift on any given day. But the sun is always there - we see it every now and then - strong and giving and golden and welcome. A reminder of what has been and what will come again. It's just that the other side of the world is feeling it's loving more. For some months now the tilt of the Earth and the seasonal change in day length will halt further growth and we must wait until spring time to get digging in the garden. The beech trees that had clung to last summer's leaves are now delivered into stark winter nakedness. How can that feel? Only the ivy, the holly and the yew hang on to their glossy dark green leaves in defiance of winter. 

I spent the last week in Austria where winter has an edge on our dark and damp Irish version. In Austria the snow was just about to land. The Austrian alps were already covered but lower hills and ski slopes waited keenly for the promise of their winter white blanket. The experience of winter there is more white and bright than grey and damp. As I write here at the kitchen table in Holly Cottage, my eyes are drawn to the cold grey rain outside our sheltering windows that has been falling through the night. And I draw the blanket closer about me as if to shield me from its cold creep, and keep my own inner fire bright, un-dampened, protected.

Holly guarding the beetroot

It's not easy, this kind of winter. But it's what we have been given. It stops us in our tracks. It demands slow down. Stop digging. Think about when and where you need to drive. Rest. Time for looking outwards is reduced to daily walks on frosty paths or muddy fields. Or a run in the dark of an early morning. Doors are only opened for necessary seconds now, saving precious warmth from its escape. Time for looking inwards now. Time for taking the ashes out daily. Time to tend the fire so that it will burn through the short days and cold nights. All through this winter, and this seasonal night. 

But it's not all dark and brooding ;) More time to enjoy the gifts of summer past. This week's gift is dark and sticky, sweet and sating beetroot chocolate cake - yum! I found this recipe  in a Rachel Allen book while waiting on the homeward bound train in Heuston one cold dark evening. It is the perfect fit for the last of the beetroot that really should be a staple in every Irish garden. From relishing it, to roasting and boiling it. It's a gift in itself. 

Made for each other ;)

Take 10oz of raw beetroot and boil for about a half an hour until cooked. Then rub of the skins, chop into pieces and pop into a blender until its finely chopped, smooth. Melt 9oz of chocolate - use the best available. For example Shana Wilkie's ;) www.WilkiesChocolate.ie Cream 9oz of butter, add 11oz of caster sugar and blend until smooth and creamy in texture. Gradually add three beaten eggs, making sure to beat in-between adding the eggs. Then add in the beetroot and the melted chocolate. It might look a bit psychedelic - enjoy it! Then sift and fold in 3oz of flour and 2oz of cocoa. I used a 8inch round tin with a removable base - make sure to line it with parchment paper. Then into the oven at 180 degrees until firm to touch - Rachel says 30-35mins but we left it for a good 50 mins. Allow to cool in the tin before taking it out. 

Winter Path

A word of warning. This cake is absolutely divine. You may feel the need to eat it all in one sitting. But don't ;) Take a decent sized slice and have it with vanilla ice cream - we also tried it with banana and chocolate ice cream easily sourced from Lidl. What a wonderful accompaniment to those winter thoughts.....it can only make them better.