Spring beckons change

Ageless beauties

The warmth of the sun is comforting on this late February afternoon. It's been a relentless battle on the island of Ireland the last two months - human versus Atlantic storms. We try to keep our heads down as the winds roar - as they shake the utmost out of the delicate structures we build (the greenhouse survived but the neighbour's fence didn't). As water pours from the sky and the waves lift up onto seaside towns and villages, we run/swim/paddle as fast as we can but there are inevitable casualties. 

Of course for us flatlander midlanders there is no fear of waves but we contend with rivers bursting banks and the mighty Shannon lifting the land and all around it. Now, after decades of soothsaying scientists, people are finally taking heed that the global climate is deflecting from the accustomed pattern - the pattern that we have built our livelihoods and settlements and sowing and harvesting regimes about. Whether you choose to believe or not to believe that the current global climatic anomalies are a consequence of human activities, one thing is for sure is that just a rising tide lifts all boats and floods shacks and mansions indiscriminately, so too must we all adapt and strategise for a future that my not be so dependable and predictable. Instead of wondering will change come we will have to get off the fence and start working to adapt to changes that are likely to prove challenging to those of us who were hoping to perpetuate our current ambient living condition. 

spring patch

Here in the Holly Cottage we were spared the worst - no loss of electricity (and the precious bounty of tomatoes and strawberries in the freezer were hence saved), no loss of greenhouse, no flooding of the local rivers but plenty of beech and oak giants toppled in the Charleville woods and as already hinted at, the neighbour's fence collapsed. This means loss of privacy to us humans but Holly has gained a massive extension to her garden patrol area and she now must defend her previously isolated empire from all the bigger dogs from up the road. Poor Holly. 

Within our own little patch we have been gifted with a bounty of crocuses that somehow have emerged from the clearances of the 'old' front garden and leads me to wonder if those bulbs - that have been planted by previous owners since the house was built in the late 1930s - could be as old as the house themselves? Or near enough anyway? What is the lifespan of a crocus bulb? A lifetime or many lifetimes? And then of course what constitutes a normal lifetime (who or what is normal)? And then there are the snowdrops - swathes of pure white that defy February grey. One thing I've learned about snowdrops - when planting choose to split established clumps of bulbs as opposed to planting singular new bulbs. The new bulbs we planted to the front of the house are sadly less spectacular than those I saved when we cleared the front and subsequently moved to fruit alley down the back. I'm sure the 'new' bulbs will catch up but that might take a lifetime in itself...which bring us back to what constitutes a lifetime!

No rain, no rainbow ;)

On a practical front there has been (finally) some activity back in the vegetable patch. The areas sown with green manure (rye and vetch) last August have been dug over to give the plants time to break down and clear the way for the new bounty. Next job is to spread some manure and compost over to replenish the nutrients devoured by the last years' hungry crops. We are currently hot on the heels of the seed potatoes and the onion setts, but that's about it. This year Orla and Sarpo mira are the main focus - forget Setanta if you have any sort of slug issues - they will devour and destroy the soft flesh. There has been 'some talk' of extending the herb and rhubarb patch - given the voracity of the rhubarb growth last year - and maybe even a new patio to be installed for some late summer lounging-about. That is if the sun manages to break through the clouds again this year for more than a sunny afternoon. Who can say anymore? 

All we can do is take it as it comes and adapt. There is stability in chaos as science tells us - the degree of stability for each depending on our own ability to maintain balance in a changing world in a changing universe...

. 

A Day in the Life

Run Holly Run!

Inspired by the idea of flooding social media with poetry, I decided to throw my own creation into the rising waters ;) Write what you know the wise ones say, so this one is a reflection of my current days 'bringing up baby'. I hope you enjoy.

A Day in the Life 

(working title)

We awaken

In the dark

Last stars fade

Daylight creeps

Get up stand up wake up sore back

Pull the blinds

Let day begin

Let dog out do her business

Wash my face and watch it fold

Lift the baby

Change the baby

Smile into her smiles

Warmth of joy at being

Mindful princess.

Alannah to play-station now

Radio on classical

Boil the kettle

Feed the dog

Sweep the floor

Do few jobs

Wake the house

Pour the milk

Oats swell up to meet banana

Eat over-looking winter’s garden

Robin’s work is never done

Alannah cries time for feeding

And then she sleeps

Tea for me

And I pretend to be a writer

For half an hour

And work on a novel too old to be called novel.

Sun is shining

When she wakes again

Illuminating cottage kitchen

Change the baby

Happy smiling chatty

Then I feed her

Tiny toes wriggling as she latches on

All casual like

And then she’s not interested

Down on her mat on the floor

And I do a few things more

And then I play with her because she’s bored

Get the keys and lock her up

Lock her up, lock her up

Until heart-breaking cry that only we know

Mammy, Mammy I’m falling - help me!

Holding my hand holding hers

Mother’s best to soothe her

Fall into that darkest space

Where she won’t see me feel me need me

Losing mind to sleep.

And then I pretend to be a writer

Check my email, FB, Twitter

Anticipate the weather

Turning cold and misting sky

A solid roof of grey.

Holly prowls

Time for walkies

Dog leads our circus to the wood

Three musketeers

Together breathing

In the cold

Alannah’s face to heaven

Discovering sounds - ooos aaas

Delivered up to twigs and branching

Beech and towering oaks

Hovering over

Seeing through the canopy now

A tired head falls on my chest

This time peaceful

No telling signs

And I fall into my stride

And I wish that this would never end

This special time

Being mother and best friend

Her cold bare hands in mine

I stare into giant oaks that live

In timeless mystical world.

Holly staying close

Sniffing out woodland clues to

Reddest squirrels

Other musketeers

She looks to tell me with most

Honest of her trickster eyes

We must go back

Home through big open field

For that is where she gets best runs

From over top of hill

Rounding fence and back to me.

And so we go home through big field

Holly reaches for her peak

Run Holly run!

Helicopter ears -

Woosh woosh

Tongue bouncing

Mind rushing

Happiness pulsing

And then we must cross the fence

And Holly waits to go back under

Lead fastened.

Around the bend through castle gates 
Holly pulling us along

Meeting friendly faces

Everybody wants to talk

Or catch the eye of brave a leanbh

Who might gift unto them

Four and a half month baby’s wisdom and the smile

Emperors would bleed for.

Home in gentle raindrops

We walk around the garden

Blackbird following in robin’s steps

I wonder is it time to dig again

Heaving off wellies and coats

Carrying Alannah

Quick change quick feed

She sits and thinks in bouncy chair

Time maybe for another little sleep

I look to evening sky to say

Prize-winning story comes tomorrow

But I will think on it today.

Yogi salutes the sun, and Ted ;) 
yogi bears

Coffee time for me now

Savour last forbidden drops

Hope she sleeps until

Coffee has been drunk

And mother’s milk is cleansed

And then she wakes all smiles again

And then it’s one more time upon the mat

Watching me salute the sun

And I might contemplate a run

As skirts and leggings become less fun

Blinds pulled now

January’s sun is set

Heating on ‘til fire is lit

Dinner preparation at its get

And he asks, what would you like?

And I say, oh I don’t mind

And he says no - what would you like?

And that is when I must decide

And I watch as spice man cometh

And daily bread begins to fold

Aromas revealed

Cinnamon, fennel, cumin, cloves

And I am hungrier than ever I was.

Eating now

Silence mostly

She watches on

From buggy first and then my knee

And I don’t know what she sees or

What she thinks

This and every time.

Eating done

Coffee for him green tea for me

Baby feeds and cries until

Nighttime is too heavy to hold

And she is tumbled down

To summoning sleep

Our time now

We sit and watch until

Tiredness kicks in

My turn now to fight the sleep

One more time she drinks

Half awake then back to sleep

A tender hook in

Rudolph pajamas too cute for her not to wear

This late in January.

Mother lies beside

Trusting bundle of the softest sighs

Wondering

What was it like before she began?

Doors open and close

As he lets Holly out

Sound of his toothbrush

Before we wrap together

Musing to the weather

Tired comfort whispers

Glad for

Silences between

Precious in absentia dramatic

That everything is as it is.

And then it happens

At a time

To us unknown

Only silence of sleeping

For there is no-one now to listen

Three have journeyed past the hearing

Surrendering helplessly unto

Heavy weight of day and night

We fall our separate ways

Back into darkness of light

Back to where it all began

To where it all begins again

For this is all there is

We three are one

Of billions

One

This is all there is.

Catherine Wilkie

26/01/2014

The Darkest Days

And so we have come to the darkest days. It happens every year and yet it always amazes me - all that uncompromising and dependable cyclic nature of the seasons (that is of course ignoring the impending prospect of ongoing climate change, but no doom and gloom in this post!). It's a harsh beauty - all that distancing from the sun leading to a dark and cold time, counter balanced by Christmas lights and beautiful frosty mornings...but all to be reversed come Saturday and the winter solstice (yay). 

'tis the season to be Holly

And why so harsh? Harsh because there is a stark absence of green and yellow and orange and red - the palette of the autumn that we love to watch in the easy days of October and November. Now there is only brown, grey, green and a tinge of blue - brown on the ground, grey on the trunks, some green in the trailing ivy (deceptively widespread in the woods and welcome shelter for blackbird and smaller woodland bird species) and blue in the sky, but blue only ever for precious minutes when the sun peeps over the horizon and the sky is refreshingly clear of grey clouds.  The storms of the last few weeks have completely stripped the oaks and the beech of the Charleville woods and the leaves are rapidly disintegrating back into the earth - the very fabric of the stuff that will bring forth next year's pale green recruits. Fresh faced leaves that will be ready for a season of turning light and carbon dioxide gas into food for the colossal stems that support them - the giant wooden towers of beech and the king oaks. I know - amazing really. Those small and unassuming power houses of green energy that turn light into sweet sugar. And all because of chloroplasts....but, I digress into the minutia...

It's also harsh because we have to wrap up in warm clothes and blanket-like scarves to shut out the cold and the damp. Sandals no longer work and wellies are de rigeur. Holly doesn't bother with either of course - she is an all-weather and all-functional kind of girl. And Alannah is amazingly immune to the cold - she is wrapped up of course but these days she stays awake on our winter walks, staring up into the broken canopy. What is she thinking? She is obviously stunned into silence because at all other times she is cooing and gurgling and 'talking' in her own sweet way. I try to talk to her about the trees and the birds, and the red squirrel that we've met three times now - always scarpering up the same tree - but she is blissfully immune to my breaking the silence. And all the while she just stares with those beautiful blue eyes - her, silent. It's all waiting for her to discover. 

And what about the beauty? Well, apart from Alannah and the bold Holly, the beauty is in feeling the biting cold breeze as we walk through the open fields, the warmth of the blinding winter sun when the clouds break and the feeling that spring is beckoning already - it's there in the knowing song of the blackbird - waiting beyond these darker, damper days. 

And what else do we do these days apart from get into the thick of it in the wintery woods? Very little I'm afraid. Bringing up baby is very basic - feeding, changing, bathing, coaxing to sleep, entertaining, distracting and then a bit of writing and emailing for me when I get a chance - laptop balanced on a cushion and writing with one hand over a sleeping baby. Some highlights of the past few weeks - the walking in the woods and the hinterlands of provincial Irish towns of course (over 100miles of the 1000 target), a successful heart saving exercise for Alannah's granny (my mother), various jaunts into town to catch up with friends for pre-Christmas coffees, the launch of Paddy Woodworth's great book Our Once and Future Planet (more of that again), and meeting up with work mates at the annual Biodiversity Action meeting. 

Holly is such a kidder...

I guess the greatest highlight of all is being a passive onlooker to the wonder that is a child's pace of growing. She is standing, rolling, watching, giving orders and basically, increasingly, ruling the roost. However, I'm reminded by the experts in the field of mothering that this status quo must change in order for peace and balance to reign. And so once Christmas is over, we must all - Holly and No. 1 Dad included - develop the elusive and all important baby routine....we shall have wait and see. In the meantime we'll stick with the policy of going with the flow, however chaotic that is. It always seemed to be so much more fun to me...

A New Arrival to the Holly Cottage

Beautiful Irish girl - all wrapped
up in Granny's hand knit cardigan

The last few weeks have passed in the blink of an eye. The last time I wrote here, it was to herald the onset of autumn and the promise of the fruits of spring and summer's labour. We spent the first few days of September getting ready for that promise - busying ourselves with long over-due jobs like cutting back the now tiny hedge, taking the dying stalks off the spuds, cutting back unruly spinach, rocket and oregano plants, freezing the glut of rhubarb for darker winter days and making the place ready for the weeks that were coming when there would be no time for such leisurely activities like hoeing drills or pottering about admiring the sweet peppers, chillies and tomatoes developing on the vines. 

This day two weeks ago, time and nature put a stop to my bending and stooping and lolling about as Holly Cottage's lady of gardening leisure. For this day two weeks ago we made the long journey to the maternity hospital (half an hour in pain seemed like forever yet we weren't even close to getting started!), for an event that we were completely ready for in principle yet absolutely and completely not ready for in so many real ways. Neither of us knew what to expect, and I am glad for it. I've often wondered why nature wipes the accessible memory of our birth from our minds - why we don't remember that precious time cocooned in the warm bath of our mother's womb - when we are loved and anticipated and completely encased in the most advanced of all biological intensive care units. I realise now that the memory is with the mother and the father - and the loved ones about them. It is theirs to share and theirs to tell if and when they so please it. Because whatever the pain experienced, the moment that baby emerges, is one of the most amazing moments of any person's life. And while I can't speak for the man, it ranks up there in terms of life changing and eye opening experiences - it is the birth of life itself. 

Born ready ;)  

We went with a natural birth - and while the pain was greater than any preparation by yogic breathing could overcome - the pain is but a memory now to be recalled with laughter and good humour as we realise it was the necessary signalling of our beautiful baby's birth cry. It marked her voyage from where her life began, into the outside world to take her very own first delicious breath of air, and begin her very own life's journey beyond the walls of my (by the end of 41 weeks) outgrown growth chamber for her. 

That nine months of her growing inside of me now seems like such a short time when you realise the wonder of the tiny fingers and toes, eyelashes, perfect skin and bright eyes that she came equipped with to make us love her totally and unreservedly. For since that moment, I am at her beck and call. Where once it was two and a dog, it is now two and a dog and a tiny person that needs us to care and protect her for some years to come. Notice I don't quantify that time, knowing so well that parenting is a job for life. And how bad really? We knew that when we started, and now instead of just knowing it, we understand it. 

Poor Holly of course is traumatised, but she is starting to come round ;) She has been missing her twice daily walks in the woods, but that will come again - but only when we feel ready to take her and her new best friend out into the great big world beyond the half door of the Holly Cottage. So for now, it is sleep when we can, eat at the best and next opportunity that arises, and enjoy gazing at the wonder of what we have created through sleep deprived and still disbelieving eyes. 

And so, welcome Baby Alannah Marie to Holly Cottage - and welcome all the trials and tribulations and adventures to come. And thanks to all for the good wishes and warm welcomes - let the fun and games begin ;)

Summer's End

Rose tinted window of the past

There comes time in the year where there is no denying the obvious - the change in the day length, the change in the morning temperature, the coolness of the evening and the sudden realisation that you may have to stop wearing sandals and flip flops very soon and revert to  the toe suffocating shoes of colder times. Yep, autumn is upon us - but what a summer! We were busy the whole way through it - seems like everyday brings its own jobs that in your head will take only a few minutes but once the gardening gloves come on, time seems to go into a different dimension entirely and next thing you know the sun is setting and you need to start thinking about dinner! 

I wonder sometimes what we would be working on if we weren't grappling with caterpillars, weeds, slugs and overgrowing trees and roses that can become giants in the blink of a fine summer's growth? But it's all worth it - the hard work followed by the watching and learning, and understanding on a deeper level the turning of the seasons and how that is reflected in our own turnings. And for the next six months I get to spend more time than just Saturdays and Sundays reflecting on that and hopefully without too much navel gazing - although I'm sure a newborn won't allow for that - I'll be able to appreciate it even more. 

Any ideas??

So what's happening out there? Take a virtual walk around the Holly Cottage garden - starting at the top - and an entire mesocosm is unfolded. The sunflowers are the first to be taken in - there is a particular one out there now that is covered in fourteen (yes, fourteen) flower heads - wow. Such golden yellow and such golden joy. Then the cover of trailing nasturtiums over the Mediterranean lavenders and the outdoor larder of fragrant herbs - mint, oregano, chives, thyme, marjoram, rosemary, parsley, basil - all frequent visitors to de Holly Cottage pot. And all of that in a space about 2m x 2m. Plants will enjoy any space available, in my experience they're really not all that picky - except the fussy ones, so don't get hung up on those (funny how that lesson translates right across the boards of life!). 

The readiness is all*

Walk a bit further past the bountiful strawberry bed, past the tall sweetcorn that brought a north American feel to the garden this summer, past the peas covered by the Holly dog-proof fence (it doesn't work - she'd put the pink panther to shame with her stealthy prowess), past the bright purple turnips, the inconspicuous parsnips, the tender carrots and the un-assuming beetroot all buried in the ground for now - and down to the corner covered in the dusky pink rose that brought such a sweet fragrance to summer evenings. Here - in the farthest corner of the tiny plot - the last few days have witnessed a transformation. Where once there was no light, there is an illuminated composting area newly built - all clean and shiny as shown here on the day of its making - and ready to take on the stalks of cabbages, spuds, leggy rocket and giant Brussels sprout stems and whatever else gets cast aside in the next few months from the bounty of 2013. 

On the other side of the garden is fruit alley - the scene of raspberry, blackcurrant, apple, pear and cherry tree. This spot was definitely a feasting table for the blackbirds and the Holly dog - we only got a handful of raspberries and blackcurrants, but then we had the strawberries all to ourselves! All the fruit trees and bushes are cut back now and it's Gladioli flower time - long stalks of green that find it difficult to hold their heads with all the lavish pink and red and purple decorating their stems, and that continue to fall under the weight of all that beauty - a bit like the sunflowers!

Flowering frenzy

Moving a bit further around I find myself in the greenhouse - miraculously in one piece after two battering winters - and I am lost in a jungle of chili plants, sweet peppers, tomatoes, and cucumbers. I only have to smell the leaf of the tomato to realise the taste of the vine-ripened red fruits - add a leaf of basil and a touch of balsamic and Michelin star quality arrives in the Holly Cottage kitchen ;) After all, good food is about good ingredients. We'll cut the pumpkin today and see how that is - it's a bit early for scaring the neighbours yet but we will chance roasting the sweet orange flesh for dinner after some long day spent watering and picking and tending. The onions are already resting in the shed for the winter - red and white,  fragrant and sweet - and the Cork apples are tantalising the wasps that lost their home in the big clearance of the side hedge. Not to worry, it's been a great year for bees and wasps - the champions of honey production and of keeping other un-wanted aphid pests in check. 

And so, all this can't go on forever. And the heralds of September tell us that it's time to start packing up and readying for colder, darker days - hopefully with their own ample share of sunshine. This summer we were comforted with heat - maybe this year we will be blessed with sunny autumn days and crisp winter mornings, and just a dash of rain every now and then to keep us thankful. In the meantime we must ensure that the kitchen cupboards are full of sweet relishes, chutneys and jams to make the taste of summer last throughout the year. And we are ready on another front too - ready for maybe the greatest adventure of all - but we will have to keep ye posted on that front, no rush! 

This weekend's chutney foray was of the apple variety - a recipe borrowed from a Dublin chef one winter's night. The cooking of it fills the kitchen with the most fabulous of aromas - sweet Middleton apples diced, Asian cinnamon, mixed spice, crushed juniper berries, Californian raisins, Holly Cottage onions and sticky soft brown sugar sweetness all mixed with several glugs of cider vinegar and simmered down for a couple of hours. Now there's a tangy complement to sweet and creamy Wexford cheddar to brighten any winter lunchtime - and it will ;)

Happy Birthday Holly!

On another note - it's Holly's birthday today - all of three eventful years today. And bold as ever - thief of garden peas, lover of rocket and new potatoes, champion of stick fetching and wood foraging, patron of hugs and ear scratches and all-round trickster that can test your will yet charm you endlessly at the same time. Happy Birthday Holly!

*drawing inspiration from Hamlet Act V, Scene II

Forever Begin

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Holly Cottage's entangled bank

It's a quiet Sunday morning in the Holly Cottage, just past 6am and a soft and cooling mist is lifting from the garden and resting on the trees that line the estate wall of Charleville. Another few minutes and it will have disappeared, witnessed only by the later night revellers and the early risers. The last few weeks of sunshine and heat have been a gift to the people of Ireland - who would have thought that the long, hard winter would give birth to the long, hot 30 degree + days and the quilt defying heat of the nights. All that heat coupled with seemingly un-darkening nights and eternal days. And even though at times stifling, no one dared to raise a voice to complain or to bemoan the heat, the dry earth or the sleep challenging nights. A touch of grumbling from the farmers perhaps, but you couldn't expect them ever to be completely happy!

Here in the Holly Cottage we duly surrendered to the lazy days of summer - shorts and flip flops took over from the combats and wellies of last year, and even the bikini got exposure to  the Irish sun and was dipped in an Irish midlands lake with the wearer for good measure (a note on swimming with your dog - it's a lot of splashing and pretend throwing of sticks and can cause quite a splash ;) so maybe best to do it far away from the company of other bathers!). 

Strawberry thirst quenching delight
- awesome

The garden has been delightfully, almost free of slug damage and the days of harvesting are well underway. We had to buy a new freezer just to store the abundance of broccoli, strawberries and rhubarb. Peas are packed in there too, but again never quite reaching the brilliance of 2011 when we really must have overdone it on the chicken manure! We left most of the raspberries to the blackbirds and the few lingering strawberries have been picked over by the stealthy work of Holly the dog. She also managed to sabotage a number of pea plants - can't blame her really for munching her way through several pods to get to the sweetness of the hidden delicacies. However, she won't be getting her pearly whites on the next batch and number one gardener spent a lot of yesterday securing dog proof netting about the next crop. We shall see - Holly has a way of getting what she wants though and she does love her peas...

Yesterday was the day to clear out the old pea plants, cut back the raspberry canes and trim back wandering rocket and seeding turnips. The early spuds have already been eaten halfway through and it can only be a week or so before the onions and beans are ready to come out of the ground. No tomatoes yet, although cucumbers are lengthening by the day and there are first signs of sweet peppers and chillis to come (they already had amazing melon and sweetcorn in beautiful Donegal - wow!). In lots of ways we have reached a new chapter for the garden and now we must plan for the late winter and spring harvest so that will require some thought, and also that summer is rapidly moving onto to autumn. Suggestions are curly kale and spring cabbage, and we will try to make the most of the greenhouse this winter, despite our failed yet best intentions of 2011 and 2012. 

Holly proof pea defence

It's been a busy time on the inside of the Holly Cottage as well, and while some might call it nesting, I think I prefer to call it catching up on all those jobs you never quite got round to and the prospect of a small baby in the house that will make this near impossible probably until it is feeding itself and writing its first paper on cosmic theory'. This work involves painting the last of the rooms left since moving in three years ago, chasing patches of mould in the bathroom, getting rid of un-wanted furniture and that most difficult of jobs - clearing out presses and shelves of the accumulated nonsense of stuff that lingers purely on the grounds of nostalgia and it might come in useful or be worn again. But you need to make space for the new to begin and this is the cycle that runs through our lives, from birth to death. Of course new beginnings are not without their own share of pain or uncertainty. That's what makes them so memorable and adrenaline fuelled - be it the joyous ones or the sorrowful ones - and discerns them from the hum drum of normality. 

Yesterday I had a painful morning reciting the history of every item of clothing hanging in my wardrobe to a very bored man and dog - I was struggling to justify their secure place in the wardrobe of the future when space will become even more limiting. Thing is, I could write a book on some of the shoes (oh remember!) and old jeans, tops worn once and dresses that almost sing the memories of themselves dancing in near and foreign halls and still carry the scent of perfume worn for a while and then passed over for another as tastes and preferences changed and developed (I'm reluctant to say matured!) over the past 20 years. Yes, even the catalogue of near empty perfume bottles and Body Shop body butters tells a story of growing up and changing and coming to increasing levels of balance (still not 100% there yet - but then, all that balance could be imbalance?). Of course, this level of nostalgia is often associated with the annual birthday reflections - and list making for the future of which myself and Michelle Quinn of Clara House were expert!

Sweet pea perfume

However, it's sweet pea scent coming from the flowers from Mornington House that the beautiful Katy O'Hara brought over last night that are filling up my senses as I write this morning, and their renewal brings me back to summer days working with my mother in the garden, collecting the flowers for the summer altar in the local church and helping her work her magic bringing a cold and dim lit church every July to blissful pagan outdoors beauty and nature's summer standard. Every scent and sound of summer brings with it a memory of a seemingly past life lived in my short time living on this most generous of planets. This year in particular - those sensory stimuli seem stronger and more urgent in their gaping absence from the four wet summers gone by. It's the smell of hay, the sounds of people laughing and joking while loading big bales on enormous trailers, the endless loads of turf being saved and carried home by bouncy tractors of all makes and eras, the hum of the bees in the lavender, the armies of butterflies along the paths in Boora, the taste of a 99 on a hot Monday afternoon and the sound of children playing long after their normal bedtime into the late hours of the longest days. 

And this - the collection of joyful and comforting memories of childhood summers and rose tinted reflections on the trials of growing up (this growing up lark by the way goes on until our deathbeds  - just so you know), and the setting down of new memories linked with new places, new experiences and new awakenings of ideas and feelings within, that gives us the strength and the want to begin again, and again, and again, and even again. To take up new challenges, to brush off the cobwebs of the wet summers and long winters, and long nights and begin each day with renewed vigour and expectation. For me, this generally comes in the morning time - and sometimes it is such a strong feeling that I actually have a knot of excitement in my inner being and a feeling that anything can happen. Now, truth be told, this rush of excitement generally fades after mid morning when my levels of creativity ebb and give way to a much more sedate and calmer woman, and as always tiredness and fatigue can dampen any level of excitement. The moral is - try to quench these deathblows of excitement before they quench you (yes, I am psyching myself up for sleepless nights). But overall and in general most times and most days, the excitement and anticipation of what may come in any new day is there - however small yet oh so powerful in all its guises, it is a faithful companion and it certainly adds a whole lot of spice to my living ;)

To pull all of this ramble together, the words of the Irish poet Brendan Kennelly are ringing in my ears again and again - I hope you find resonance with their clarity and resounding perception.  

Begin

by Brendan Kennelly

Begin again to the summoning birds

to the sight of light at the window,

begin to the roar of morning traffic 

all along Pembroke Road.

Every beginning is a promise

born in light and dying in dark

determination and exaltation of springtime

flowering the way to work.

Begin to the pageant of queuing girls

the arrogant loneliness of swans in the canal

bridges linking the past and future

old friends passing though with us still.

Begin to the loneliness that cannot end

since it perhaps is what makes us begin,

begin to wonder at unknown faces

at crying birds in the sudden rain

at branches stark in willing sunlight

at seagulls foraging for bread

at couples sharing a sunny secret

alone together while making good.

Though we live in a world that dreams of ending

that always seems about to give in

something that will not acknowledge conclusion

insists that we forever begin.