Winter's gift

Every month brings its gifts. February's gift is the light - light returning to remind us that dark is only for a season. I should know better - seasoned (well-seasoned) nature disciple that I am, but it gets me every time. The wonder and awe of the whole thing. 

Discussing scientific / planetary concepts is a daily event in our house. This morning it was explaining to the crafty six and a half year old that morning is morning because Earth spins on its axis as we revolve around the sun. And we call that first light dawn, and dawn turns into morning. All that before coffee. It starts early in the Holly Cottage. 

And so February brings its earth-warming light, but it takes its time. Between January and the last few dwindling days of February's reign, a slumber-full silence has been maintained. Not a silence of the cars that go non-stop, 24/7 on the main road mind. Not a silence of alarm clocks in pitch black mornings. But a silence of the earth - sleepy, dreary, brown-tired - browned off? - restful, turned inward, motioned earth-ward. Seemingly devoid of life. But no - this is dreaming time. Barely a breath or a leaf decomposed. Barely a whisper beneath a foggy shroud. But very much alive. Time to mull and ponder. 

La vie en hiver

In all that silence and respectful pause - nature drawing breath - somehow we see more.

  - The goldcrest that appeared in our garden for the first time ever this winter, flitting from leaf to leaf of sheltering leylandii allowing us occasional glimpses of his beautiful, golden head-dress -

   - And then as if not to be beaten, goldcrest's larger companion - industrious wren - catches the corner of my eye, reminding me she never tires of hunting in littering leaves left where they fell. Wren does wren's bit - helping them return to ravenous earth.

  - And there, peeping up through darkest, rotting leaves - snow-white, snowdrop beauties - heroes of winter's realm and harbingers of spring. Humble warriors that salute us in a sun-hungry world laid bare. Should they be pitied they only experience sun as something rare and hauntingly distant beyond frost beckoning clouds? No - no pity. Only celebration of those that defy the dark. 

And of course there's more - more creatures to be watched - waiting under a leaf, hiding under a rotting branch, burrowing through rich, dark, crumbling earth. Or singing from the top of an ivy clad wall. And we watch what we can, through the barest of days. 

For that is January's gift; beautiful, bittersweet and painfully for some, the longest month of all. As Winter strips everything back to the bone, January honours those bones with time and space, to see and hear more. February carefully, cautiously brings us back, back to the light - back to magnificent glorious, radiant life. 

And then, as if it never was here, Winter is done. 

New Leaves

Watching time

It's happening. Every day, every minute, a teeny weeny bit more green creeps through the filter of our winter eyes and widens the lens that will become our summer view. Phew!!! It's often right about this time of year that I am overwhelmingly grateful that we don't have to think about it - it just happens. Summer creeps into view without question, without looking for permission, without caution. 

The winter brought its challenges for sure. Here in the Holly Cottage reality kicked in and we downsized our vegetable patch for the sake of a species-rich meadow - one which is more conducive to the blondies being able to sit in the spring sunshine and ponder the wonder of ladybirds and honeybees just doing their thing. 

I must admit though, March was bittersweet. Paddy's day came and went in its flurry of hailstones but this year there were no spuds to be planted. No chitting, no watching through the dark days of February for heraldic sprouting. And though I mourned the lack of the pratie drills, I did rejoice in the glee of the wee man prancing through the establishing grass mat and hunting for worms. There's still space for a few meandering peas and courgettes, so it's not all lost. It's all a balance. And strawberry promises and fruit blossoms waiting in the wings. 

Balance is where it's at. Sometimes we lose it. Sometimes, when we stop thinking about it, we are trapeze artists. Pause for a moment to see the rope upon which our entire weight bears down on and alas, we can lose faith and tumble down gracelessly. Same when we grit our teeth and try to force it. 

New leaves bring new momentum. For me they bring a sea-change as I emerge from a long spell in a corporate suit and enter the realm of casual free-lance. I'm beginning to feel the difference as the weight of responsibility slips from my shoulders onto someone else's. It's time. Or so the dandelions tell me, and they would know - they double up as clocks don't they?

Other news, The Easter Snow is maturing to its launch date so watch this space. Time to celebrate the story contained within those leaves and begin new ones. Watch this space. 

November is Crossing Over

Baby sitting solid - head wavers, up on his own

Princess of pink can finally say his name.

Golden friend's deafening heartbeat

Falling leaves whisper your name.

Gentle mother, sorely remembered - 

Two babies that never saw the light.

A host of sadnesses passing under darkest nights.

Bewildered child - now to you - carry the light

For others, for life.

November is crossing over

December brings the light 💞

Because Life begins at...

Today life begins, again, at 41. Isn't it great?! The day started in the blurry regions of 5.30 am as the little princess snuggled in to say 'Can I rub your tummy Mumma?'. Poor thing thinks that there are more babies waiting in there to come out...mind you, it may appear a bit like that... And then the 10 week old wriggled on the other side and let a yelp out of him - cat like - not to be forgotten. A few doors away I could hear the rustle of Holly's tail, picking up on the waking sounds - ears pricked, waiting for the door of her sleeping quarters to open and her breakfast to arrive. 

Birthday bouquet

Morning is a strange time in our house, for me anyway. It kind of creeps in, steadily and stealthily from about four-ish when Oscar wakes for a feed. After that I don't really sleep...I generally just hold him in my arms or on my lap and lie back and enjoy the moment for it's immense peace and silence. He sleeps, in that blissful space that only a well fed newborn can sleep. Is he dreaming? And we sit or lie there for a couple of hours, until herself awakes around the six mark and then it's full steam ahead for the next fourteen hours, until she fades again back into the mess of quilt and pillows left over from the night before. 

Smile! And the whole world...

Today is my birthday. And what a lovely day it turned out to be. Instead of bemoaning the fact that I was another notch on the 40 decade, instead of freaking out about the three silver hairs that have invaded my fringe, instead of tainting the day with downbeat and defeatist thoughts I decided to go with the positive and run the risk of joy. Oh happy day! Cuddles and smiles abounded, only a few moments of angst with herself near bedtime and no sudden clothes changes where Oscar's nappies just couldn't take it. A precious shower early in the day, a sneaky coffee before 11am, a nap with cutsie newborn, baking with the princess, and candles blown out more than four times with small people, and dearest brother and father. And wildflowers on the window filling the room with heady scent Meadowsweet, every shade of green in the garden and a homegrown blackcurrant enlivened smoothie startling my tastebuds. Simple pleasures. But pleasures nonetheless. And a whole host of other birthday pleasures yet to be enjoyed with friends and family, not least of all when the man gets home. 


Life beings when you decide to live it. Usually only when you realise how easily it can be taken away. And that probably meant a painful experience and some serious soul searching. Well, the measure of pain only amplifies that of joy when it comes, and when joy comes in simple daily pleasures, well...then life surely has begun. 

"Just another little stretch baby brother..."

A year in the Holly Cottage

The summer solstice is upon us and what better day to begin to tell of our year in the Holly Cottage. That it has been a year since I last pressed the publish button here on this blogosphere - or just a couple of weeks shy of - is a sobering thought. Sobering because I am keenly aware that so much has passed and come and gone, and yet it might seem as if nothing has changed at all. We are the same - aren't we? Maybe just a bit. The world is the same? Definitely not. Change is our only constant. And the heart? Oh dear! Battered and bruised beyond belief in the past year but somehow still beating and stepping up, ready to take on another year's random symphonies of being. 

"The only way is through" said Holly to Alannah, as they both passed through the fairy door.

Every day we wake, we rise, we greet the new day and welcome a new beginning. When the night comes we acknowledge day's passing and we give thanks for the life we have had and the adventure that it did/might/could bring. And that day passes, never to return again - save of course for in that imaginative space where it becomes altered in movie like memory that accentuates some, colours others and chops entire pieces on the editing floor to suit the playback mode and desired effect. New day comes with the morning, dying day gives life to the next and so on and so forth. Only the present remains true and real, the past fantastically edited and the future existing only to be fantasised. 

So I will try not to trawl too much over the past year to detail every moment - but I will in time reflect over that time and bring you the edited clips as they spill out onto the pages. And it was a busy year. Lives were lost and gained, a toddler turned into a little princess, books were re-written and edited, yoga lessons were received and given, holidays were had, a garden was harvested and re-planted, wetlands and woodlands were re-wilded, articles were written and views were aired, difficult conversations were had and endured, sickness was faced and uncertainties accepted. With a few laughs (to be sure) in between. Those moments that tower over all: the death of a beautiful mother and the precious birth of a beautiful boy. Both events have me alternating between the worlds of joy and sorrow, elation and exhaustion, and all states of emotion in between. 

Sometimes I do feel somewhat overwhelmed, but that's when I must remember to dance, dance, and more dance to the music of it all. For it is only in the dance that we can flow and bend and quiver to the joyous and painful beauty of it all, and only then that we won't break under the sheer force and power of it all. 

So, onwards and forwards. Here's to another year gone in the Holly Cottage, and another adventurous year to come. Best that we set off with an open mind and a brimming heart, and of course a good pair of dancing shoes. For in the words of the Bard - the readiness is all. 

The thirty nine steps

"One step at a time," said Holly to Alannah as they journeyed together through the woods
on their great adventure.

The thirty nine steps - written this time last year year on the cusp of turning 39...almost a year out of date! So time to publish methinx..

The 1^st step was in the 70s, more than likely to a Jimmy Reeves beat (with a dash of Elvis) than a Jimi Hendrix kick.

The 2^nd was finding a new world by falling down stairs and standing in awe of big brother and sisters.

The 3^rd was more aware – it had to be? - an independent stance while full acceptance of last in line of pecking order, a bellyful of laughter.

The 4^th I remember - kind of - packing up beds and stuff out of presses and moving to a new home not too far down the road but far enough away being a whole other townland and a whole other outlook in so many ways: the first of many travel adventures. That fourth step also beckoned first entry through the great giant doors of National School surrounded by green fields and stone walls. How brave was I holding on for dear life to handle of brand new pink schoolbag that somehow has vanished from existence except from the pictures taken by my mother and father on that very first day, tongue-lolling wiry terrier by my side for support.

The 5^th step was learning, learning, learning. Playing with the boys and sometime knitting by the fire after school while waiting for the bus to come; playing games and ‘ring a ring a rosy’ with the grown up girls from the master's room – them playing mothers to the high infants in their twelve year old skins.

6^th was skipping and running and falling, tattered dolls and playing ‘house’ in hayfields and straw sheds with the nearest and dearest.

7^th was a rite of passage all dressed in a barely white dress as candle burned through netted veil and dripped onto sparkling black patent shoes - the only thing new after two sisters before.

8^th and 9^th were passed watching and waiting not patiently my turn as brother and sisters came of age in remote disco hall under the watchful eye of father; the baby at home minding the mother and suffering the un-fairness of it all. Being small. Old enough to know I was waiting, waiting, waiting.

By 10 I stepped on to football field and local stage - recitations, dancing, play acting and more dancing; still watching as brother and sisters went through the trials of teen-dom before me, me with shy wonder.

11th and 12^th saw tomboy emerging - more jeans than skirts, and pink bag of four traded for red of the Gunners big brother's chosen team. Playing gaelic on grey and damp Irish evenings; changing with the boys already uncomfortable in emerging form.

Hair grew long again by 13th and boys were becoming a different species. First kiss was had and by 14th step I might have been used to it but it would take some time yet. Valentine cards came but never from the beloved; always the ones that persisted – god loves a tryer – but they got nowhere for all of it.

Step 15 was looking beyond school walls and into career and I stood firm on the earth and vowed to be her champion companion. Though persuaded to a different route by those that knew better  – what would I know in my 16^th step? - but fate kept my path. A brief tryst with religion and love just enough to keep me grounded, and sounded, and wiser - not cynical - for years to come.

Just turned 17 comes tender and excited long step down concrete tunnels of UCD towards beloved ecology. At seventeen those long cold tunnels saw rural child dragged up through rock band and heartbreak, and sudden urgency of peer acceptance, to become young adult of sorts. Inbetweener. I found – they found me? - The Cure – what a night in a packed Point!, The Doors, The Pixies, the rich country of music made solely for the purpose of late teenage adventures. Blissful tragic soundtrack of Smiths to first kicks in the heart guts - that pain to linger a long while. Touching the face of Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder when it seemed most important.

18^th  and 19^th steps buried in learning – sometime head up to view world changing about me – but I stayed focused with bruised heart – or was it just ego? - as the obvious soul-mates and long haired fians admired from afar turned to the glamour and comfort and those more experienced in matters more fair. In over-sized and home knit jumpers hanging over leggings and army boots, I peddled my way to botanical and zoological scholarships and browsed topic irrelevant novels in the spider web-strewn library (not a hint of the other kind yet), the loneliest Arts section.

How sweet the coffees on study breaks that 20^th step watching the innocents in all my experience. Growing into my skin, aware, concerned but still not steady. Loving every delicious lick of it. A summer in US of A was the cherry on top of it.

By step 21, I was done and dusted, head full of ideas for saving the planet and the need know more – for what did I know? - and want to do better. In a rain sodden crowd I sang along to Radiohead. And somehow I chose a path that led west – to freedom? – To wilderness, I bared my soul to the best.

What drives us on when uncertainty and confusion reign? Blind foolishness, trust, belief in our instinct or is it just mein insane? It all began to change beyond then as light hearted student bore responsible next steps – quest for scientific knowledge, clarity, right enquiry, right impact – for that is PhD if not pure more insanity. A car equals freedom, petty cash more experience.

And so, steps 21, 22, 23, 24 – all peppered with adventure between west and eastern shores. All packed to the brim with music and clan ship, back of the motorbike trips up Dublin sunshine mountains and shennanigans galore. Glad for the invisibility of it all now and the delicious absence of social media folklore from back the,. Loves were found and lost, limits tried and tested, but just trial runs for the real thing, lessons in how to be sure. And defining unsure which is happiness undone.

The 25^th step saw east come to an end and west won out and the PhD thesis did end. Oh joy of joy – to me like wedding day. Four years of sweat blood and tears, and questioning and self doubt and poverty – though no poverty of adventure. And after that came the real world – PRSI and pension and stamps. And strong minds of a different, conflicting opinion. The war waged, but I was ready. Mind struggled to get around it but I made of it the best. Restoring the wild to fund adventures South American, Italian, Spanish and Canada’s best Quebec, and shopping in Galway and Sligo - travels to test.

26^th and 27^th were blissful steps in music while work life outdoors in the wild formed the gel. Long days in the rain and nights by the fire of the devil’s darkened nest The river flowed, the winds blew and the musical spirit poured.

The 28^th step saw me singing for sure – up there with Takamine beauty – oh what might have been? Five minutes of fame in Hotpress and local radio fm. Oh what could have been, what has been – femme fatale with Fender plugged in? And I was so ripe for it, then – all brimming with harmonies and lyrical tales to tell.

Step 29 and then 30, brought me deeper in work, music brushed aside and guitar lay to dust as I learned how to run and to run, and create a life by the river that just wasn’t to be. Diving deep in the blue of Madagascar’s clear water – saved by the angels and saints of pure reef, that had never seen human before – clarity of vision from shores near and far.

Somehow I found myself, again, alone – two Cranes wrapped in love on the shores of the Biebrza – a Polish Shannon, but joyous in being there, in 30-some skin. All shiny and glossy and scars hard won, despite a brush with malaria and a month out of the sun. Living alone in the bliss that had come.

Oh shenanigans they court you in times that you need them and shenanigans and more music they came and the pleasures that meet them. The learned steps of 31 and 32 didn’t make for wiser moves just more adventures or twenty-two. Mature experiences shall we say? Glad to have made them but glad to move on. 

Headstand to relieve feet as 32 wore on – a month in the Alps to connect mind, body spirit. But only baby steps on lifelong sadhana. Back home to snowdrops and a diversion of conference, an arduous course that led my feet to the One. And there he did find me, and we became One. Sweet. 

I had foreseen Step 33 to be christ-like - all monastic with sharp insight – longing for a chance to shave my head at last, but the loving twas done was near on fantastic. Work in the background – still leaving room for more diversions – music, writing, some yoga, more work and of course, lover. Adventures in Nawlins, Memphis and Greece, not least of all in the People’s Republic. 

Baby steps at 34 with long distance loving – just missing and knowing we needed each other. Another plunge and a foot into debt at hoped for mature 35^th step. But the halls that we walked and the cottage we found feels more right as years pass and cosy comfort abounds. 

Married in Cuba, warm sea ‘neath our feet - the 36^th step the lightest I felt.

Step 37 we gardened and reaped the fruits of our labour, a crazy dog Holly to join us and keep the ancient woods in our favour.

The pain at 38 was heavy to bear but we faced it together at little one lost. Soft steady steps treading the water - turtles at home from home in a warm, Bajan sea reminding how precious is life and the love that we share.

And now here I stand at this thirty ninth step – one foot light and lifted, the other firmly rooted in depth. Me, all that I am, was and ever will be - daughter, sister, lover, mother, sometime friend and colleague, mistress of Holly, custodian of Holly Cottage and the ever-giving garden. Still aspiring to champion of earth, her mindful companion.

Foot lifted I wonder - is every step pre-empted? Guided, baited, fated? Will I know the next step to take or will I just follow blind?

Thirty nine steps – maybe the end, maybe mid-way but it feels like beginning.

I am armed with - the wonder of a toddler, the hope of tomorrow’s warm weather, the readiness of Holly to go for a run and not know the turnings, the wisdom of 39 steps of experience, the acceptance of chaos and change ever present. The fire of childhood that has always stayed lit, to light my guide on this journey so far. So keenly aware, so thankful and grateful, for the greatest love of all.

And now, here am I, keeper of the flame for one just like me, but even more. A small bundle of blond only just begun – first step taken and close to a second. Best not to think too much – just follow heart, stay mindful, stay hopeful.

Face and foot forward, my armour around. One step, then another. 

Infinite possibilities abound. 

Clearing the path for winter

Winter has landed with all its force and unapologetic power. The heavy rains that pounded down on us all this week - causing roads to merge with waterways and keep us all indoors for as much of it as we could - is a stark reminder that no more is the phrase winter is coming  (in all its Game of Thrones foreboding doom and gloom) apt, and once more winter has come. The towering beeches that line the estate walls are completely bare of their golden leaves - earlier that normal it feels, and spindly oaks are bereft of leafy crown for  another five months at least. And the dark is back and dark is the new black for the season that's in it. 

Winter's garden

I don't see how we can ever get used to this forceful annual event - one day sunshine and bare feet, and then the next hats and scarves and wellied up to the nines - it's an annual imposition ;)  And so this weekend I suited up and wellies were donned for the (literal) clearing of the path for winter. 

I don't get out into the Holly Cottage garden as much anymore, not since golden haired child appeared on the scene and the demands of motherhood that go with that. So when I do get out, it seems to me to be a rare treat and very much an event. And yesterday was the day for it - rain had cleared, sun was shining and a blue sky above to restore faith in the November sheltering canopy. 

Starflower blue remains to brighten our days

First there were the standing-dead forms of ornamental clover that lined the path to clear - how different they stood as skeletal lignin stems from the vibrant green and purple of summer. The grow-bags and falling down tomatoes of August and September were dismantled onto the compost heap. The tumbledown nasturtiums were forked away too, and the sturdy starflowers that bulged up between the patio slabs were ceremoniously taken away to the decaying pile of 2014 in the corner of the garden. Mint in disarray was ordered; withered oregano stems were chopped back and collapsing gladioli spikes dismembered - all traces of 2014's summer whisked away in the quick flash of a garden blunted scissors. And then the yard brush was brought forth to clear leaves and bits of sand and grit and bark that had spilled onto the path, and then my work was done. 

Inspector of paths

There are still a few things left out there, the stuff that doesn't mind the cold and most importantly, the stuff that's easily accessed in all types of weather: the protective green manure to feed the soil for next year - the colourful purple Phacelia; the hardy turnips; the leafy cabbage; the bursting brussels sprouts and the curliest, curly kale. These things will keep our vitamin levels up in dark days to fight off the colds that seem to be a much more frequent visitor to our door these days. 

And so we are ready. Ready for winter, again. Path is cleared. Wellies are off and packed away until spring time. Time for sitting by the fire. Time for winter to have its own way and do its own clearing and cleaning - changing the garden in the way that we can't, returning life-that-was back to the cold comforting, embracing earth so that 2015 can live its own new way. 

And just the time for us to do the same.

Summer delights in the Holly Cottage garden

It's August. And despite the slight chill in the air since the start of the month beckoning the dawn of autumn, here in the Holly Cottage we are still hanging on to the notion of summer. And I have to look back over the last couple of months since I wrote here and wonder where did the time go? And what of the delights of summer that are now packed away in a 'full to the brim' freezer and memories of brightly lit evenings locked in digital memories in the shape of pictures on a smart phone?

You could swear
you were in...

Well. Most of June was spent keeping up with the bounty of strawberries. Every year - for the last four - I have to stand back in awe of how six strawberry plants came to be over a hundred, and are still multiplying. And every year there are more and more soft, sweet, perfectly shaped strawberries presenting themselves for nourishment duty. The fruits are put away in various forms - in the belly of course (straight up strawberry, strawberry cake, strawberry sauce, strawberry yogurt, strawberry ice cream.....), in the freezer and a in few pots of jam mixed up with raspberries and blackberries. The tops of the plants have been cut back for new leaves to form for next year. Not too late to do that still if you're wondering. 

Thankfully the raspberries present less work and we always leave the lion's share to the blackbirds and the sparrows. They have been cut back also - and careful they don't take over your garden! There's a few autumnal raspberries out there yet, waiting to surprise us in colder days. This year we managed to lock away some of the raspberries saved from our feathered friends in a few precious jars of jam (and cake - recipe available on demand, and yogurt and....), along with a few jars of the blackcurrant neighbours which are just way too delicious to be real. Again, they have been cut back too - I only wish we had space for more. One tip - the bountiful blackcurrant bushes that we have all came from cuttings from the Cappaduff homestead - no need to be buying plants if you know someone with a good stock nearby. 

Peas are packed away also and a delicious pea soup recipe developed by head chef in the Holly Cottage kitchen (I've been demoted to sous chef since Alannah came), and despite a bounty we are down to the last few. We were surprised at how excited Alannah was about them - she would stand in her play station watching us harvesting - One for Alannah, one for Holly. Poor Holly only got the ones that escaped her though. And she was so careful not to drop one in her pincer like grasp that has all the intensity that only a 10 month old person can invest. Again, I wish we had space for more (peas that is ;)), but we have new plants coming on and we might be rewarded with a few more autumn peas if the weather delivers. 

And what else? A bounty of rhubarb packed away - some in promising jars of rhubarb chutney (recipe still being developed, and an easy rhubarb cake recipe also developed), but most in the freezer for working on in darker days. Broad beans are also packed away - one hint - this year we just froze peas and beans direct, with no blanching. Much tastier when they are defrosted ;) 

As all fruit cakes should be...

Spuds are still in the ground, most of the Orla earlies are devoured and we are breaking into the Colleen and Sarpo Mira now. Disappointingly, despite the promise of 'blight free', all were touched a bit and we shall await and see if and how they have been affected, but not so bad yet. Beetroot and carrots are still sweet and full of earthy flavour. Sweetcorn, turnips, cabbages, kale and brussels sprouts are left for the cooler days while tomatoes and peppers are still 'coming on' in the greenhouse. I have to say that I think the tomatoes outdoors are always a lot healthier, but maybe that's down to our inexperienced and still, pale green fingers. Courgettes on the other hand, well - do they need any looking after at all I wonder? They just bolted from early summer - small baby courgettes were savoured first followed by later brothers and sisters of gigantic proportions. Still tasty despite the size and I recommend growing these to everyone - especially those who have little time to be worrying about more delicate species!

And so, just this week I spread some of our green manure seed onto the ground left bare by peas and those spuds devoured. We'll invest more time this year - I think, I hope - in getting more winter crops going. But in the meantime, we shall await the coming of the two tiny pears and the dozen or so apples that are slowly ripening down fruit alley. 

Summer delights

It's funny, but this summer seems to have passed in the blink of an eye. Not to worry, still plenty of nasturtium colour and lavender scented pathways to keep us happy. And shur, autumn is always a crowd pleaser despite its more fickle summer predecessor. Enjoy the last days and be sure to pack in plenty of sunshine to savour in the darker days. 

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