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...

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Because January Hurts

A delicate beauty in a cold and harsh world

January hurts. 

We've made it kicking leaves through the amber tinted days of autumn. I even relished the nipping cold as the trees were undone in November and the sun sank to its lowest on the horizon through December. We bustled and rummaged our way through the Christmas season, glad for the comfort of brightly coloured lights draped on rooftops outdoors and the scattered tinsel that clung to lovingly decorated trees brought indoors to guard carefully wrapped presents.  New Year's was quiet and passive - great to be setting off on another temporal voyage, great to mark the start of the next chapter. 

But now. I'm stuck. Badly. It's not even the end of January. Still only the middle of it and it hurts!!! 

Still dark in the mornings - no more lying in and sleeping until the sun rises to ease the pain, holidays are truly done. Still cold and wet, still cutting breezes come to taunt us from the wild atlantic sea that batters our western shore. Still only a glimpse of sunshine on any given day. But when it does break through - well, the dark grey is transformed into a glorious golden that stirs the fire in an otherwise low activity fireplace - the fireplace that is the internal hearth. 

I was struggling with this the last few weeks. I couldn't quite explain my lack lustre and lack of enthusiasm, it was just a lingering mood. Now that I've recognised it for what it is - well, you see instead of making me feel worse I feel remarkably better! You see, we can try to pretend that everything is ok, that we are totally on top of things. But that just makes it all the more self delusional and unresolvable. But if - if - we recognise the problem, when we see it's face and call it by its name.....ay, there's real honesty and wisdom. Give the nagging feeling a name, give it a face. Then we are ready for the cure. Some may call it a sign of weakness. But I call it a huge leap in self honesty and accepting that we're not always as strong as we might like to think.

So what's the cure for January you might ask? Learn to love it. Re-wire the brain. Detach. Take each moment as it comes and see the wonder in it. 

In the meantime, here is one simple and true symbol of all that is fantastic and wonderful about January. Our drop of snow, our snowdrop, our first sign of spring and testament that beauty can be the face of the strongest and most defiant force though it wear a delicate and seemingly vulnerable coat. 

Snowdrops