Autumn Cottage Diarist

Needlepoint and Knowledge

Crocuses

A while since I visited the Hungerford Antiques Arcade; wandering around the town in bitterly cold wind has not raised great enthusiasm in me over the last few wintery weeks. But this week I combined a visit with lunch with a dear friend who lives in the town, which turned an ordinary Tuesday into a Sacred Ordinary day. Here are a couple of the things that I discovered and reconfirmed;

1. Things are not just inanimate items, but have a whole history of their own - they carry other humans'  history within them. I have collected textiles for forty years, at one time sewing myself everything that I wore, and at another time pursuing the City and Guilds courses in embroidery, both pursuits from which I learned - the hard way - that a beautiful end product usually only comes with much toil before hand.

Magnolias

Sunflower Basket

It was with that understanding that I carried back these three Elizabeth Bradley needlepoint pictures - beautifully framed - for a bargain price. I know that the needlepoint kits now sell for £130.00; that the frames would probably have cost £40.00 each; yet I purchased each framed and finished picture for £8.00. But the biggest understanding was of the many, many hours put in by the unknown stitcher who made them; to that person, I nod in respect and admiration. Your pictures now have an appreciative home with me.

2. How I love books! They are without doubt, a lifelong addiction for me. I think the addiction stems from the fact that I grew up in a home with virtually no books; I can count those I remember there on two hands. As I have grown older, I have accumulated thousand upon thousand, providing me with access to all that I desire - information, escape, understanding and inspiration.

My own good fortune is to have had access to books at pittance prices from Martin Smith, the book dealer that I have known for twenty years, also based in the Hungerford Arcade.

Martin has been my downfall, space wise - it is his fault that we often clamber over piles of books here at the cottage... but it is also (partially) thanks to Martin that I was enabled to venture, in another life, into dealing in antique books and prints. It is also thanks to him that I acquired some antique, handwritten journals which led me on a continuing voyage of investigation and exploration to the beloved city of Venice - an adventure which is not yet ended.

Look at the feast of knowledge and information between board covers which I brought home with me this week - all for the total sum of £10.00;  tell me what else you can get for that amount that will explode your mind as much as these magical tomes? One life is not enough….

Welcome, Bright Sunne!

Sunshine and shadows

For all those who are enduring snow and ice storms - of the landscape or the heart - just a few happy images of the returning of the sun to the days here at Autumn Cottage. I hope they lift your spirits as much as they do mine.

The crocuses are calling the bees

Robin is Master of all he surveys

The snowdrops have company ...

...but so does Robin - and the song-competition is glorious!

 

 

What's in a Name? So Many Memories...

Clearing the winter leaf blanket as the daffodils shoot up

We both chuckled when Alec came in yesterday morning, togged up for a spot of gardening. He has lost weight recently, so thought a little assistance would be useful in the holding up of  his gardening trews. He had found a pair of brocaded braces in his cupboard, so, thinking them suitable for gardening duty, (very sartorial, is Alec!), had hitched up his pants and was ready for work.

But as he was finishing his coffee, prior to foraying out into the far reaches of the garden, he mentioned that he had noticed that the name 'Latham' was written on the inner side of said braces. How on earth had that got there?? Then their origin dawned on me; they had last been worn by my father, in his final days in a nursing home, an establishment  that - of course - required all garments to be labelled.

My poor old Dad, who prided himself on his smartness of attire, who ended up in quick-change trousers, with no thought to their appearance. My Dad who so dearly loved his garden, until Alzheimer's struck; then interest in gardens and life slowly dwindled away. You realise these things looking back; in reality, he didn't 'lose' interest - interest was stolen from him by the ravages of that horrible disease. Now - 20 years later - the gardener's braces were in service again, put to work in another garden. It was a fitting usage for them.

And later, we raised a cup of memory to him, for the sake of Auld Lang Syne. I wonder if he's pruning the roses in Paradise?

Snowdrops up - crocuses waiting in the wings

Hearts - Part 2

Briefly looking in, after working hard in the garden for the last few days; plants are already starting to burst out everywhere, so there is much to be done before it is too late to cut back over the new growth. But considering today's date, I thought I would just share with you a few more Hearts that have found their way down inside the summerhouse.

Outside the summerhouse, the pond is ready for some cleaning up attention - look how bleak and untidy it looks at the moment. But under the surface, life is stirring - and above the surface, peaceful corners are being created. I hope that this 'Woman at the Well' will be joined by many other other women this year, visiting and finding peace as they  sit by the pond and watch the wildlife.

Watch this space as spring rolls in and the garden wakes up again…

The Funny Bits of the Broccoli

Preparing a family Sunday  lunch yesterday, part of which was broccoli - one of our favourite veg. All the 'little trees' were nicely arranged in the steamer, but then came the peeling and slicing of the main stump - which to me is one of the delicacies of the vegetable, rather than something to throw away. Drizzled with butter, it has a flavour and texture reminiscent of an artichoke heart, which to me is a gastronomic pleasure of great delight (especially those bought, floating in brine, from the street market just off the Gugli bridge in Venice! ) 

Sliced and ready to go

Nothing wasted - off to the compost!

The prep procedure, and the thought that this part of the plant is normally discarded, set me to thinking of all the other things which were served to me as a child - all of which I happily consumed - that fell out of favour in later years, and would now definitely be considered 'funny bits'. My housewife mother was, shall we say, not well funded on the housekeeping front , such that - like most other valiant women of her background and era - she spent a good portion of her life shopping for, preparing and cooking food for her family. Economy - *great* economy was the order of the day - yet I have memories only of the most delicious and abundant meals appearing daily on the table.

In truth, most of the dishes would not now suit me, as they were mostly meat based and I now rarely consume  animal flesh; but as a post-war child, I was used to food animals still being kept on a small scale in many back gardens. Chicken and rabbit appeared on my plate quite regularly (though whole chickens were reserved for Christmas and Easter). Apart from what was home-provided, money was spent on all manner of meats from the butchers - a place I now avoid, but remember from those days only as the shop with the doorway filled with tiled pictures of hearty bulls and sheep - and a smiling piggy-butcher 'mannikin', complete with pristine apron and knife held in trotter, in the window where pork joints would later lie!

 

(Looks as if they still make those figures now! *)

Those expensive joints rarely came home with Mam - but with what she did bring, she worked miracles. Huge cow's hearts - to be stuffed and sliced (and in later years, 'borrowed' to be dissected beforehand, as part of my 'A' level Zoology course); rolled breast of lamb; tripe - wonderful tripe - cooked in milk with carrots, potatoes and onions (oh, I can smell it now!). And there was more….

My father kept several Alsatians - brought with him out of the RAF from his time as a Police Dog Handler there - and my uncle was bailiff on a dairy farm. When a stillborn calf was born… well, put the two together and more economising was under way.

I clearly remember how expert I was - at the grand old age of four - in ably assisting the 'preparation' of such bounty; my own final job being to take the calf's head (already split in two) into Mam, in the jam-making pan, to be boiled up, cooled and then picked over, finally to make wibbly-wobbly brawn, and tongue, separately coiled and sliced. You might think that these sights would give a four year old nightmares - they certainly did not give me any - only  abiding interest, awe and reverence at the bodily beauty and intricacy of all creatures.

But nowadays, I make do with broccoli!

Romanesco Broccoli - the Italians always do it better :-)

Much more on economical cooking at this interesting, entertaining and informative site

(* Pig-figure Image from www.lifesize-models.co.uk)

It All Started with the Angels ...

St Bride - John Duncan - 1913

A chance posting of a favourite painting of mine opened up a very heartfelt conversation with some online friends yesterday. The beautiful painting is that of the death of St Bride  by John Duncan - pertinent because Monday was the Feast Day of St Brigid of Kildare, the Christian personification/adaptation of the Celtic Goddess Brigid. In Celtic spirituality, Brigid is associated with Imbolc, the festival between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, when the return of the light and the stirrings of fertility is celebrated, but the presence of Winter is also still acknowledged and gratitude given for the warmth of hearth and home. But the image of the death of the Christian Saint was an image which led to a discussion of mortality and, amongst other topics, to the growing movement of Soul Midwives, tutored and encouraged by the founder of the movement, Felicity Warner. 

Many readers will know that I spent a few years studying and obtaining a Master's degree in Death Studies at the University of Winchester (a course now available online, entitled Death, Religion and Culture). One of the many blessings of engaging in such a course was to meet a number of very exceptional people; Felicity is just one of those individuals, an immensely warm and gentle soul, who is the very embodiment of Metta - loving-kindness.

In a Western world which has become ever more 'hospitalisation-oriented' for those reaching the end of their lives, Felicity has (building upon her own personal experiences with death) grown an ever increasing band of people who do just what it says on the tin; they partner and 'midwife' the transition of individuals through death, giving them gentle and compassionate physical (non-medical) and spiritual support in both Hospices and at home; they help to take the fear out of dying.

As an ageing population, many of us are now experiencing the death of loved ones and contemplating our own mortality. One of the most frequently expressed fears in our Western societies is the fear of the unknown nature of the death experience. As in all other areas of life, knowledge can be powerful. Death is the one thing guaranteed to us all - so if it still holds unspeakable fears for you then I encourage you to empower yourselves by at last putting those fears into words, person-to-person or written on the page.

I know many people who are ready and willing to talk about death - what you think about it, what you may fear about it - what you might hope for yourself and your loved ones. There are many of us out here, nowadays - people from many different backgrounds, offering many different pathways, who will help you to talk. Look out for Death Cafés near you - forums where you can chat about mortality over coffee and cake. They are held in  congenial places and give time for thinking and deciding what is wanted for  the final days of your loved ones and yourself. And discover more about Soul Midwives and how you can incorporate their approach to death in your own wishes and desires.

Also - don't forget - there is always my own listening ear here as well. If you want to talk…I'm just on the other side of this blog-page.

Update on the Poorly Puss

 
A Poorly Puss who is now almost completely recovered!

Just over a week ago, I feared he would not get through - but antibiotics and several spare lives seem to have saved the day. His throat is still problematic, but a change in diet is helping there. As you can see, he is not going far at the moment - pinning Dad down in an effort to retain his comfy sitting place!.

Thank you, everyone, for all your kind enquiries about Pip; they were all deeply appreciated.

Again the Wheel Turns

Winter aconite

Imbolc…Candlemas…The Great Fire Festival…Brigid's Day…St Brigid's Day

Different traditions marking the never ending turning of the year; each following the other down the centuries. Blending, splicing, appropriating, sharing inclinations to acknowledge, with relief,  the evidence of lengthening days. The return of the Sun; a noticeable stirring of fertility, but also acceptance that the bitter, cold days may still be with us for a while yet, so giving thanks and celebrating hearth and home, fire and light-in-darkness.

This is how  Autumn Cottage looks on the Northern Hemisphere Imbolc days of 1st-2nd February 2015

Fragrant Winter Honeysuckle at the kitchen door

Sharp shadows and emerging snowdrops under the apple tree, looking down to the summerhouse...

... and back to the herb garden and the field beyond

The first solitary clump of snowdrops open under the tree...

...a whole drift of them under the hedgerow across the road

Purple Euphorbia putting on new growth

Abundant catkins on the hazel against a clear, but very cold blue sky

Finally, (below) to warm us all while the chill winter winds still blow, the warmth and light of a past Imbolc fire celebration in Marsden, West Yorkshire*.

Keep warm, celebrate hearth and home, but also welcome the sun, friends - at this Imbolc, Blessed be!

(*Image courtesy Wikipedia Commons)

 

 

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