Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

‘1/1/22 Saturday Last night just before midnight, we strolled down the dark lane, wine glasses in hand; spotted constellations, watched distant fireworks. This morning Dog had done several splats of foulness on the living room carpet. HNY! Also this morning: In bed, chinking coffee cups, we say- what will this year bring? We hope it’s a track and a toilet shed.’ Well, we have a track on our land, all the way from top to bottom gate. It’s not as finely finished as we’d hoped, but it is here. We have a toilet shed, and it’s not the quality lumber we had hoped for, but it is built, and it will suffice. Everything is layering up, however slow or wonky: up! There were, too, events that we did not foresee or hope for. The van engine blew up. We can’t fix it. No one wishes to buy it, at least not yet. It will be utilised as a winter shelter on our land until a better idea/miracle arrives. A painful chunk of land fund went to buy a replacement vehicle, which is much cheaper to run so there is

On this bitter cold morning we wake, expecting the heavy frost yet no less delighted, no less surprised. Coffee and coats and boots are employed for warmth. We venture outside, we pour up and down the garden, exclaiming each treasure found- Spider webs are made of barbed crystals! The sky above is cornflower blue, the greenery bold as summer but ice edged, bejewelled. The horizon lost in mist. Only here exists. Mr and me, like two oversized children, our fingers stabbed with cold, are easing ice shapes out of containers; we are stacking the shapes into ice sculptures, making oosh noises of hurt, and ahh noises of joy: it’s beautiful! It’s alien! My poor fingers! Because ice melts, we seize the moment. See how impermanence is pain and wonder? See how it drives us into discovery? See how impermanence is the extraordinary in the ordinary? Every day there is something that you will never see again - it’s that, or never hold it in your sight at all. Every day there is something that you w

Today I was stuck, briefly, in traffic. Gulls were keening, a sound that goes into my soul in a good way. When did I last sit to listen to the gulls? I've been busy with good things but oh my! I am tired. I knew that I was tired this time, I have been taking more breaks, resting up, allowing myself to miss our Dog, and clearly, I had better keep doing this. I always think a quick respite will do; sometimes one needs a stretch of rest. I keep writing. Writing can be done in gentle accruals and then becomes an activity that can feed me back. I did not write a Halloween story though, not even a comforting one, instead, I am keeping the tradition of sharing some writing with you, Dear Readers. Below are two extracts from the peripherals of the novel I am slowly completing; the first is a prequel that I wrote for my own guidance so probably will not be included in the final edit, the second is an attempt at describing the story, which will probably be rewritten over and over until the

We had wanted a puppy and while at 10 months old she was not quite that, we saw her in the rescue home and we knew she was right for us. She was a liver and white Springer Spaniel, real name Midi (not too big, not too small) with a slender, tentative form. I respected her privacy so online she was known as Dog- many of you, Dear Readers, have watched her grow up with us, and will be sorry to learn that her adventures have ended now: please read on, come with us, it will be okay. The hesitancy young Midi Spaniel held towards her new home was reserved for indoors. Outdoors she was absurdly reckless, usually clumsy. She pelted over barbed wire, through thorns, jumped five bar gates; she threw herself into the sea, the river, the lake, the muddy puddles, rolled merrily in dung- she hated the bath. She did not much care for the company of other dogs, though with persistence she learned tolerance, and once fell in reciprocal love. She adored children. Children could be trained to play fetch

This year, here, the Equinox has slipped by: not shy, not overlooked, more elegant, understated. This year, here, Autumn steps quietly, her satin gown spun from late summer sun, nut-bronze, gold-stitched. Her jewels are hedge-fruits, her crown is copperleaf. Where she steps the earth is rich with mulch, and tree branches bend, weighted by their crop. She is kind and stern, for all of this should be enough. We are in the garden, licking blackberry juice from purple fingers, picking out thorns, reaching for apples to eat, picking up windfalls to brew, glad to be here, this and every year. In our fields we pluck sloes, and more blackberries. Logs are stacked for longer nights. We feel the sun, smoothly warm, and the crackle of cold in the air: it is more than enough.  It is the seasonal rhythm of life. Dear Autumn, we thank you for this abundance, we honour you by the work of harvest and stores. When winter treads in you will be with us in jars, in hot bubbles of fruit, in the rich f

Day 8: We waited for cooler hours before loading up the van, intent on finishing the shed build. The Shed Saga finale! We were optimistically wrong, of course, though the roof felt was tacked down, and both the fascia and the perched diamond of finial were drilled in. The field grass was looking parched, it was the colour of wheat biscuits. Crickets chirped- they always sound merry. We were hot and sticky like two marinated chunks. ‘It looks like a shed,’ we observed, surprised. ‘We should get the doors hinged!’ But our stomachs were growling and we were clumsy-tired. The doors would have to be another adventure. Meanwhile, it was time for cooking burgers in the van, for getting our stable sofa bed ready for a well-earned sleep, for setting up one table and two chairs under the sweep of the ash tree, looking down across the lower field as the sun dipped behind us and the nearly-full pink-faced moon rose up from the tree line on the opposite hill. We fetched out our reclining chairs, im

'January 1st, 2022:  In bed, chinking coffee cups, we say- what will this year bring? We hope it’s a track and a toilet shed.' Day 1: Our DIY shed kit having been scheduled for delivery on a day on which neither of us was working, we arrived at the land having barely finished our morning coffee. Mr had pre-constructed a base, 10 feet by 8 feet, which we diligently levelled. Then we waited. We had a picnic lunch. We napped in the dapples under an ash tree. We had afternoon snacks. We wandered to survey the wild blooms, discovered an unexpected tomato plant. Somewhere between 4 and 5pm the van arrived and was directed up to the shed site; the terse driver helped us unload, and then sped away to the next ‘place in the middle of nowhere.’ We stared at the heap of flimsy panels and knew that we were wrong to skimp and go for the good price and let ourselves be lulled by the internet write-up. But perhaps we let our expectations run too far? There’s one way to find out - start the ad

Work continues on preparing the flat areas for seeding with grass and clover. We have a new routine of stopping at County Tyres to fill the van with their cast-offs, before getting to the land, unrolling one bay’s worth of weed suppressant membrane, weighing it down with one line of stinky rubber and one line of soil dug from the stony ground. By then we are overheated, feel like we’ve been dunked in vaseline, decide that will do for the day, and snort at ourselves for thinking all of this would be done in a few hours. Usually, we head home for a nap, but sometimes we have company. On this particular day, we are hosting a family picnic- the gazebo is up, some rudimentary furniture is brought from the stable, the cold box is unpacked, salad is chopped. Grandchildren 6 & 7 are here with their Mum, they are ‘helping’ which they are surprised to discover does not include rolling the tyres down the hill. Being made to attempt to recover the tyres does dampen their enthusiasm- G7 informe