Perfect day

Bruised but satisfied: I must be in Snowdonia.

After a satisfying day of walking, conference calls and writing, I needed something comforting for supper. Easy and not too taxing were my objectives. I didn't want to mess with too many pots or dishes afterwards. It was already 10 pm and I was both mentally and physically tired from the day's activity.  

The solution: noodles in a green curry sauce with vegetables that were almost raw, plus a bit of coconut milk, crushed peanut and cashews, a handful of Thai spice and herbs. The end result: a creamy, sweet but moderately hot soup. I slurped it up from a big bowl: it was remarkably filling. I felt 'healthier' for having taken the time to make it. 

Last night I slept almost 6.5 hours according to my sleep tracker. I even dreamt - or remember dreaming. Best night in over a week. Not sure why I slept so soundly.  It could be that David had left earlier, and I had my little bolt hole back to myself; or, it might have been the  effect of a long yet industrious work day, divided in half by scrabbling around the foothills. More than likely the latter.  Never underestimate the impact of two mountain walks, even if only 6 or so miles combined. 

Mid morning I enjoyed a longer walk with David and dogs, taken as a break after an intense work session. David had a long drive to Hampshire. A fast paced jaunt was necessary to say goodbye and prepare mentally for an imminent departure. Later in the evening, Soren and I had a second, more leisurely walk, managing to return just before a foggy mist started to descend. A pretty stroll under a canopy of colourful clouds - pink, peach, charcoal, deep blue, providing us with a good body and brain stretch. I still had several more hours of writing ahead of me.

On the first walk I did manage to fall down twice. As usual, my left ankle spontaneously folded over leaving me unexpectedly sprawled on the ground. The first time I broke my fall by thrusting the left hand squarely into a spiky plant full of thorns. The second time I fell on the stony track coming down the hill. On that occasion my right knee took the brunt of the fall - with a slight graze. Alas, I managed to pull most of the thorns out, but my knee is still a bit bruised and swollen.

Despite the embarrassing stumbles, all these things combined made me feel healthy. 

Such is August in Snowdonia.

Coal Fire

Coal Fire

There is no time to love a hot coal fire, except in the dark of a wet December night.  Each shovelful of carbonised ferns is haphazardly sprinkled onto the head of an already glowing bed of embers.  Ebony gems roll to find their place in between the flaming crevices, or scuttle off the grate onto the red tile floor, landing with a clatter, stopping at the edge of a ripple of velvet ash. 

It's a dirty business from start to finish. Slag smoke clings to clothes, it creeps into the fur of dogs, and lingers on skin.  But it is not as black as the face of the miner who digs it from the pit, who coughs it up, spits it out like phlegm.  Stained, creased hands shovel piles into stud sealed boxes like trunks on wheels, pushed through tunnels of steel and rock. 

Together they emerge from the halcyon bowels of industry, climbing upwards in noisy lifts or conveyor belts.  One is delivered in a bag, while the other arrives in a box.  Both end as waste, consumed by greed and obsolescence. 

Utility is lost, no longer the desired fuel to fire trains, or ships, or power plants.  Mr. Wells' words, now undone, are in reverse.  Our civilisation, it is not founded on coal, but rather something darker, a progress much worse. 

Homecoming

Today is just another #technicolor day in the shire. I'm sitting on the caboose-like veranda of the #shepherdshut, drinking my second pot of tea. Zara is running around like a mad thing chasing flying creatures and chewing sticks. Soren my little Buddha, is sitting on the grass watching the world go by while waiting for his next victim - he runs up and down the length of the garden, barking, whenever a cyclist or walker passes by.

I say ‘just’ with a grain of salt because I have been away travelling in the USA for a month - a multi-city trip including Charleston, New York City, Poughkeepsie and Richmond. I left on a grey day in March, and returned to find spring in full swing.

Fortunately, I arrived in time for the splendour of the bluebells - every year - the vivid purple and blue swathes of colour appear as if by magic, transforming the woods into enchanted fairy patches - ample enough fodder for an imaginative brain to conjure up pixies, elves, dwarfs and leprechauns wiling away the hours amongst the bumble bees and butterflies.

Sometimes I think if I look hard enough I'll find tiny pewter tankards dropped between the stems. Surely if I was a fanciful creature of the woods, I would be out there celebrating the glorious eruption of a perfect spring.

Flying home never felt better after spending a month barely sleeping more than 3 hours a night. Too many thoughts, worries, trips, planes, hotels, troubles, presentations, projects kept me awake more hours than I can count. I missed everyone’s birthday – David, Erika and Schuyler, as well as Easter. I have not long here either, as I am bound for another spate of trips every month until November.

I don't usually take photographs from the windows of planes, but this trip I found myself doing it every time I took off and landed. The sunsets were spectacular, the low country spreading out below me in South Carolina - its winding rivers and hazy warmth stretching across the salt marshes, out to the sea and beyond. The view of Manhattan nestled in smog, its towering skyscrapers looking like open-mouthed birds waiting for worms and grubs to be dropped in. Illuminated by the golden beams of a sunset, I felt honoured to be flying into the urban nest of creativity and inspiration.

Then again, while whizzing over the woods and hills of Virginia, I was fascinated by the giant pincushion-like trees numbered in the thousands, a natural path of seasonal fertility – marked by the thickness and colour of leaves, or lack of them – quite visible from the air as I made my way south again. I wished it was autumn – and then felt ever so slightly homesick.

Yet I still longed for England where the nucleus of my family live. As we flew over Windsor Castle at 6.22 am, I couldn't resist snapping a few shots of the royal residence and majestic Thames twisting its way towards London.

I was never so happy to see my misspelled name on the sign held up by the driver collecting me. Two hours up the motorway, I was back in the shire, dogs eagerly bounding around me. I arrived to a quiet house, a little note and my Italian coffee pot filled with freshly ground beans, all ready to percolate. An hour later I had washed away the thousands of miles of air plane grime, and was resting in the garden, feet up, being serenaded by a plethora of industrious garden birds.

In the afternoon, David returned with his friend Russell pulling our little shepherds hut. What a sight. David had already prepared the spot in the garden where the new addition would finally rest. It was quite an ordeal collecting and bringing it home, with several unplanned stops along the way - a small petrol spillage, a hiccup with trailer bolts not wanting to turn, light board trauma and such. Upon arrival in the shire, getting the hut into the garden was nothing short of an engineering feat. The blue tits, finches and robins were not the only creatures busy at work preparing for the summer!

David had refit the fence running along the side of the drive so that the entire thing worked like a five bar swing gate - but was actually just the fence panelling. Admittedly impressed with his hidden entrance, I watched the vintage Ford Holland ground maintenance tractor with giant balloon tires reverse into the garden.  I am told that balloon tires are used to keep pristine lawns from being churned up. Happily I can report this is 100% true - not a single bit of dirt or turf was upturned.

We named our shepherds hut Two and Three Quarters - as it sits between number 2 and 3. It is certainly special. Built about 12 years ago by a 79 year old man from Norfolk, it is the epitome of a man's shed on wheels. 2/34s was erected on a farm tractor base - in true shepherds hut fashion.

She is made from solid clap board siding that is painted vivid green with cream coloured windows. The hut boasts a panelled tin roof that arches beautifully, with a tin-hat smoke stack that is expertly fitted to a fantastic little wood stove. There are also two sizeable solar panels which charge the battery that powers the little brass lights inside the hut.

The interior of 2 3/4s is clad in a lovely amber-honey stained bead board that lines the walls and ceiling. The arched beam work cuts across the ceiling – once decorated with brasses, all that remains of them are the faint marks left where dozens once hung.

There is double platform bed, built into a beautiful bead board panel, surrounded by paned windows, brass light fittings, and corner shelves.

The hut includes a miniature sideboard kitchenette equipped with a single bowl sink with brass tap and fittings. A gas stove and gas fridge are built into a set of shabby chic wooden cabinets, connected with smart stainless steel counter top. My plan is to run a dowel with three panels of cotton curtain to conceal the front of the cabinets so it resembles an old Maine pantry.

Across from the kitchenette a 'sofa' is built into the side. The seating area doubles as single bunk bed when the back cushion is repositioned and reassembled with the little columns to hold it up as the top single bunk. As a settee, it is perfect for sitting in front of the wood stove, watching the world go by through the full Dutch-door-that is as wide as the doors in the cottage.

The wood stove is incredibly economical and efficient - using only a few short pieces of oak, the entire hut heats up like a furnace.

Two and three quarters boasts panoramic views of fields and trees thanks to the expert positioning by David. No matter where you sit, lie or stand, you can see green trees, fields, woods, sky and animals from every aspect.

Fortunately the windows open sweetly – with adjustable brass fittings. Although I will replace the curtains and nets currently hung, they are certainly adequate enough to provide privacy, light, and a sufficient twee factor for now.

The dogs are in heaven - Zara especially. As Zara is a German Shepherd, she imagines the hut as her very own shepherdess hut. She does look the part – impressive - sitting on the black cast iron veranda or covered porch. Because 2 3/4s sits quite high off the ground with 6 wooden steps up to the little porch – it offers enough height to provide uninterrupted views overlooking the woods and field across the road where my beautiful herd of deer often graze. Perhaps because 2 3/4s is made entirely of wood - it is solid and cosy and has become the favourite place for everyone to have a kip.

At night, from the platform bed with the curtains open, the view of the stars - lit up in the blackness - unimpeded by light pollution, is heavenly. The first evening as I lay there looking out the window, a saw a shooting star fall just to the left of the white crescent moon.

There is a good vibe about the hut, as it was designed with care and love by a good craftsmen whose favourite past time was to pull it around with a coal-fired steam engine. She is the ideal addition to our little house in the shire. Two and three quarters in the land of Spare Oom is as magical as we could have hoped.

I couldn't have wished for a better homecoming.

A celebration of light, life and solitude in a North Yorkshire fishing port

I turn fifty on the weekend.  

To mark the occasion, I retreat to the wilds of North Yorkshire. 

Saturday, David and I set out in the dark, leaving before the birds awaken. We spend the day driving, travelling unimpeded by a fixed schedule, taking time to stop along the way.  Nine hours later, we arrive at our destination -  a tiny little horseshoe-shaped fishing village in North Yorkshire.

We are staying in a one up, one down terraced cottage that sits above the harbour, nestled into the grassy bank of a cliff.  The entire village is surrounded by cliffs that shelter and smother it from a persistent wind that howls unchecked just a hundred meters further up the hill.  

At the top of the road, a narrow strip of green belt separates us from a plunging drop into the sea.  Two miles down the road, a well-lit potash mine dominates an otherwise pristine landscape, one of its two towering chimneys constantly puffing spurious wisps of smoke.  Apparently it is the deepest mine in the United Kindom - 1500 meters deep, with more than 7 kilometers of tunnel stretching beneath the North Sea.   

In the village, it's only the stars that shine in the night. They twinkle like ornaments suspended above the blue-velvet and tangerine striped sky.  The cliff face defines the perimeter of the village.  In certain light the rock formations look less menacing, almost animal-like, perhaps a more benign image of a sleeping dog resting its head in its paws.  Beneath the natural fortress there are several higgledy-piggledy rows of stone cottages. 

The houses are connected by a network of worn cobblestone passages. In the dark, the click of footsteps and doors closing bounce off the hard surfaces.  As the light recedes, the lime-washed walls are bathed in an an amber light that spills from windows. It seeps through cracks in drawn curtains, softenimg the hard lines. 

I listen as the water in the channel laps its way out to sea, sliding past red and blue painted dinghies.  When the tidal sea water drains into the harbour, a gaggle of industrious ducks pick over the exposed rocks and sea weed. There are children running across the foot bridge that joins the two halves of the port.  A wary cat slinks along the outer edge of the shared bridge, avoiding the blue and green nets they carry.

At the bottom of the hill, the harbour wall stretches around the cove like a pair of arms not quite long enough to fully embrace it.  Along the top of the wall, a single beacon intermittently blinks red.  The base of the concrete and granite fortress sparkles in the light.  Beyond the gap in the sea wall, frothy white caps churn in a steel grey sea. It is the North Sea stretching out as far as the eye can see.

In the evening, after the sun sets and the moon has risen, I walk the dogs along the harbour wall, clutching the leads tightly, tugging their heads back from the edge of the pavement.  There below the tumbling rocks, amidst the curling ripples, I spot the tiny head of a solitary seal bobbing haplessly in the surf.   

In the photograph depicting the gap in the harbour wall, look past where the waves are falling on the beach, you can see the lone seal's black head.

Later in the evening, I fall into a deep sleep on the sofa.  I dream I am talking to my brother.  When I awaken at 1.00 am, the room is cold.  I check my emails.  There is a short two liner from my brother admitting he spent the last 20 minutes composing an email, but when he finally hits the send button, it disappears, unwilling to find its way across the Atlantic due to a bandwidth issue.  I climb the narrow staircase leading to the bedroom, slip under a duvet that smells of lavender.  I sleep until Soren, a freckle-faced Welsh Springer, puts two paws on my head.  Time to go out. It is 3.00 am. 

Soren looks too eager to disappoint.  We get up and pull on jumpers, a jacket and a scarf, then quietly trundle out the door.  Spurred on by the cold air, we bolt up the hill nearly as quickly as the dogs. At the top of the hill, we pause to listen to the roar of a full tide crashing into the rocks below.  Soren lifts his head to suck in a good dose of night air.  I pull him nearer, unwilling to get any closer to the cliff's edge.  

We continue for a half mile, briskly walking towards the glowing lights of the mine.  We hear the sound of men's voices,  the distant thud of car doors closing, watch the thin white beams wind their way up the hill.  A car turns in the direction of the mine.  Maybe the early shift starts at 3.30 am.  At last, the dogs relieve themselves, enabling us to turn back towards the house. 

Once home, we light a coal fire. Afterwards, David takes himself off to bed.  I sit at the table writing.  Two teapots later, I pull the curtains aside.  The sky is beginning to warm like the flame of a gas oven - deep purple and blue, surrounded by a growing ball of orange. Realising the light Is returning, I call up to David to tell him it Is time.  It takes him five minutes to get dressed and come down the stairs.  I am already standing outside in my socks, camera in hand. Somewhere further east, the sun is coming up.  It hasn't yet emerged, but dawn is edging its way across the sky.  I dart inside, urging him to hurry so we don't miss it.

We don't. We get to the harbour wall in time to hear, feel and see the sunrise.    

The dogs run excitedly on the sandy beach which glows like molten lava.  

David discovers a fledgling gull at the base of the cliff, probably blown off its nest in the night.  He lifts it, inspecting the wings, but the prognosis is not good.  David carries the injured bird to a more protected rock pool, leaving it there, knowing it is more than likely to become breakfast for a seal or some other predator.  

The poor thing is just a young one. A reminder that beauty and consequence go hand in hand.  The place we have come to, it is full of solitude. 

When diplomacy fails

Today marks the 100th anniversary of the Brownies - not the pudding, the organisation. 

I was a Brownie for about five minutes, until by mutual agreement I wasn't. 

You see, my local Brownie troop's leader had two kids - a girl and a boy, similar in age to me and my younger brother. 

A couple days a week my brother and I walked or cycled the 3 miles home from school, along with a gaggle of other kids, most of whom lived a lot closer to the school than we did.

On those days, the Brownie leader's kids, one of whom was in the same troop as me, would bully my brother.

One of those days, I stood up to the bullies - to try to put a stop to the cajoling and hurtful remarks. The altercation moved from words to punches. Yep, I punched the boy (not the girl), ending my career as a Brownie (as well as the bullying).  

Violence is never a good path, however, when diplomacy failed to resolve the problem, I felt I had no other choice. I was seven.

As a consequence of my actions, I was chucked out of the beloved Brownie troop for demonstrating unBrownie-like behaviour.

To me, it seemed worth the sacrifice. The bullying stopped. We continued to walk or cycle past the bullies' house (on the way home from school).  My brother was happier.  

Turns out my little bro's happiness and wellbeing meant more to me than the arts and crafts.

I'd probably do it again - defend someone against a bully - no matter how much I liked the fluffy kid stuff.

Related and timely article: 9 Reasons why having brothers makes you happier

The Allotment

March 23, 2014

This weekend we worked tirelessly in the garden, starting with creating a few pots right through to planning out the vegetable patch.  

First I pulled the primrose out from the overgrown herb garden and replanted them in pots.  They now line the wall along the front door, perking the whole entrance up - it looks quite cheery.  The daffodils throughout the garden are in full bloom, so I keep picking them at random, popping them into upturned champagne flutes along the windowsills.  I clipped the blooms off my bargain hyacinths - too tall to be commercially viable at the garden centre, I bought a half a dozen containers for a £1 each.  Now the whole house and front walkway smell of Easter.  

A friend of David's came and rotovated a generous 4 x 12 meter patch for the vegetable garden, reclaiming the corner of the garden that had previously been lost to the overgrown brambles and nettles.  After much deliberation in the garden centre, we bought all our seeds to begin planting in trays in the greenhouse. 

Here's the line-up so far of what the veggie patch will contain:

Carrots

Potatoes

Kohl Rabi

Beet root

Pumpkin

Squash (butternut and spaghetti)

Courgette

Green beans

Yellow beans

Runner beans

Watercress

Spinach

Fennel 

Rocket

Tomato

Peppers

Leeks

Spring onion

Peas

Swiss chard

Hopefully we will have a good harvest. The soil is wonderful and rich and there is a ton of organic compost behind our oak tree to cut into the soil. This weekend we need to weed and turn the soil on the herb bed as well.

In addition to the herbs and veggies, I planted a bunch of wild flower seeds. Sowing the seeds required spiking whole sections of the garden with a tool that was shaped like a "V" with a single wheel (like a wheelbarrow) and a metal spiked roller on the narrow pointed end of the V.  The handle bars at the top end of the V had to be held low while I pushed this thing back and forth hundreds of times on the lawn, making holes for the seeds to fall into. My arms and back felt broken.

March 29, 2014

David worked for hours digging out the remnants of the bramble roots from the new veggie patch.  Back breaking work, but rewarding as the garden is truly shaping up.

We fenced the veggie plot off to keep the bunnies and dogs at bay.  I had originally wanted to put a polythene tunnel up around the plot. I am still debating if this is the route to go, but in the meantime, we are persevering as is.

We sowed the first early potatoes and the peas, then began the process of sifting the soil out for the carrot rows.  So many rocks - and of course we want perfectly shaped carrots, hence the sifting and resifting of the soil into which the carrot seeds will be planted.

On Sunday I started to dig up the wasteland near the garage, overlooking the westerly field. In the afternoon, this area gets full sun, and is protected on three sides - one by the house, one by the garage and one by the mock orange and laurel.  It is the ideal place for a 4 x 4 meter patio seating area with a small fire pit. I'm pretty sure it's been used as the household tip for the last 200 years, as it is full of rocks, broken glass, and multi-coloured pottery shards.   

Sometime around mid-afternoon, the neighbour came round with a bottle of fizz, a couple of bottles of ale and some glasses. All work on the patio ceased for the rest of the day - probably not the best idea to wield a pick axe after consuming a few glasses of bubbles on a sunny Mothering Sunday afternoon.  Oh, and the carrot sowing expedition was also postponed until the "after work hours" sessions during the week.

April 1, 2014

In the early evenings, while the light was still with us, we worked in the garden for a few hours. David continues to pitch fork his way through the rows methodically. He has his own process for clearing: he creates a trench in front of the row he's cleaning, then proceeds to excavate every possible obstacle - roots, rocks, pottery, bricks.  Slowly he moves his way backwards, pulling out the deleterious debris churned up by the rotovator.  

So far we are ahead of our planting by about 2 meters.  As long as three rows a day are cleaned out, we should stay on track. It makes me laugh because my brother, my Dad and Aunt Martha used the same strategy with teaching - "As long as you remain at least a week ahead of the students, everything is fine."

April 2, 2014

Today on BBC Radio 4 there was a lot of coverage about a recent Australian study that advocates eating 7 servings of fruit and veg a day can greatly increase your lifespan.  

The worldwide campaigns to date have been focused on "Five a day" - now every food retailer and government agency focused on health is reeling because they have to work out how to change all their videos and advertising. Conversely, this is an agency's dream!  

One aspect of the study emphasises the benefit of eating a higher ratio of vegetables to fruit as part of the overall 7 a day mix.  In line with the new study's findings, I've been trying to eat at least seven portions of fruit and veg daily - without running to the store to buy more.

I inventoried what was already available in the kitchen. Here is what I had in the fridge and pantry as a base:

• Apples
• Grapefruit
• Clementine
• Lime
• Lemon
• Coriander
• Parsley
• Swiss chard
• Cucumbers
• Carrots
• Red pepper
• Spinach
• Red cabbage
• Olives
• Capers
• Tinned tomatoes
• Kidney beans

The challenge was to use what was available in a creative way that would satisfy the new 7 a day, while maintaining the meal's focus around the veg and fruit, and not a meat dish.  

Since there were three bags of Swiss chard in the fridge, it featured prominently. Chard is a tall leafy green vegetable commonly referred to as Swiss chard, and scientifically known as Beta vulgaris. Chard belongs to the same family as beets and spinach, and shares a similar taste profile with a flavour that is bitter, pungent, and slightly salty. 

First I created a sauce with the tinned tomatoes, fresh herbs, capers and olives. I lightly cooked carrots and Swiss chard, folding that into the red sauce.  I added kidney beans and some spices.  I then cooked some whole-grain brown rice mixed with a bit of quinoa in the steamer. Once done, I mixed the lot together and created a warm salad which would form the basis of several meals throughout the week. 

For example, I had Swiss shard dolmas, Swiss chard and rice salad with chilli sauce, Swiss chard juice (fantastic).

For breakfast, I focused on fruits and a green juice I had made earlier in the week. The green juice contained Swiss chard, cucumber, ginger, spinach and lime. My usual toasted home-made whole meal bread was modified slightly this week to include capers, olives and red pepper.

Seeing as I was eating Swiss chard as one of my vegetables a few times a day, I decided to look online to find out what were its benefits.  I always knew it was good for your blood because it can help to neutralise acid (a natural antacid), but I never realised how beneficial Swiss chard was until today.

It turns out Swiss chard is the wonder vegetable, truly one of the vegetable valedictorians with its exceptionally impressive list of health-promoting nutrients.  Here's what I learned:

• Anti-inflammatory
• Anti-oxidant
• Antacid
• Bone health 
• Blood sugar regulation
• Potentially protects liver
• Potentially enables pancreatic cell regeneration

The list of benefits is mind boggling.  And, Swiss chard tastes great; as it tastes slightly salty, it also ticks off the savoury taste buds.  I recommend you check out all the benefits of Swiss chard here.

Swiss chard, spinach, spinach beet and beet root were always on my vegetable patch white board.

I hope you will add it to your list too.  Swiss chard is easy to grow and it produces all summer because it is a cut and come again kind of vegetable.  If you are worried about your blood sugar or managing diabetes, get cracking. Broadly sow your Swiss chard now (March or April), and you will be picking and eating it from June until October. 

Here's a fantastically simple way of cramming in lots of veggies and fruits - an Open-face Shallot, Swiss chard and Apple Sandwich.  I made up a recipe card for you to use.  I think adding a bit of Rhubarb to this combination would be interesting as well - maybe with a bit of balsamic vinegar drizzled on top.

For more ideas, here's a comprehensive Pinterest collection of all the wonderful things you can do with Swiss chard.  Why not add your ideas here too.