Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Summer Quarters

So, the sun has come out to play!   We can remove a few layers of clothes and abandon the thick socks - until next week, probably.   We'll enjoy it while we can.


This is the view as I take my daily walk up to the dovecote and through the farmyard.   It is like walking through a John Constable painting.


Meet Bill, he belongs to a friend in the village.   He is a lovely old dog (about 11/12 years old) but his owner can't walk him at the moment due to health problems, so I have the pleasure of taking him out.   It is like walking a feather on the lead compared to walking my big bruiser,


Dobson who is doing his best to look slim in this photograph.    He is sporting his favourite neckerchief and wearing yogurt on his nose - he loves sneaking a lick out the empty yogurt pot!


And (I know, I know!)  here is home, Parsonage Cottage, seen from a distance,  across the barley field.      I am stepping back from the world of blog, just for the summer.

Life is busy and time is short.

Instagram is something I have been exploring and I think the short and snappy format will probably be easier for me at the moment.   I'll still be reading blogs, dropping the occasional comment.   Back in the cooler months, when life has settled down a bit.

(For anyone who does do instagram: this link should take you to my IG page  otherwise known as parsonage_cottage_kitchen)

Have a wonderful summer.
xx

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

Quiet Thoughts



Little Bunting is a very small village, with a population of around one hundred and eighty people, if we include the neighbouring hamlet of  Lush  Meadows.

Even small happenings send out a ripples which are felt by almost the whole community.     Well, we have been hit by a tsunami of sadness and loss.

One of the first people I got to know when we moved here, eleven years ago, was a farmer's wife.   She was in her early 70's then and we would watch with awe as she spent long days helping with the farming, driving tractors and trailers, harvesting and working the land with the rest of them.    I never saw her drive a car but usually saw her driving through the fields and surrounding lanes in a red tractor or, failing that, on her motorised pedal bike.

We got to know each other a little better as we talked and waited for the mobile library to arrive at the village hall;  we were determined to keep the van coming to the village, if at all possible.    We would continue to talk as we made our way home.    Her home being about a quarter of a mile further along from ours, our nearest neighbour on that side of the road.

A few days ago we learned that she had fallen from her tractor and has subsequently died.     Shock, disbelief, sadness, especially for her family.     The funeral is tomorrow.

At the other end of the life scale, and even more shocking, was the loss of a young man in his teens.     He was greatly loved but sorely troubled by dark clouds.   Unbearable sadness.  My heart goes out to his family.   At the weekend about sixty young people walked from the village to a place where he used to play, a place where he was carefree and happy.     We all hope that he is in a happier place.   

These two losses, plus a potential threat to the safety of someone we hold dear, have weighed heavily.    No doubt the sun will soon come out and life will trundle on.


Meanwhile, my back spasms subsided after ten days, thank goodness.    Thank you for all your good wishes, they were much appreciated!

This  morning I heard my first cuckoo of the year and I also discovered a big patch of wild strawberries - something I have been watching out for for many years.    

Life goes on.