Waking Ned

This is the old railway line, decommissioned in the 1960's, thanks to Dr Beeching.  A local farmer owns this stretch of it, dog walkers use it.

I used to walk along there four times a day.   That was when we first came to live in Parsonage Cottage.  We had three dogs.   Pip, Toby, and Ned.

This is Ned, he was a very large dog.   He belonged to my daughter and son-in-law, but as they were at work all day it fell to me to look after him.   Somehow that looking after him also meant that we fed him and he slept here, too...    He was a rescue dog, of course.    

He was deaf and hadn't had suitable training.   His deafness made life quite difficult for him.   Eventually I managed to teach him some hand signals, simple commands, which made life a little easier, although he still got very easily startled by things 'suddenly happening'.    He was a heavy sleeper and had to be gently woken.  That pesky deafness.

On one occasion we had to put all the dogs in kennels as we had to attend a family funeral at the other end of the country.   I had explained to them about his deafness and special needs, was assured that they would handle him carefully.  When we picked him up the young girl who fetched him delighted in telling me how she'd spooked him when she took him his breakfast and again later in the day.     He was never put into kennels again.  

He'd just follow his 'pack' - and given that they were led by Pip, a very intelligent and manipulative terrier, you can probably imagine that it was bedlam at times.

Pip was a little older and extremely bright.  She got me turned out of a dog class once, so that the trainer could show how well trained and intelligent she was.  She was the bright star of the class, as long as I wasn't with her.

I learned my lesson.   

We didn't return to class.

The third member of the pack was my little Toby.  Sweetest dog ever, though he thought he was a love machine when we first got him from the rescue kennels.   He was a kind-natured dog, loved travelling, wanted only to be with his humans.

Walks were - interesting.   

I found out the hard way, that I simply wasn't strong enough to hold all three on their leads when Pip got some mischief in her head.   

On one memorable occasion I had let them run free at a wild and deserted bit of seaside and then clipped their leads on to walk down the side of a quiet canal on the way back to the car.   I always chose my time carefully, normally we didn't meet anyone, but I was constantly scanning the horizon.

So was Pip.

She saw someone in the distance with a Yorkshire Terrier and set up such a hullabaloo, setting the two boys off.  She began to run towards her bit of mischief, so did the others.   I managed to hang on to the leads but lost my footing and was dragged along behind them.

Try picking yourself up with dignity after that!

The only consolation was that I hadn't let go of the leads.  I still had three dogs and we were quite a lot nearer the car.   I swear Pip laughed all the way home.

Then we moved to Parsonage Cottage.  Walks changed.  No need to bundle all the dogs into the car to find somewhere quiet to walk.  We are surrounded by quiet walks.

Just one problem.  To get to the nearest one, the old railway line, I have to walk about a hundred yards down a quiet lane.   Walking the three dogs together was simply not an option, even down a quiet lane.   

So I had to split them into two.  First I would walk Pip with Toby, that pairing worked because Toby was much slighter and more obedient.  

Then I would walk big Ned with Toby.  That pairing worked because Ned would follow Toby's lead and Toby wasn't being led astray by Pip.

Twice a day we'd perform this ritual, the rest of the time the dogs made do with our gardens and woodland.    Toby and I got very fit with all our walks.

That bit of old railway line became very familiar to me.

This week, I walked it with my daughter-in-law, Poppy.   It was fascinating to see it through her fresh eyes and to hear her enthusing over all the things which I used to find so exciting.

The acorns, berries, fungi, animal burrows, the birds.

It was truly wonderful.  She transformed something which has become so ordinary back into something magical and exciting.  I am very grateful to her.

(Dobson enjoyed her company, too.  Dobson is a single dog.  I know my limitations.)

We found a couple of ancient puffball mushrooms, it is difficult to tell from this snap but it is the size of a football.

We collected some acorns, simply because they are so pretty and plenty of blackberries.

Sloe gin to the left, Bramble/Blackberry Vodka to the right.  

This week has also seen our granddaughter start school, suddenly he brother seems so much older.    Now we have two for tea and fun.

Dobson loves his job as chief floor cleaner.   

Perfume in the Barley Field

This morning the sky was low, with heavy clouds and a very humid feel to the air.    It looked as though rain would soon be falling.    Still, no matter what the weather, dogs need their walks, even lazy dogs like Dobson.

He would rather spend extra time snoozing rather than risk getting his paws wet.  

I cut through the large barley field, taking the diagonal right of way, which takes one right to the heart of the field.  Dobson trotted off to enjoy all the smells which interest dogs so much and I was free to wander at my own pace, enjoying the peace.

Gradually, I became aware of a wonderful scent in the air, presumably compounded from the barley and all the plants in the distant surrounding hedges, everything being trapped by the humidity and low cloud.

It is difficult to describe the smell, other than to say that it was lovely and reminded me so much of one of my favourite perfumes from the past...which one though?  I don't know for sure, but my inner eye kept giving me the image of a silver, black and blue container - which I think contained the perfume Rive Gauche.

It is many decades since I used that perfume and I cannot consciously recall the scent at all.  I shall have to investigate next time I am shopping in town.

This evening the clouds are still low down, the air is filled with moisture and I have just walked Dobson around our little patch of woodland.    The smell in there immediately transported me back to my childhood days and our visits to the Botanical Gardens in Hong Kong.   I loved that moist and humid smell of greenery.   To be honest it could be smelt in other places, but it was always that much more intense in the Botanical Gardens due to all the foliage and plants.

The floor of the woodland is carpeted (to a height of 5 or 6 feet) with Queen Anne's Lace, Hogweed, Jack-by-the-Hedge, red campion, nettles, dock, buttercups, and lots more which I cannot name at the moment.

The gap between all this greenery and the green canopy of the trees themselves traps the air and the scent is concentrated.    

Bring on warm sunshiney days, but in the meantime I'll enjoy these lovely and evocative scents.

I borrowed the image from http://cyrustravelogues.bravesites.com

How many inches in a Narrowboat?

My younger brother, The Writer,  has just bought himself a narrowboat - a very handsome one.   He plans to live and work from this vessel.   I haven't seen it yet because it is berthed on the other side of the country in Cheshire, just a couple of miles down the road from our older brother!

I had the pleasure of looking after Hector yesterday, he'd been sick in the night and although his schoolteacher parents are generally pretty strict about sending him in, they decided that he wasn't quite well enough for school.

He was wan and pale, but a walk in the clean cold air, with Dobson, soon had roses in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes.

He had a lovely breakfast of eggybreads made using eggs laid by his favourite hen,  King Oliver, (formerly known as Shaggy) and a glass of milk.    He was refreshed and energised and could really have been in school - but I'm not complaining, I had the pleasure of his company all day.

We fell to talking about The Writer's boat, particularly how long it is.    Fifty-seven feet four inches from stem to stern.   Difficult enough for me to visualise, never mind Hector.   Out came my trusty tape measure and a piece of chalk, and we set to work measuring it off against the length of Parsonage Cottage........which is a long house.

This simple task involved using our multiplication tables and lots of calculations as we converted feet to inches, etc.  we had to measure off 688 inches - so that was from the front rain barrel, right the way along the building, almost to where the conservatory begins... seven lengths of the tape measure.

I could nip out and take a photograph but the weather is wild, wet, windy.   This sketch will give you the idea - the boat stretches from the scented roses right the way along to near the conservatory.

Hector was very impressed, in a way which he hadn't been with just the numbers.

So we did reading, maths and lots of exercise as we later took Dobson out again down to the fishponds, you can see the Old Parsonage just through the trees.

It was chilly,  windy, dry.   We had a great time and so did the dog.

We got Dobson from the RSPCA almost three years ago.   He hasn't been an easy dog to work with and there have been times when I despaired.   However, this photograph tells me all I need to know.   See how well he is walking with Hector - confident enough to leave me behind, not pulling on the lead - and best of all, on a walk which is well out of his normal comfort zone.

Moonlight in Owl Wood

I walked around Owl Wood in the company of Dobson and Miss Pinkerton

moon-shadows followed us around.

The fish pond shimmered silver 

and

 the midnight blue sky was dotted with myriad stars.

To say it was beautiful just doesn't come near.

*   *   *

This morning was cold and frosty which was no surprise

considering how clear the night sky had been.

Oh how I wish I could find the macro lens..

Miss Pinkerton followed my progress around the gardens,

wondering what I found so interesting.

Enough of playing with the camera,

it's time to walk Dobson - my darling, scaredy-boy. 

Over the last few moths I have gradually been stretching his boundaries, 

managing to persuade him just a few yards further down the lane

or to explore the boundary of an unfamiliar (to him) field

is quite a victory.

All that hard and patient work now means that our walk options have improved tremendously

even though they are nothing compared with the walks I used to take with my old dog.

Across the frosty field you can see some of the cottages down in the village.

By this time, Dobson was getting a bit anxious

but I managed to get him to walk further than before

until we reached a gateway which

overlooks this pretty garden.

It belongs to friends of ours - in the summer it is very beautiful

and makes a great venue for a summer party.

Dobson came across to peer through the wrought-iron gates

but his relief was visible

when I saw "Right, let's go home!"

Once home, I got a large pot of soup on to simmer

and finished making a couple of loaves of bread.

No prizes for guessing what we had for lunch!

x

Xitang and Manning the Pump in Lincolnshire.

The rain has been falling heavily since about 11 am so the road under the old railway bridge 

has become a swimming pool (well, paddling pool) as the water drains off the fields 

and runs down to the river at Butterbump Splash.   

Of course, compared to those areas which have been so badly affected during recent weeks, 

we have absolutely nothing to grumble about!

Xitang water town, China.

Max is outside, manning the pump, a necessary action if we are to keep our water drainage and septic tank systems working properly.   The little submersible pump needs some extra help now and then - and today is definitely one of those times.   The joys of living in the country and on heavy clay soil.  

Yesterday I came across a big folder of the photographs which Miles and Poppy took when they visited the ancient water town of Xitang.

Somehow they seem appropriate.

It feels this wet here, today.

Xitang is lovely by day, but beautiful by night, even on a rainy night when all the umbrellas

get put to good use and the lanterns are lit.

The hustle and bustle would be a bit too much for me, but I can imagine that the atmosphere must be very lively with food vendors and cooking smells, tourists, and locals.

Back to Lincolnshire and the weather, of course.

Dobson hates getting his paws wet.   There he is, part Labrador, for goodness sake, and he either goes around puddles, or jumps across them.  

 He hates to go out when the rain is falling, despite the fact that I always give him a good rub down with his towel and make sure that he is dry 

before I dry myself.   

You can probably imagine how difficult it is to get him outside, in this kind of weather, to do the necessary.    However, sometimes a boy has to do what a boy has to do, even though he assures me that he really doesn't need to go.     I clip his lead on and make him come with me into the garden.   He tugs to go back inside, but I take him around the bushes and shrubs uttering encouraging phrases..."Pee-pee"  or take him to the corner of the polytunnel (always a tempting spot to have a widdle, providing Max doesn't see him)   "Come on Dobson, pee-pee-pee, wee-wee".   "Oh, for goodness sake, dog, pee-pee...".   It takes an age to get him started, then an age to finish.

He really needed that break.

The rain is still falling heavily, there are vast puddles forming in the Owl Wood and everywhere, including the gardens, is very squelchy, the ground saturated.   The ditches along the lane were brim full this morning, I can only imagine how they must be after all this rainfall.

Enough of the rain talk.   

I came across this photograph of the two of you - remember when it was taken?

xxx

Christmas with a Rayburn

This is one of the ways in which we prepare for Christmas...it involves a lot of hard work and many dustsheets.    Oh joy!

This is the reality of living with a solid fuel Rayburn - the flue and inner workings of the beast must be cleaned out every so often.   Not many people tell you about that.   It is a hidden horror.

I adore my Rayburn, there is nothing so comforting on a cold wintery day, just ask the cats and Dobson, they fight for the prime position near the Rayburn and ignore the log burner.   We get the whole house heated, unlimited hot hot water, and it also a cooker.

This ritual of cleaning is the downside.    The pluses far outweigh the minuses but only once the job has been done and order restored.

Once the dustsheets have gone and the surfaces have all been cleaned down, etc. it is time to play around with the Christmas decorations.

Most of them are pretty ancient and are showing their age - like my beautiful kitchen angel/cherub.   The wing has crumpled a little over the years, but I am very fond of it.   The pointsettias, greenery  and pine cones are ancient, definitely past their use by date, but they remind me of Christmases past for they used to adorn the all staircases in a previous home, when my parents lived with us.  Treasured memories.

This wooden platter is filled with very old pomanders, they are at least 15 years old, shrunken and losing a few cloves, but they still scent the air.   I must make some new ones to add to the stash.

Gradually, the room begins to look festive.   I could throw all the old stuff out - but new and fancy things wouldn't make my heart sing.

So, this is how the kitchen at Parsonage Cottage gets trimmed for Christmas.  Everything is up high, out of the way of mischievous cats, although new girl Miss Pinkerton will probably jump up at some point.    Photographs can be so useful, I can see a painting which needs to be straightened, flypapers (countryside essential) which need to be taken down,  and I spy a dog who has sneaked up onto the sofa, taking advantage of my distraction.

The tree goes down the hallway to the main bedroom.   No animals are allowed into that wing of the house - doesn't stop them trying though, especially Miss Pinkerton!   Our grandchildren are enchanted with it and race down there to check out the tree although I think their main aim is to check for presents underneath the tree.

So, a tale of Christmas Past, Christmas Present and Christmases yet to come, as I hope the grandchildren will remember the fun they have at Parsonage Cottage, but more of that another time.
xxx

A 'Bad-Guy' Animal in the Owl Wood

Poor Miss Pinkerton was simply ambling through Owl Wood when something attacked her.

She screamed like a banshee as she tried to escape.

This photograph shows Dobson just before all hell broke loose, he was standing watch over his flock of hens, but had obviously heard the beginnings of the ruckus.

Normally a cowardly-custard, brave Dobson raced to her rescue and soon Miss Pinkerton and Coco (our cats) came racing back to me, through the wood.   They looked twice their normal size, with toilet-brush tails and their fur standing on end.

Dobson was silent.   Usually a rescue event is a good excuse for a bit of a bark, tell the intruder off and get some brownie points for seeing them off.   This time he worked silently and the intruder left.

When my hero re-appeared he went straight over to Miss Pinkerton and sniffed her all over,  checking to see how she was.

Blood dripped from a puncture to her ear and some tufts of hair had come out, but she was otherwise unmarked, although still very frightened.

When the grandchildren came home from school and nursery, they wanted to know what was wrong with Miss Pinkerton's ear, so we told them.

Merry listened, then said there must have been a "bad-guy animal in the wood".   She then went on to say that she would 'get a stick and kill that bad-guy animal'.   (She is only 3 and loves all our pets.   Grandpa and I had to hide our smiles as her schoolteacher mother helped her with the 'correct' response...   I prefer the simple, honest,  emotional response from Merry.   Naughty Gran.)

Miss Pinkerton seems to be content to hang around the gardens although I'm sure that will change in a day or two and she'll resume her usual patrols.  

Rainy Day Baking and Little Gems

Today began with heavy rain so the dog and I got drenched - but I am very happy about that.

Ever since Dobson came to live with us he has shown a marked reluctance to venture anywhere in the rain, even if he is desperate, he would rather cross his legs and wait until it stops raining.   I have never forced him out in the rain, but I have tried to encourage him, with little success.  

So I was delighted that today he agreed to come out into the pouring rain, for a morning walk.    He actually enjoyed it!   He didn't melt away and he found that smells are just as good in the rain.   Success after two and a half years of gentle persuasion.

Just as well I'm patient.

This handsome boy, Benedict, on the other hand, can usually be found standing out in the rain.   For some strange reason he seems to really enjoy it.     He has a shelter, he just won't use it.


The rain dried up but the day continued to be damp, gloomy, windy.    Our internet connection goes crazy on days like this (the overhead cables run through woodland trees and they need trimming) so the connection drifted in and out.   I gave up trying to read, or respond to, email, etc.

Instead, I made a cup of tea and browsed my recipe books instead.    

Christmas cake is what I wanted to get started, they always improve with keeping and steeping in alcohol.     I also like to soak the fruit in alcohol for a couple of days before mixing and baking and each year I try a different recipe.

This bowl is HUGE, there is something like 5lbs of fruit soaking in it!

I finally plumped for a recipe from my mother's old handwritten recipe book.  

Oddly enough, I have never noticed this one before, but part of the appeal was that the quantities are enough for a 9 inch cake, plus a 6 inch cake.   Perfect!    I always make two cakes, one for Max and the family and another for my younger brother, The Writer.

The recipe book was originally a diary and the first few pages still contain entries from January 1st 1962.    My mothers handwriting quickly transported me back to my 8 year old self, when we were living in Hong Kong.

The entry for 4th January 1962 reads "Jimmy Wong came round this afternoon.   Harry bought me a beautiful firestone and gold ring and I bought the matching earrings."

Here they are.  

I inherited them when my mother died, twenty years ago.    I am not a great one for jewellery, but I do enjoy wearing the pieces which my mother left me and these 'firestones' are truly beautiful.

In morning light they appear a pale blue, then as the day progresses they gradually darken and change to violet and on until they become a rich red wine colour.  Magical!

Jimmy Wong was a Chinese man who used to call around once a month.   He would bring a huge assortment of ready made jewellery and loose stones.    His smooth sales patter often tempted my mother into purchasing something!     One could ask for any stone, any setting or arrangement and a week or two later it would be delivered for inspection.  

So my mother was very much to the forefront of my mind as I set about weighing the fruit, halving cherries, etc.  

She was a wonderful cook, nothing fazed her and everything turned out tasting delicious.    Her big flaw was that she used almost every pot and pan in the house while she cooked.  The kitchen would always look like a bomb had hit it.

I work very tidily and I am a rubbish cook.   Any successes which I have are purely accidental and therefore unrepeatable!   I have a nice, tidy kitchen though.   ;-)

fliss&max

After School

This post is for you, as promised, Hector.

Love, Granny

xxx

Checking the tyre pressures, essential pre-drive checks.

Retirement at Parsonage Cottage is far from dull and rarely peaceful.    Two of our grandchildren live nearby and on school nights they spend a couple of hours with us - having their tea, talking about their day, followed by a little television viewing, or playing some very lively games on the Wii.    

Fine evenings will often find us outside in our little patch of woodland playing Hide and Seek - very noisy Hide and Seek as our granddaughter finds it impossible to hide without giggling loudly.    I always lose because the animals (dog, cats, hens) give me away - that and my white hair!

Tonight, however, I had to laugh because Dobson, the dog, was having a wonderful game of 'Tag' with little Miss Pinkerton, the ginger cat.    At first I was going to intervene, then I realised that she was actively encouraging him to chase her.     It is the first time I have seen them play together like that, I hope it won't be the last.

Young Hector loves those evenings when he is allowed to get his car out and drive it around the wood.  It is an old one, built by a different grandfather, for his grandson.    I found it listed on ebay several years ago and got it for a bargain price.   Grandpa Max did quite a lot of restoration work on it, fitted a battery, then insisted that Hector should learn to drive it properly and take a driving test.

He passed with flying colours and is a real star at reverse parking.

He went that way!

The evenings are getting darker so having functioning headlamps is an added attraction.    By 6pm their parents are home (thank goodness) and we are exhausted.    

"You're Fired!" and 'Digging for England'.

They were hired to keep our home free from rodents.

They have failed.

They're fired!





Between them, and the electronic rodent repeller, we haven't had a rodent in the house for years,   which is why it was so shocking that as I rummaged for some cleaning cloths, a large brown mouse jumped out of the box and ran over my hand to disappear into the dark space between the Rayburn and the saucepan cupboard.

These two snoozed on, unaware.

Their attitude seems to be that they deal with the vermin outside, anything indoors is for me.

I'll cut their rations if they don't deal with the problem soon.

Meanwhile, humane mouse traps have been set.   Mousey could find himself going on holiday.

Max, under the watchful eye of Dobson, has been digging up the old fruit garden.   Nasty, spiteful, gooseberry bushes and assorted spikey things have been dug up and rehomed.  

The area will be returned to grass and we'll be planting another apple tree, along with a plum tree.

The rhubarb will be left in situ, it thrives there, probably because of the septic tank, although we won't talk about that one!



Meanwhile, over at The Old Parsonage, the attic bedrooms have been invaded by a swarm of hornets.  Pest control have been called to deal with it and the top floor has been sealed off.     Perhaps one little mouse in the kitchen isn't so bad after all.

flissandmax
xxx