Flood guilt...

My mother and I are suffering from "flood guilt" this year. We scarcely dare discuss the weather. People who ring us up from far-off deluged counties ask in kindly tones, "Are we all right?" and "How are we coping with the floods?" and we hardly like to say that we haven't had any; well - any to speak of. The swooping bend out of the village gets quite puddlesome at times, and the fields down by the river have become part of the river, but compared to the South West, it's nothing. Even our railways are still intact.

According to the weather on Candlemas this year, winter should not be over for another month or more, but the proverb may not hold true this year - for yesterday the sun was warm! Admittedly, the air was still cold (and sitting outside without a hat has left me with a cold), but you can't have everything. And it wasn't raining! Actually, it felt a bit strange - blue sky, warm sun, no rain - was this some kind of alternate universe?
But who knows what the weather, in its wisdom (?!), will decide to do over the next few weeks. It could deluge us with snow storms yet...

the snowdrops and aconites catch some sun...

Winter is icumen in...

Today I awoke to the first proper frost of the season. Bushes and branches were outlined with sparkling white crystals, the grass crunched under my feet, and the puddles and pond were covered in ice. The air was still, and up above in the pale blue sky, a waning crescent moon still hung. Hurriedly I filled up the bird feeders and put out a dish of water, and soon the birds began pouring in; mostly pigeons and collared doves at first, but the smaller ones weren't far behind...

Our Jesse tree came down on Christmas Eve, in readiness for the Christmas tree(s*) to go up. Because of this, I only have symbols going up to the 23rd of December, rather than the 24th. These were the symbols for the last week of Advent:

Our Jesse tree, 2013

19."Sculpey" brick wall (Nehemiah rebuilds the city wall)
20. Shell (John the Baptist - the second Elijah)
21. "Sculpey" mother and child (Elizabeth - barrenness made fruitful)
22. "Sculpey" white lily (Mary - human acceptance of God)
23. Felt Eeyore (Joseph - obedience to God)

That was our Jesse tree for 2013, and now 2014 is only three days away...

Happy New Year, Everyone!

*We have to have two trees, as my mother's and my decorations do not blend...

'Tis the season...

...to receive lots and lots of parcels! Our postman arrived on our doorstep this morning, almost laden down with exciting-looking packages. As I opened the door he called out "Throw away your Christmas tree, you'll have to buy a bigger one!"

Speaking of trees, my Jesse tree is coming on well. I have made quite a few new ornaments this year; last time I didn't start until the 8th of December, so the whole thing felt rather a rush, but this year I started back in November, which gave me plenty of time. The strings of paper stars (for the promise to Abraham) give the whole thing a very festive feel, I think.

I have adjusted the symbols a little as well, and of course added in one extra, as Advent is a day longer. So far they stand thus:

1. Cartoon of God juggling planets (the creation)
2. Crab apple from a neighbour's garden (Adam and Eve)
3. Felt rainbow and paper ark (Noah and the flood)
4. Paper stars (the promise to Abraham)
5. Bundle of twigs (the offering of Isaac)
6. Gold-painted string ladder (Jacob's dream)

Rainbow and Noah's ark

7. Technicolour dream coat (Joseph the dream-interpreter)
8. "Stained-glass" burning bush (the calling of Moses)
9. Wooden lamb (the Passover)
10. "Sculpey" stone tablets (the Law)
11. "Sculpey" shofar (the fall of Jericho)
12. Cardboard crown (beginning of the kingdom)
13. Shepherd's crook (David - a shepherd for the people)
14. Stone altar (Elijah and the prophets of Ba'al)
15. "Sculpey" hot coal (the calling of Isaiah)
16. Glass tear drops (Jeremiah and the Exile)
17. "Sculpey" skull (Ezekiel and the valley of dry bones)
18. Picture of a lion (Daniel)

And now it's only one week until Christmas!

"It's too cold..."

On the 2nd February (Groundhog day in America, Candlemas in England), there is a proverb that says overcast and cloudy weather on this day heralds an early spring; bright, sunny weather on the other hand, predicts forty more days of winter. Candlemas this year was bright and sunny...
However, those forty days should have finished round about the middle of March, and winter is still here. Unfortunately there is another weather proverb, this time for the day of the Chair of St Peter (or Washington's birthday in the US), on 22nd February, which says that the presence of ice on this day foretells another forty days of winter (and ice), which takes us well into April. As this latter proverb is of German origin I had hoped it wouldn't apply to us, but the continuing frosts, chill winds, and the layer of ice that still covers our garden pond, would seem to say otherwise.

However, picnics in bad weather is something of a British tradition, so yesterday, for an Easter treat, my father and I set off with a flask of home-made butternut squash soup, some home-made gluten-free 'Kentish Huffkins' (filled with buttery-egg, and manchego cheese), and the dog, to a nearby village with a very picturesque village green. Sitting in the car in the full sunshine, it was really quite warm behind glass. Outside however, as we took a brief walk around the green, the perishing cold wind pursued us at every turn, whipping our faces as we walked down one side and freezing the backs of our necks as we walked up the other. Despite the sunshine, it was not what you might call encouraging sort of weather, and we did not linger. We soon discovered we were not the only ones to feel this way, for when we got as far as the cricket pavilion we saw a notice attached to the railings, flapping in the breeze. It said:

Life...

This morning I watched the sun come up - a great big, egg-yolk yellow ball, pulsing with life. On either side of it, the clouds spread out in baby pink, fading gradually into the pale blue of the wintry sky; and down below, on the horizon, hiding behind the spidery silhouettes of a row of bare trees, lay the Chilterns, all dressed in smoky purple.
Up above me, in a hawthorn tree, a robin warbled away, singing its heart out. What a way to welcome a new day! Life doesn't get much better...

Aerial displays

Yesterday I saw two red kites clawing and tumbling in the air as they fought for food territories - which must, I imagine, be getting scarce now the harsh wintery weather has set in. And this morning, as I stood in the garden watching the sun rise in a glowing blaze of pink and tangerine, to my great delight two light aircraft appeared in the sky above me, flying perfectly synchronised loop-the-loops amidst hazy wreaths of pink and purple clouds...

"When roses bloom in December..."

"When roses bloom in December,
 when pears grow on an apple tree,
 when snowflakes fall in the summer,
 you'll be true to me..."
                                 - Snowflakes in the Summer, sung by the Everly Brothers

Well, I've never seen pears growing on an apple tree, nor have I seen snowflakes in the summer (though I have seen a hailstorm); but I've often and often seen roses blooming in December. Unfortunately, when the hard frosts come the poor little roses get punished for their pains...

                                     

The dying of the year...

A fine mist has descended on the countryside, and with it a deep sense of peace born of acceptance, and submission to a power greater than its own.
For Nature's first burst of autumnal defiance is over; she knows now that she cannot stop the advance of winter. She is like an old woman who knows her work is done (and has the quiet pride of knowing it well done), and now she lays aside her knitting, and sits quietly in her chair by the fire, slowly rocking back and forth, back and forth, waiting, without fear, for the end. And yet she knows, this wise old woman, that it is not the end...

"I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds."

Shall we have snow?

Where's your barn, robin?

 The North Wind doth blow,

and we shall have snow,

and what will the robin

do then, poor thing?

He'll hide in a barn and
keep himself warm, 
with his head tucked under
his wing, poor thing. 

A faintly embarrassing episode occurred in my house this morning.

About six months ago I made up my own tune to "The North Wind Doth Blow"; and a couple of weeks ago, I decided to turn it into an action song...
This morning I began to sing it again, and as I sang it I thought I would run over the actions as well, so as not to forget them. Unfortunately, just as I was acting out the robin (stomach out, head back, arms placed neatly behind, and a little self-important hop) my mother appeared immediately behind me. Ahem!
You might have thought I would have learnt my lesson after the equally embarrassing incident when a friend suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor, just as I was shaking my finger at "Miss Polly"...
(Could this be why most people give up singing action songs after the age of about nine, I wonder?)

"This is the day..."

"This is the day which the LORD hath made;

we will rejoice and be glad in it."                             - Psalm 118: 24

I don't know about you, but I think that a Leap Day is terribly exciting, even when nothing special happens. Every second of every hour feels like a present, to be celebrated and rejoiced in with uplifted hands; for it is a reminder that every day we live, in truth, is a gift of grace...

We went out on a drive yesterday, and I saw lots of encouraging signs of Spring: a diddy-wee brown calf lying curled up next to its mother; a tractor sowing seed in the middle of a ploughed field; a crow flying over head with a great long twig for its nest clamped firmly in its beak; and a whole lot of lambs gambolling and frisking about, as though they simply couldn't contain their joy at being alive.
Even a short walk down our lane brings ample proof that the season is turning. The daffodils, whose tightly furled buds have been tantalising us for weeks past, are finally coming out in triumph, and the line of dancing yellow trumpets looks like a string of gaily-clad heralds proclaiming the arrival of their Queen.

But despite all this, I'm not sure that Winter has quite given up. It hangs on by its fingertips, every now and then throwing out a long icy tenticle of chilly weather, as if it would lay claim to the full forty days given it by Candlemas/Groundhog day...

-8˚

This is the temperature the car thermometer registered when my father drove off to work this morning. Of course, I realise that compared to what Eastern Europe is going through it is a mere pittance, but it feels pretty darn cold to us!
Still, it always brings out the bird life. A female bullfinch came hopping round the patio this morning - the first time I've seen one all winter - and three robins have been occupying the same territory with hardly a scuffle between them, which is more than can be said for the starlings. Is it impossible for two starlings to eat from the same food dish without having stand-up fights every three seconds? And always accompanied by that un-earthly screeching that sounds as though the Doctor's Tardis is landing.

Last year, when the winter went on and on and the snow hung around for weeks on end, I began to dream.
I dreamt of blue seas and bluer skies; of daisies and irises and masses of tumbling roses; of tropical lemons and pink-rendered houses, and donkeys giving rides on yellow sands; and I dreamt of a sun shining hot and strong, creating dazzling sparkles on the sea below...

Meanwhile, back in reality, the sky continued to be heavy and overcast, the sun carried on being weak and thin, the snow still lay thick on the frozen ground, and life was generally murky and depressing. So I decided to make a collage.

It was a pretty big collage, made of two A3 sheets taped together (it had to be large enough to fit in all my requirements and still look like a plausible landscape), and it took me at least a month to finish it. I kept running out of deep-blue sky, and had to cadge travel-magazines from obliging friends and relatives.

By the time I did finish it, I had become so immersed in my fantasy-world that I felt as though I really had just got back from an exotic holiday; and when I finally looked up from my completed picture, I found the snow had melted away, and spring had arrived. My Summer Dream had created for me a Wrinkle in Time...

A warm wind doth blow...

"Where has the winter gone?
The warm winds have sent it away.
The ice has thawed,
The skies have cleared,
And spring is dancing once more."

Which is a little premature, perhaps, but not much...

After a week or so of proper, sharp, wintery weather, with flurries of hail and snow, and hard frosts that froze the pond over, the weather has warmed up again; my thick aran cardigan has returned to the depths of the wardrobe, and winter-visiting red polls have disappeared once more from the bird-feeders. Even the roses, after a few mornings of frost-bite, and have continued to bloom. What a difference from last year, when by this time we had become snow-bound for the second time.