Falling In Love

I fall in love with the world again every May. It is such a beautiful month.

The trees are all in leaf by now, but the leaves are still tender, so green, almost translucent. The woods and hedgerows are full of bluebells, probably the most beautiful blue in the world. And they are complimented and highlighted by the other wildflowers accompanying them: red campion, buttercups, Queen Anne's lace, stitchwort, lady's smock. And the lushness of the grass!

The skies are blue and full of sun which shimmers on the fields of buttercups. The sweet, faery scent of hawthorn entices from every hedgerow. The joyous chatter of swallows and martens, the rich fluid song of blackbird and thrush. Apple blossoms flutter in the breeze, and the bees drink deeply from their abundance.

In the garden the vegetables seem to grow with each passing day, and in the flower borders welsh poppies, irises, forget-me-nots and columbines harmonise tones of yellow, purple, lilac and blue.

The world is in love with life at this time of year, its beauty heart-stopping. Oh yes, I love May. How could I not?

The Mysterious Case of the Vanishing Hen

As this afternoon was another gloriously sunny affair, IB and I decided to work in the vegetable patch. And while we worked, we opened the door to the chicken run, so they could come out and graze on the lush grass by the greenhouse. We assumed that as we were working close by they would be safe from foxes and buzzards.

One of the younger Light Sussex hens (Blossom) was showing signs of broodiness, so we evicted her from the nest box (much to her disgust) and shut the pop-hole so she couldn't sneak back in when we weren't looking. The delights of scratching up interesting tit-bits in the grass soon distracted her, and soon everyone was out enjoying the fresh air and warm sunshine - including us in the veggie patch.

After a few hours, we decided it was time to retire for a cup of tea, and ushered most of the chickens back into the run. I brought down some wheat to coax in the stragglers while IB took the gardening tools back up the hill and put the kettle on.

As soon as I opened the pop-hole, Blossom shot back into the nest box, her hormones clearly overwhelming her appetite! The other hens had no such qualms and clustered around my feet, murmuring contentedly and eagerly pecking up the grain. I did a quick head count, and could make out only eight hens around me. Blossom was in the nest box, but that should have left nine. I counted again. Still only eight. Who was missing? The two Black Rocks, Ceridwen and Blodeuwedd, and Rhiannon the Speckledy, present. Three of the Light Sussex: Daisy, Dot and old Blodwen, too. The two new smokey-grey Bluebells so new they are not yet named, and Blossom (the fourth Light Sussex) looking puffed up and sulky in the nest box, all there. Except for one. Bella, the Cream Legbar.

Bella is one of my oldest hens, yet she still lays 2-3 eggs a week. They are the most beautiful pale blue colour, and very popular with my regular egg customers, some of whom claim they taste better than normal eggs (I'm not convinced of this myself, but still...). Bella's also very flighty, panicking at the drop of a hat and seemingly convinced I am actually an evil fiend who will do her in the very second she lets her guard down.

I double checked the run, under the leaning elder, under the chicken house (where they often enjoy a dust bath). I called, and shook the container of grain, which is usually guaranteed to bring all the hens running eagerly to me. No sign of Bella. I began to worry. IB joined me, and we searched in the trees overhead (in case she'd had a Bella-style freak out about something and flown up to an overhanging branch), and the undergrowth - at first close to the area the hens had been in, and then further and further afield. Still nothing.

I racked my brains to try and remember if I'd heard something strange while we'd been in the veggie patch, but couldn't remember anything unusual. We searched and called and began to suspect the worst, except the other hens didn't seem spooked, and there were no tell-tale heaps of feathers to be found.

Meeting back at the greenhouse, we were baffled. Our best guess was that she'd wandered away from the rest of the flock and been snagged by a lucky passing fox. But the lack of feathery evidence seemed strange.

"Perhaps she's lurking in the undergrowth somewhere, and she'll come out later," I suggested, thinking aloud. "We'd better check back frequently in case she turns up. Or perhaps she's crept off to find somewhere to lay as the hen house was shut. Perhaps she's round the back of the greenhouse..."

IB climbed onto the wall of a disused cold-frame to peer behind the greenhouse - and as he did so, Bella shot out of the cold-frame in a flurry of feathery panic! Closer inspection revealed that she'd fashioned herself a cosy hollow in there, where a perfect new-laid pale-blue egg now nestled. Her mottled brown plumage was perfect camouflage, and we'd walked right past her during our search without seeing her at all.

Bella is now safely back with the rest of the flock, and I think everyone's heart rate is just about back to normal again now!

Blossom Moon

I love the Native American way of naming the moons of the year for their character, for example 'Snow Falls Moon', 'Leaf Moon' or 'Frogs Croak Moon'.


I have oftened flirted with the idea of coming up with a year's worth of Moon-names myself, although I haven't done it so far. Yet I'm sure if I was to name the May moon it would have to be 'Blossom Moon'.


It has been such a dry, cold, spring here that everything in the garden and hedgerows has been held back - snowdrops, daffodils and bluebells several weeks later than their usual time of appearance. And yet when things have appeared, they seem to have put on a much more spectacular display than usual. Perhaps they're making up for lost time, or perhaps we're just so glad to finally see them, they seem much more impressive than usual. And this year the blossom seemed to come all at once, in a joyous froth of petals heralding summer with heedless abandon.
Just look at the photos I took a couple of weeks ago:

Then it was flowering cherry, juneberry, damson and blackthorn. Now, in the orchard there is pear and apple blossom, cherry, crabapple and very soon, quince. And from every hedgerow the breeze carries the sweet, uncanny fairy fragrance of mayblossom (hawthorn).

I'm sure the bees and the fairies must be as happy as I am to see such abundant beauty.

I'm Back!

It has been the longest, hardest winter.

I struggled with a job I hated during the long, dark days, sinking deeper into depression than I realised. My divorce came through and T married his new partner almost immediately, which felt like a final, bitter slap in the face.

As winter dug in for the long haul, the bitterly cold and snowy weather took its toll on everyone at Halfway Up A Hill, including the animals. No fewer than 3 of the chickens died from infections or simple old age, and one was taken by a fox which dug under the fence surrounding the run (luckily we heard the commotion and ran down in time to prevent further casualties). One of the younger chickens also suffered recurrent sour crop, and ended up living on a windowsill in the house for several weeks while we laboriously treated her with antibiotics and hand fed her until she recovered. Meantime, we suffered the frustration and inconvenience of being snowed in for a couple of weeks which seemed to drag on and on.

Later, in February, I succumbed to the nastiest chest infection I've ever experienced; it took me nearly 6 weeks to recover and the antibiotics I was prescribed had no effect whatsoever. IB also caught it and together we nursed each other as best we could, with heroic support from my poor Dad, who was also nursing Mum through it.

The final tragedy in this catalogue of drear and misfortune came when Angel the gander stopped eating and preening, seemingly unable to open his beak more than a couple of millimetres. We took him to the vet, only to find that somehow, he had both broken and dislocated his jaw. It's almost impossible to imagine how this could have happened, our best guess is that in chasing one of the chickens he ran into a fence post or similar obstacle and injured himself that way. Sadly, the damage was inoperable, and with many tears we made the horrible decision to have him put down. Buffy is gradually adjusting to her widowhood, and at some stage we will try to find her another companion.

This longest, hardest winter seemed truly reluctant to loosen its grip, and the unusually cold and dry weather remained for a prolonged period, the normally lush green hillsides strangely brown and deadened by drought and frost.

At times I didn't know how I would get through it. But spring must follow winter eventually, no matter how strongly winter clings on.

And now at last, spring has come. The spring rains turned the fields back to green, and as the sun shines and the birds sing, the leaf buds are breaking and flowers are blooming in hedgerow and garden. I have left my soul-destroying job and am investigating the possibility of starting a small business of my own. IB and I have been cleaning and decorating the house, coaxing the neglected vegetable patch back into productivity, and dreaming and planning for the future.

And today I realised I am happy, truly happy: back to the normal 'me' that I have been struggling to regain for the last 2-3 years, since - well, the exhaustion brought on by the Summer Gathering in August 2007, really. Can it be that long? Looking back I can't believe what a struggle life has been since then. Yet suddenly I feel like I am swimming with the tide instead of constantly battling against it. Somehow I am in alignment with the Universe again.

Perhaps one day I will be able to look back and see the pattern of why I had to spend so long struggling just to keep my head above the maelstrom of hardship being flung my way. One day. For now I am happy to know I am in calmer waters, going with the flow and enjoying the journey once more.

Spam, Spam, Spam

I'm not sure if 'spam' is the correct word for irrelevant and unwanted links to other blogs/websites on a blog's 'comments' section. But although I'm unsure of the correct terminology this is what I have been receiving from time to time, and it seems to be on the increase.

One of my readers has posted to me with concerns about this, and I think they're justified. So from now on, I am changing the comments section to 'moderated', so that I can see each post before it appears and weed out any that are inappropriate. This doesn't mean that I will be censoring genuine comments, just weeding out the links to porn websites etc!

I hope everyone who reads my blog will understand and be happy with this decision.

Blessed Be.

Earth Day

Yesterday was Earth Day*. I went into Carmarthen to join the Earth Day event that was being held there. Various organisations had set up information stalls, there were workshops including a fun all-day craft workshop for kids using recycled materials from the local scrap stores, and a series of talks and discussions.

Unfortunately I was only able to go along for part of the day, but when I arrived just after lunch I was saddened to see only about 25 people there (plus a few more in the foyer taking part in the recycled crafts workshops with their children). Carmarthen was bustling on a sunny Saturday afternoon, the event was well publicised, and yet only a handful of people seemed to have turned out.

Nevertheless, the overall mood was upbeat and positive. The people there were in full awareness of the dire threats to the Earth and Her survival, and yet there was a mood of 'Yes we can!'.

The one exception to this was an elderly man who, during a discussion about what we can and should be doing put forward the view that it was too late, we should have acted up to 100 years ago and our lack of action then means we and the planet are all doomed. When someone - humorously - asked him why he hadn't yet slashed his wrists, he thought for a while and then replied, "Because I want to live long enough to know I was right."

My reply to this was that if I was in his shoes I would want to be proved wrong, which kind of took the wind out of his sails!

Later on in the discussion I suggested a monthly e-newsletter to keep all the different projects around the area in touch with each other, sharing resources and information. I think I may have actually volunteered to get said newsletter up and running, which is a bit daunting but also meant I left with a smile on my face and the feeling I had contributed something useful to the day, despite not being able to be there for the whole event.

That evening, along with many others around the country, at 8.30pm GMT I turned all the lights and most of the appliances in the house off for an hour, and did some chores by the light of a solar-powered lantern to mark 'Earth Hour'.

On turning the computer back on afterwards, I was saddened to see a Facebook friend had posted a link to an article from the Daily Telegraph by Damian Thompson titled 'Beat the Earth Hour fascists and turn on your lights NOW!'. When I posted a comment about why I had observed Earth Hour and how sick I was of smug cynicism about ecological issues I was jumped on by many other commentators, mostly climate change deniers and paranoid conspiracy theorists.

It was sad end to a long day, book ended by people from extreme ends of the climate change issue. On the one hand the elderly man at Earth Day represented the 'Humans are evil and we thoroughly deserve the ecological holocaust we have unleashed on ourselves' end of the spectrum, and later the Facebook commentators represented the 'I won't be told what to do by holier than thou greenies who are making it all up anyway' point of view.

Amazingly, I am not (too) depressed by this, perhaps still carried along by the atmosphere of 'Yes we can!' I encountered from most people yesterday.

It is my opinion that this world is too unique, beautiful and sacred to let it be trashed and destroyed. It may be an insurmountable task we have ahead of us in trying to turn things around, but I for one will not give up trying.

* In the UK. Earth Day is celebrated by the US in April.

Some Mysterious March - Erm - 'Eccentricity'

My somewhat strange and deeply religious neighbour has recently been randomly lopping off small branches from his hedge and laying them 'lean-to' style across the ditch alongside the road.

I have no idea what this is for. Initially I thought he'd cut them but not had time to clear them away, but they have remained there for the last few weeks, so I guess they're where he intends them to be. But for what purpose? I wondered if it was to stop leaves etc getting in the ditch and damming it up, but frankly the branches themselves seem to be creating something of an obstacle. I decided to wait and see.

However, I have today discovered that he has also been randomly lopping bits out of my hedge. Some he has thrown into the ditch (so much for the 'stopping the ditch from getting blocked' theory), and some he has left poked back into my hedge.

I only noticed because a rather large branch of blackthorn had toppled out of my hedge and was partly obscuring the road. When I went to move it, assuming it had blown down in the recent strong winds, I found it had been neatly sawn off and then propped back upright in the hedge.

I don't think he's been attempting to do me a favour by sneakily trimming my overgrown hedge, as some bits that obviously need attention have been left alone. And the bits he's cut range from smallish twigs about a foot long to largeish branches about 6' in length. Ash, hazel and blackthorn as far as I can see.

I am mystified. Is this some strange Welsh custom I've never come across before? Has he completely lost the plot? Should I be worried, flattered or outraged? Am I about to be initiated into some dark secret of country life, wooed, or burned at the stake?

Anyone got any ideas??