A weekend off

This one's for me

I seem to have suddenly acquired a quantity of work, through private commissions and a rather large trade order. All of these have 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across them, in big red letters, but suffice to say that I have been stabbing away with my hot little felting needle every day for about 8 hours in the studio and then some more in front of the evening television (else Andy wouldn't see me at all...) In fact, I have been in danger of overdoing it, as Friday night found my wrist quite strained and painful, so I had a weekend of enforced rest. Which gave me a chance to make a list of things I haven't had time to do and must do before the world falls apart.

Updating accounts
E-mailing neglected friends and contacts
Tidying studio
Making marmalade
Putting together trade card order
Order more glass eyes
Ditto logo ribbons
Make lemon drizzzle cake for cake starved partner

I got some of these done. Studio is now tidy-ish, accounts and emails dealt with, big, buttery, lemony cake baked and nearly vanished. But by Sunday I needed to get out, so we took the bike across to our favourite part of round-here and I cobbled together a little film of it.

In anticipation;

1) This contains some footage shot from a moving bike, so if you get motion sickness or suchlike, best avoided.
2) I was very careful about taking the films, the motorbike (a Honda Varadero) is built like a tractor, we were going slowly, Andy is a brilliant and safe driver, the lane was deserted, and I've been riding pillion in all conditions for a decade.
3) There is some music with it.
4) If you can watch it in full screen at high quality, the landscape shots are rather pretty. You can't do this with the blogger film here, but you can with the Youtube version.

OTHER NEWS

I have a few animals for sale, ranging from 45 - 60 UK pounds (65 - 88 US dollars) and a little shipping. If you'd like advance details of these before I post them up here on the blog, let me know and I'll e-mail the info - I'm not putting them on Etsy to start with, as I've had so many enquiries from UK people who aren't comfortable with Etsy or its dollar system. This is the last batch I will have to offer for a while as I have so many orders to fulfill.


So here we are again at Monday, and another 6 days of wooliness. I'm not complaining at all, just thanking my little bunch of angels who work overtime for me. (There are seven of them and yes, I really do believe they are there).

Last of the summer...

Sitting here at my desk watching the rain sheet the windows, a hot cup of tea to hand, it seems strange to think that this time last week we were strolling through herds of nervous sheep enjoying the last of the summer. The landscape basked in the gentle gold of the autumn sun and we found a late crop of blackberries, which we hurried to pick. It has been mostly too rainy to pick this season, and they are of no use when they are wet.




We quietly harvested large juicy berries in the company of several fat garden spiders, feasting on blackberry marinaded flies...





...and a young roe buck, grazing downwind and almost oblivious to our quiet foraging.




At last he realised he was not alone, and sloped off quietly into the undergrowth. We picked a crumbles-worth of berries and returned to the main track, where Andy motioned silently to me, pointing to a spot before him, almost within touching distance...who could this be, hiding not-very-successfully behind the drystone wall?




After a few seconds, he realised he'd been rumbled.

Further along the fields, late elderberries were just beginning to fade, and we picked enough to fill a bag (I am turning into my mother; she never went on a walk without half a dozen bags of varying types and usually a shovel too, in case we came across a decent dollop of horse manure).




Andy proving to be the human equivalent of a picking machine; I am attempting yet again to make wine, this time I hope it might be even be drinkable as well as alcoholic. Descending into scrubby woodland, we found a bumper crop of shaggy parasol mushrooms, and picked enough for tea - cutting them with a pen knife, so's not to damage the roots. And taking no more than we needed.




My usual note of caution - we only ever pick what we are sure of. If there is any doubt, we will not eat them. Even if it is a familiar type we have eaten safely before, we double check with our books. I have a variety of identification books, even one I've had since I was eight. But (in reply to Sea Angels enquiry) the best one so far has been 'Mushrooms' by Roger Phillips, which is jampacked with hundreds of species, displaying numerous variations and excellent descriptions to help you sort out your Russulas from your Lactarius. In all my years of amateur fungi spotting, this is by far the best guide I have seen.

Another - inedible - treasure found. Some kind of fossil. Sea urchin, sea anaeome, jelly fish - we don't know. But there are clearly veins running through it, and what looks to be a patterned shell. Fantastic to think that these lush fields were once great oceans, heaving with sea life. (I think...my geology is a bit foggy on these things...)




Onwards, through more startled sheep...

...and up the hill...the shadows lengthening in the deepening gold.

We biked homewards, satisfied with a good day's tramping and hedgerow harvesting. The day could not not possibly get any better - could it?

Oh yes, it could. We stopped the bike just in time to see some fat hot air ballons ascending into the evening sky, with ominous rainclouds blowing in from the West Country...(music courtesy of Mr Camille Saint-Saens)

Feeling replete with memory, our return home was topped off by a foraged supper, courtesy of a roadkill pigeon, as seen in the post below. So farewell to what we had of summer...

Flood fields in February

Here in the Cotswolds we are spoilt for country walks. There are rambles we have tried and scorned, which are really perfectly pleasant - just not quite up to the golden standard we have come to expect from our patch of the world. Once in a while we find one which pings all the right bells. We will return, we say. And we do. This week we made a new discovery, only a quarter of an hour ride from home - and we had it mostly to ourselves. (Except for a couple of other walkers coming the other way, one of whom was wearing all the correct trekking gear for a winter hike in the Northern Fells, complete with walking sticks. He did seem to be taking the gentle, grassy footpaths a little too seriously).

The meandering Windrush was in full spate and almost bursting its banks; water was already lapping over the shallow banks and roaring through the floodgates. But it looked peaceful enough from a distance.





Negotiating soggy, marshy fields and climbing up to higer, dry land, heading to the most gorgeous farm in splendid isolation and a vivid, but strangely attractive green barn...






...ahead of us, the original farmhouse and outbuildings, the old stonework in excellent condition, though it appeared to be boarded up.





Through the farm track and past yet more silent, deserted stone treasures. In a crumbling porch, ferns sprouted opposite a dark, guano spattered nest entrance, the sad decay benefiting the resident Barn Owl.




A well cushioned tree enjoying spacious views across the estate -






- and back onto farmland, observing that the field ahead was incongruously orange for this part of the county; such rich ochres are normally to be found over on the Banbury side of Oxfordshire. The stonework of cottages also gradually metamorphasises from blonde to brunette, our country dwellings having been built from the very landscape in which they nestle. (Remember this field, it will reappear in a few seconds).





By now we were heading for the beautiful Sherbourne Estate, startling a distant herd of deer, who soon settled back to grazing when they realised we were safely on the far side of the field.




It was a fresh, spring-like day, and although wildlife was still hesitant in emerging, the birds were busying about, filling the air with happy carols. This manmade estate has been allowed to revert to its original state of flooding through managed drains and ditches. Wonderful for flora and fauna. But a little - muddy - in places. I took the opportunity, while stuck in a boggy patch, to shoot a little verbal tutorial on the history of the flood fields. This is really for my lovely blog- friend Lisa Oceandreamer, who was brave enough to put herself on the interweb, and who has requested a voice sample. (Apologies for my mongrel accent, picked up from everywhere).

And apologies for the sniffs - fresh air does that to me. Time to be heading heading home, via the other side, noticing - (are you paying attention at the back?) the orange field...

...the flood plain (right at the back, just visible on the righthand side) where we had our interesting little lecture...

...and the farm, modestly snuggled into the earth but given away by its sturdy green barn. (Nearly there, only a little further).

Time for one last draught of serentity...

We are somewhat sore with Winter unfitness. But the sap is rising and there will be out and aboutings in and around our lovely Cotswolds. I will spare you the lecture next time.