A new path winding

This is the field which is situated right under my bedroom window. When I first moved here, eight years ago, it was populated with a small herd of milking cows, who often slept directly under my window so that on summer nights, when I had the window open, I could hear the moist huffle of their warm  breath and low grunting as they shifted their bodies to a more comfortable position. It was a friendly, reassuring accompaniment as I fell asleep.

Times change and the farmer‘s son took over the herd. The cows were  fitted with tracking collars and milked by a ‘robot’ - an amazing machine which is essentially a big computer with moving parts. Gradually the cows came out for less time each year and for the last three summers, there have been none at all. They spend their lives under cover and the field is harvested several times a year for silage, with which to feed them. I miss them, but also understand that times move on. 

My life too has undergone some radical changes since moving here, as many of you know. I am on a new and uncertain journey, with  no idea of where I will end up. The young farmer has cut a new path in the field recently, for field access. It winds gently and has a sinuous grace of its own. I rather like this new addition to my view and if I were of a mind to take it as a sign, I would see it as a good one. 

After much agonising, I have started a Patreon page. I have previously balked at paid-for content, preferring my blog to be ad-free and available to everyone, which I have done for over fifteen years. Now I am pulling all my resources together, as I am at real risk of losing the roof over my head and I have to make every hour count for something. So for a small monthly contribution,  I have set up a ‘plus’ version of this blog, where I will post every week. I realise it won’t be for everyone, however it will enable me to share a more private side of my life here; what the inside of this shabby cottage looks like, how I’m feeling and with the extra freedom, be able to get out more and share the surrounding countryside with you. As I settle down, I will be offering more tiers with extra benefits. 

Patreon support will enable me to continue with this blog, which is free for everyone, with more regular posts. With that in mind, I have left public my first Patreon post and hope that those of you who are inclined to and are able, will join me in my draughty, higgledy-piggledy, much loved home. 

‘Birds in the roof and toadstools inside’

Heading onwards with toadstools

What a month it has been. So many thanks for the supportive comments, advice, emails and messages - who knew there was so much love in the world? I’ve been a little taken aback at how much there is, but profoundly grateful, as it has been an immense help. 

I’ve had my self indulgent week of beating my breast and wailing - it was inevitable, but it’s over now and I feel cleansed and strangely calm, under the circumstances. I have spent the last week organising and planning - some plans that I was already putting in motion before things went wrong, and some new. My brain can be a slow moving animal, but with the aid of numerous lists, I am making progress and dealing with as much as possible. 

My other studio is the bedroom and it is the best place to sort out wools for add-on workshop packs. I held my first Zoom workshop last Wednesday and despite my initial nerves, it went very well. None of the participants had tried needle felting before and over the two and a half hours, with much live demonstrating from myself, they produced excellent toadstools. It was remarkably like holding a real-life workshop, but in some ways better, as I had equal access to everyone and was able to show working techniques to everyone, equally,  without constantly moving round a table. Later, I was sent this lovely in situ photo of a finished piece - 

So with more confidence than I had before, I have set up four hanging toadstool dates for October in U.K. time, with limited spaces of four people per session. 

October 9th, Friday 10.30am - 1pm

October 15th,  Thursday 10.30 - 1pm

October 23rd, Friday, 10.30 - 1pm

October 29th, Friday, 10.30 - 1pm

I’ve already had a couple of bookings, and it’s early days. All of my courses can be booked directly through myself (email me here) with payment via PayPal or booked on my page on Craft Courses here. I am also offering one to one sessions with flexible dates and timing, which should allow for overseas sessions in differing time zones. (Hello America!) 

So, that’s one thing started and a Patreon page is set up for a launch next week, which will initially be a more personal ‘plus’ extension of this blog, for a small subscription. And although I’m spending most of my time tapping away at one website or another, I am still making a little time each day to wind down with my own work. 

Discover more wanderings by supporting me on my Patreon page 

Trying to look up, not down.

 

Thank you to everyone for the kind comments and private messages, which helped so much. A month on and the first few weeks of being in numb shock have worn off; try as I might, I cannot find any fighting spirit. I had my first proper cry the other day, just as my ‘work horse’ computer permanently died, as if it, too, was tired of me. 

My eyes seem to be permanently leaking - whether from the cold, tiredness or from the all encompassing, aching sadness which fills me, even when I am immersed in work. And work I must, despite the urge to bury myself and howl for a lost future. So I pick up my brave face and attach it as firmly as I can. I try not to think about the rapidly approaching winter; how chilly and dark the cottage becomes. I spend my mornings in my studio, well wrapped up and then take my work to bed for the rest of the day, when hopefully some sun will come through the window. I force myself to eat twice a day, even though I have no appetite. I try (unsuccessfully) not to torture myself by wondering what on earth happened and how did it come to this - the lack of any firm facts has left me in a state of horrible limbo, yet somehow I have no anger, nor need for retribution. It is what it is, and despite myself, I cannot help worrying about him and whether he is feeling wretched too.

And so it goes. The only thing I have is work and trying to prepare for an uncertain future. Beyond that, I cannot see. But I am strengthened by the sympathetic wishes left; I am not the first person this has happened to (it is as old as history) and sadly I won’t be the last. So I am trying hard  to shake off this unattractive self pity and to keep on looking up, not down, as a wise friend advised. Because down is very scary indeed and I’ve never been good with heights.

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Alone on a new path

 

The past several weeks have been difficult. This is an awkward post to write, considering that I am a very private person and not given to spilling my emotions publicly. So the fact is, Joe does not live here any more. He left, three weeks ago, with what he could fit into a few bags, offering no credible reason and departed without even bothering to say goodbye (or sorry). And while I’d sensed (with some confusion) the night before, that he could barely stand to be in the same room as me, I had not expected this. We never argued and as far as I was aware, had a good relationship. But it seems he’d planned it all for at least three weeks and even had a room in town pre-arranged. So I had been living in a fool’s paradise. Had I not confronted him that morning, he would have stayed for a bit longer, until it suited him. 

I kept my dignity and retired to my studio to let him pack. After all, what can you say? Since then, I’ve joined a few dots up and it’s left rather a nasty taste in my mouth. But thank goodness for my dear friends  - my  ‘sisters of the heart’ - who have been my constant support throughout.

 

When he left, I was cold with physical shock. But as the days went on, I realised that this is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Once the numbness had worn off, I tried to hit the ground running, sort out what finances I could and  began working ten hour days in my studio, in an attempt to earn enough to keep the roof over my head. I’m bruised,  but not broken. As someone once said, ‘people have died, but not for love’ and I find I am enjoying my new found freedom and the space to do whatever I like. The old ‘me’ is returning - I’ve missed her.

Here’s the thing - long time readers of this blog will know that three months after moving into this cottage, in 2013, my darling partner Andy decided to leave this world, and took his life. Nothing can even come close to the pain I suffered then.

 

 

When you’ve stayed up all night because the love of your life has gone missing on a bleak, snowy winters night. When you’ve seen the sniffer dog following his scent across the fields and heard the rescue helicopter thumping overhead, doing a search and sweep. When a kind faced police woman tells you that a body has been found and you sink to your knees, wailing, wishing that a hole in the ground would swallow you up. When you survive the months of misery and loneliness afterwards - when you have been through all that and can still find joy in life. When all that happens, it seems that being lied to, deceived and manipulated are really, by comparison, quite small hurts. Although they are, of course, hurtful.

The last five and a half years just seem like a terrible and sad waste of time.

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The last drops of summer

Summer is quietly slipping into autumn and there is a hint of exquisite melancholy to these last golden days.  We remember things; things that we said we would do in the early, hopeful days of Spring. Things we still might do, if we are allowed a few more precious days of benevolent weather. And underlying it all, a lurking fear of winters approaching with cold, dark creeping fingers.

And while the gold and the green will all too soon be replaced with turgid grey skies and bleak, bare naked earth, we will embrace this final little ‘inbetween’ season and tell ourselves, like children repeating a protective rhyme, that it is not too late. 

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The storms

The strangest summer many of us have lived through is coming to an end. In Shropshire, we have had a couple of long, stormy nights after days of humid heat. The world - including our little secluded one - seems an uncertain place and I have found it hard to find words to place here, certainly nothing of note. I take refuge in my work, inconsequential as it is, finding small comforts in colours and textures. So have many women coped, during difficult times - the distraction of handiwork providing fleeting respite from troubles throughout the centuries. Despite everything, there is always this. 

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All the lane awash

After the spring drought, we have had several days of regular rain, and not just regular - one shower so torrential that it was almost a 'white out' and a bout of storms, which was very welcome. There is nothing like like a good storm. A few days ago, we watched from my studio window as the thunder cracked overhead (leading to a brief power cut) and the lane outside swiftly became covered in a few inches of rapidly moving silty water.

Dramatic as it looks, once the clouds had passed, the lane was almost back to normal, thanks to the cottage being on a hill and good drainage. After a rather exciting evening, we had just sat down to dinner, when there was a scuffling in the wood burner flue and a muffled thump. We knew what it was at once. Despite a top cover, a starling had managed to get into the chimney. It flew straight to the window and seconds after I took this, was fluffing itself up on the fence, before flying off over the fields.