This year Lynn, though I don't relish the thought, some slow time is overdue, I can feel it. I don't think I've ever been as busy as I have been in the last 18 months... I am exhausted everywhere.
Gorgeous, Susie. We are on opposite hemispheres, but I sense the season and change as though I am there now myself (although, granted, it is a rainy rainy day here in Melbourne, the weather having gone from 30C yesterday to a cool 12C today with endless rain.
I'm left as spellbound by this passage as standing beneath those trillion glimmering stars:
"Sometimes, when the day has given in to inevitable darkness and the silence is loud, with eyes half sleep-heavy, half awake, I am caught in a ghostly, luminous light sliding under the door. For a while it tangos across the walls then, more slowly, waltzes across the floorboards. It leaves, always, by the window, its last celestial magic curls like grace in muslin curtains and is gone."
Thank you Nathan, I have never been a fan of this time of the year, the gradual — or not as it has been this year — turn from dry and bright to, damp and grey, leaves me feeling as dull as the hill, even the usual autumn golds have been looking sad and forlorn for the last two weeks its been so wet. And of course, so typical of Mother Nature’s recalcitrance, today, my first day back in classes, was glorious! Such is her rebel soul I suppose!
No need to have worried, Susie! The month's break between posts has not ended or broken your flow. On the contrary, this post is flourishing and blossoming again, like the flora that always comes back... such beautiful images and lively scenes captured from your hill and home. Of course we have missed you! But every writer needs a break too. xxx
A belated but nonetheless heartfelt thank you Veronika, for your sweet understanding of necessity and kindness. Although, it wasn't so much a break as a hijacking of my time. Indeed, it is an irritation that has continued relentlessly through the September and October, on through the holidays when I dreamed of reprieve and now marches ahead of me into November. If I didn't know better, I'd call it a conspiracy or at the very least spirited hocus-pocus, the skulduggery in the seasonal winds...
I hoped for change and change came, it brought rain, endless rain but still the list - travail à faire - continues. I hope your olive harvesting with friends was a bountiful one, much love xx
Yeah I totally understand that irritation and frustration when you can never get to what your soul is yearning to do, because of so much travail à faire on the list... a natural response to not being allowed to be oneself, I would say.
We harvested around 1000 kilos in two days last week. The sweetest companion on the second day was a black lamb, only a few days old... Today we're off to another round of harvesting with some other friends on their land, and the sun is shining.
A yearning is the perfect word for how my soul has felt these last two weeks, so you can probably imagine the extent to which I would love to join you with that harvest Veronica, if only… xx
I totally imagined you there, Susie. You were there in spirit, especially when the little black lamb appeared, you came to my mind straight away, and I imagined you telling the story in the way you do so well. I imagined you taking your beautiful photos of sunshine dappling through branches of olive trees and raindrops glistening on the leaves after spells of autumn rain…
I wish I had been there Veronika, photos of little black lambs are a thing of the past in recent years… I am hoping to breed again this year but finding a willing ram seems to be proving to be quite a task!…who’d have thought it! 😉
Each paragraph feels like a season breathing — rain, feathers, blood, moonlight, love. The lane, the boar, the robins: all part of your fierce liturgy of return. I read this slowly, as one might walk that road in rain. Drenched, heart full of moss & memory, grateful for the mercy of things that still grow.
Today the season breathed sunshine Kim… a temporary respite but a shimmering blessing for both moss and heather, boar and bird. As for me, well, I have gazed with longing from my classes, unable to hide my disbelieving eyes after endless rain fell for an endless holiday held captive by the rain. The mood will not leave now November reigns… but I think you already know… xx
As of this evening all are still present and correct Linda, it has taken some watching though... I don't think I've spent as much time in their coop all year as I have in the past almost three weeks!
Many thanks for asking... fingers crossed for la suite! x
Susie -- I'm in awe of your quiet evocation of atmosphere. I could feel, hear, smell and taste your umwelt -- and what a gift you've given us here. The photo captioned, "Autumn is many stories," looks like a Klimt painting. Only even more sublime. I dream of one day hanging a Mawhinney photo on my wall.
Thank you Julie, what an enormous compliment to want one of my photographs adorning your wall, maybe, in the future I can fix that... 🙏🏼
I am no expert on the philosophy — or biology? — of Umwelt but I think perhaps we each have different perceptions of a given thing, be it sky or water, a tree or a flower, bird or fish... we know what these things are but perceiving the details... anything could take a different intellectual or emotional form when described in the written word... I believe we all have this gift but perhaps have never had a chance to develop and use it. And, of course, each of us will have higher or lower degrees of sensory perception so nothing will ever be seen or felt or perhaps enjoyed in the same way by another person. Does that make sense? I am not sure mine is any more acute than yours, just different. I felt your own umwelt in the photographs of the three poplars, but would I have seen and heard the same whispers?
I've known this was here for a couple of days now, but have been saving it. Steeping its tea. Cellaring this wine of words so full of promise for yet a few days more. Waiting for a quiet space and a bit of time to breathe and settle before spurring my eyes across the glowing page, eager to translate your strung together letterforms and spaces into smells and sounds ...and feelings, captured, ethereal glimpses of your world, the touch of your soul upon it. I imagine that I can hear your voice sometimes and that this is a hearthside conversation, not a written tome.
Can't imagine what I might say that would add value to these gifts you've offered here, certainly not atop all of the beautiful notes that others have left here before me.
Surely, if boars may move contented within rose briar light then we may move within, be moved by... Susie Mawhinney light. And so it is, your words a prism and rainbow, your kind heart that misses almost nothing, neither too small nor too plainly beautiful to inspire notice. Celebration.
You're a treasure, dear Susie. No matter how much you might want to "aw shucks" it away, you move mountains: grief and worry, fidget energy and self doubt. We who read you, know this. We save you, your stories ...for dessert. Nutmeg and sweet cream.
Do you think it just might be possible to feel the warm glow of someone's appreciation across an ocean, a few mountains, rivers and forests, countless cities and towns and villages and fields, belated by days of being held captive by houseguests and endless rain? If so, dear Davey, then you will be feeling mine rolling in on this fine, yes fine, I did say that, November day.
I read this at un unholy hour of the morning, disturbed by an almost forgotten light of the moon flooding through open shutters, Orion was twinkling its geometric stars straight ahead and Jupiter glowing golden way out on the horizon. Sleep a forgotten luxury when there isn't a cloud in sight and I am not sure whether to smile my thanks at Mother Natures rebel sense of humour or shake my head in admonishment... classes began again yesterday, how could she not have known that!
Thank you for always being a reader who understands the little things, for saying "We who read you, know this. We save you, your stories ...for dessert. Nutmeg and sweet cream." I adore nutmeg and sweet cream almost as much as you.
Oh Susie! I am so happy to read your lovely stories again! Your stories, about life, love and nature...the real things, the things that help keep us grounded. Now more than ever, we need this.
Happy that your chickens are all safe.
While I was in France this past September I thought about you...and about boars!! You: for the beauty that you write about so eloquently while walking in the forest, and boars (what I know about boars), while on a walk that we took in a pine forest.
( The cooler winds have started in my part of the world, the colourful leaves have started falling, fast! Fall is truly here in Québec, also!)
Happy Autumn, Susie! Would love to know how you prepare your rosehips!
Hugs!
PS: shhhhh! I, too, have started talking about the 'C' word!!
Hi Jeannine, it feels wonderful to be back walking my hill at last, even in the torrential rain we've been having here. If Mother Nature was intent on sabotage she chose the wrong gal! Especially in all this glorious autumn colour.
Today we had a short reprieve, the sun shone from a deep blue sky for most of the afternoon while I walked the entire circumference of the hill, I have returned much invigorated. At last...
The trees here are half decided, the oaks still cling to their last vestiges of summer greens, others; beech, ash, chestnut are are myriad bounty of golds and reds, not quite an even patchwork yet but so close!
I have to ask, did you see any wild boar while you were here? I find them such fascinating creatures, dangerous yes but what survivors they are. As are, to date, my hens thank goodness!
A very happy Autumn to you too lovely, enjoy, enjoy!
PS; I know, I am trying not to but even my daughter reminded me today!
Hi Susie! I love autumn colours! Rain is part of the season, and even though we aren't always fond of it, so necessary this year as the rain has been rare here.
As a matter of fact, Susie, I did see a huge wild boar. But unfortunately for the beast, it was lying dead on the side of the road! I was shocked actually. In Québec, we sometimes see deer that have been hit by cars. Always makes me sad. When we passed by that highway a few days later, it was still there. I must say it was a very sad sight. (I won't go into detail-it wasn't gory, but it was stiff.)
Here too it was necessary Jeannine, although I do rather wish it had come either before or after my holidays... hmm, sadly the choice was not mine and actually I have come to quite enjoy a walk in the clouds which is often how it is here on the hill.
That is indeed a sad sight, as is any animal left to the elements after death... the saddest for me this year, two badgers, probably a deliberate hit because the local farmers have an inherent fear of tuberculosis being transferred to there herds (it used to be so, now the cattle are pumped so full of antibiotics almost an impossibility). Both broke a heartstring. And there is little that can be done except send a prayer to their beautiful souls in recognition of their short lives.
Today, after dancing under sunshine and blue skies yesterday, has returned to that sort of soft blanket grey with the wind from the west and I just know is the harbinger of more rain!
I will bake bread and a cake for my daughter who arrives tomorrow instead! xx
I too am grateful for much in this broken world—our friendship across a sea being one of them. And I too am not always sure what the tears are for. Much love, my friend. 💕
Friendship above all else Holly! As for tears, perhaps we are not meant to know why they come only that they do and that this too is a good and holy thing! Forever love back 💞xx
First, I never read the story of your wild boar encounter. I am glad I ‘stepped off the page’ to read the rest of the story. I cannot imagine, wait, now I can, in great, vivid detail, being face to face with that massive, menacing head, adorned with its own built in weapons, teeth and tusks. A small mountain of glorious terror. Sad for the terrible end of such a magnificent beast.I don’t think I ever told you about my Bear encounter ,4’ away from me, scary, but a good story . Suffice it to say, it was not our time to be mauled. Our lives were meant to continue on, past those moments. Now I hike with a bell, and often sing loudly, and badly. Especially when I am approaching a well trampled area in the tall reeds that hides a stream bed. I think just knowing there might be wild boars on my precious daily outings, might incite enough fear in me that would severely limit my daily obsession to be in the wild. Thank goodness there are no wild boars in VT.
“Or did I lose a month somewhere back on the trail there.” Due to the lack of rain, it is quite possible it shriveled up from dehydration. I think I lost one too. Or maybe I just lost a few dehydrated lbs. in that oven heated summer.
“Where the wild boar roam in rose briar light…” How gorgeous, Susie, words, and photograph. Ooh, what can I make with rose hips, I have a few bushes.
Excuse me, while I go put on a sweater, I am feeling a little chilled, could be just thinking about,
“rats scavenging the chicken meal and hoarding walnuts then filling the silence of the night with their noises while cracking open the shells”, yes, that’s it.
I am reading and smiling ( hearts and heart ), nodding my head in agreement, laughing, eyes wide, in awe of beauty, breath hitched in excited panic, feeling the warmth of a distant friendship. This is why I love to be here with you. I sure missed you both, you and the hill.
How good it feels to have the hill wrapping its folds around me again, I have missed being here with you too, albeit in the peripheral wilds of wind and weather. There is much to be said for the sharing of distant loves, yet more even to be felt..💛🍂
Wild boar are indeed a dangerous creature, not one to mess with by any means. I carry a stick that could wield a lethal blow (a gift made and given by hubby after that face to face encounter) just in case but the question in my head always is 'would you use it? could you in all good conscience drive a knife into the heart of such a divine woodland spirit?' and I truly don't know... if my life were threatened perhaps but I am more inclined to believe I'd accept my fate thinking 'this is it girl, your number's been called!' And you know, to die in this wild place, on the slopes of my hill that I love and revere, under a vast sky, even if it were painful, would be far preferable than fading slowly in a sanitised bed, waiting for the the light to go out. So I clutch my stick, pray that fate is on my side and take my chances... what else can I do?
The rats are an oddity here! In Ireland they were great grey monsters, little about them was endearing but here in France, they are smaller, they have huge ears and bright eyes, I can't bring myself to hate them or their skulduggery despite that they have dug so many tunnels under the chicken house the floor is now falling inwards! Hubby of course is less pleased...
Sending smiles and love right back at you dear one... watch out for the bears! Actually bells are an idea I may adopt when prowling wild places, boar have shocking eyesight but their hearing is exceptional! Thank you... xx
I agree, to die in a small piece of the wild that has become a part of your DNA. But I think I would rather lie down , years from now, and go peacefully in the soft summer grasses. As opposed to be speared and eaten 🐗. Oh, and I carry a can of bear spray hooked to my belt loop. While I did my due diligence and watched a video for instructions, one can never plan which way the wind will be blowing at the moment of attack. I am glad to have read about it first, I am quite sure I would never have thought about it, and sprayed myself in the face. Then I would be a crumbled buffet on the ground, all set to be eaten. Pass the ketchup please…
On hindsight Lor, your way sounds ultimately more peaceful, even if it were snowing!
I remember you telling me about bear spray, now I’m wondering if that might work for wild boar? Again, a more preferable form of attack than that which my stick would necessitate! But yes, blowback, especially here on my windswept hill, would need careful consideration… would there be time for that I wonder? Perhaps I should carry both? 😉
Yes , both. Maybe sharpen one end of that stick. I forgot to say, carry a whistle. I did a quick search, carry the spray. Here’s the video I watched. Read and then watch the video towards the end of the page. 🧐🫣Just trying to keep you safe !
Done! I have a whistle, now all I have to do is find me some bear spray! There is some controversy here as to the legality of carrying it outside… it is considered a D category weapon but here in boar country, I think I will ignore that! Thanks heaps Lor, I hated the implications behind that special stick!
Yes, a daughter's hens even in town, that shape in the sky, go quickly under the wire of the mobile coop, her chicks from borrowed fertile eggs, under her wings, sister helper keeping watch. But the badger with young to feed can climb across fences and break the wood of the night time shed. There was no dog to be quick enough at the first sound.
Indeed, badgers are the battering rams of the mustelid family, they are strong of muscle and will and can scavenge no end of extraordinary left overs but I have never known a badger to partake in the slaughter. I have googled this of course... what would we do, now, without this backup? And, yes, confirmation is there, and oh your daughters poor hens! How to keep out badgers is my next thought of course?
Yes, there is always an ecology and food chains. Son-in-law Joe saw her disappearing over neighbours' fences and walls along the terrace. There is a sett in the rough grazing left on the steep slope at the back up to the University.
We have an old badger sett in a closeby arable field to us, persisting among the roots of one of the few old oaks that remain in the hedge. The trees must have been left there when the hedges were planted and the fields laid out at the end of the 18thC at the time of the enclosures. Farming has pressed even harder against the hedge this last 20 years. We see the same machines that you see. And we grieve to see a young badger dead on the road at the end of our lane, a road that has got busier over the 40+ years since we came. The ancestral ways are not up to it.
There are dogs I learned who can defend even against wolves. The recently retired German Vet I worked with in the Balkans in the late 90s was in awe of the massive beast he saw being treated in the rural hinterland backing onto the mountains of Kosovo. I was fascinated when family took a brief holiday fairly recently in rural Sardinia and saw the similar pair who lived on their own on the hill with sheep in the summer, and took care of the flock, even now there are no wolves. But there is a whole ancestry enables this ecology.
As you say, what did we do without Google! This last year I have looked at modern genetics and history. Sardinians persist identifiably as descendents of farmers coming out of Anatolia in the Neolithic.
Hens and sheep, dogs and the hedgerow nation, trust in their eyes!
To my knowledge, there are three badger setts on this hill, one — probably all —but one definitely, has recorded notes of habitation dating back to 150 years. This fact delights me more than I care to admit to my neighbours who hunt them almost relentlessly by setting traps and perching on seats high above their homes in wait for an unsuspecting nose to appear. And of course, having no predators, other than those of the human kind, those brocks never look up to ensure a safe sortie.
I have been known to practice skulduggery! Traps are easily undone, a quiet meander back and forth below hidden seats, and gunmetal is not unknown and of course, nothing can be said because here too badger hunting is much frowned upon. Outrageously, digging is still legal, though being fought. France is one of the last countries to authorise the violent “vénerie sous terre”.
I am intrigued by "Sardinians persist identifiably as descendents of farmers coming out of Anatolia in the Neolithic." I predict another Google search ahead!
May your day be kind dear Philip and all hens and livestock safe.
I knew that badgers were classed as 'vermin' under the Tudor anti-vermin legislation (Henry VIII, 1532, 'hit list)', which seems to account for much of our ongoing 'traditional' rural attitudes and practice (and adjacent Conservative politics). Of course there was big-money involved, with fur as a legally regulated garb for who could wear it, but more widely it seems a connection with local tax-raising and the increasing importance of money. Modernity begins to get into it's overdrive here!
But I knew it turns out far less about the extraordinary history of 'badger protection' in the UK in my own time, especially upto 1992. The current 'debate' about badgers and bovineTB seems largely about politics, and control of TB in milking herds for animal health, and rather weakly, for public health reasons.
There seems to be an entire book available on line which brings the UK history up to date, Quote "...strengthened versions of the 1973 Badgers Act passing through Parliament in 1991 and 1992."
And we hope the same for you and yours this fine wet sunshine day.
'The season' for our youngest (no hens, just the dog and little cat) at Spindrift Stories ends its first hectic opening. with the schools and visitors back to school and home. The winter circle for those interested in legends and stories however is widening, a tradition largely relegated as 'for children' in modern England, but she is invited to tell stories at fireside venues and festivals, c.f. traditions in Ireland, Scotland Wales.
The debate - heatedly mostly - continues despite new strategy's being implemented here in France.
I have saved your link Philip, apologies for the delay in replying, I have had a relatively Substack free week whilst enjoying the last delights of warm sunshine in my tiny section of woodland. I am feeling rejuvenated, whether this means inspired to write yet I am uncertain, one can only hope!
I am imagining your daughter holding the attention through legends and stories of a circle of children, flames flickering, warm glowing faces, eyes wide with wonder... It is a beguiling and beautiful picture.
Bovine TB is concentrated in Britain mostly in the SW on dairy farms. Previous policies have not got on top of it. Milk production is heavily subsidised most years. We will see. perhaps.
We should see snow on the tops tomorrow, Becca 10 days ago was providing exactly your recipe for children in a valley that goes up into those hills. A couple of mothers and their children and their support people were taking a wonderful break using accommodation provided by a conservation and regeneration initiative run by the Trust that owns the valley. There are some splendid legends about the cleft into the Cheviot hill above the old farmhouse. The families had been out on the hill and were just in to get a warm and some food and drink as the sun went down.
Very glad to hear you are soaking up the vital nourishment that keeps body and soul together. Something will come of it! Best wishes as always.
Give the hens a gentle squeeze for me. 💕
Done! 💛🐓xx
A balm for the soul, Susie. Unlike you, I'm looking forward to being forced to slow down a bit with the shortening days.
This year Lynn, though I don't relish the thought, some slow time is overdue, I can feel it. I don't think I've ever been as busy as I have been in the last 18 months... I am exhausted everywhere.
It seems to be the time of over busyness and recovery therefrom!
Beautiful, rich, stirring, as always, Susie. Thank you. With love.
With love back to you dear Renée - and always with thanks. xx
Gorgeous, Susie. We are on opposite hemispheres, but I sense the season and change as though I am there now myself (although, granted, it is a rainy rainy day here in Melbourne, the weather having gone from 30C yesterday to a cool 12C today with endless rain.
I'm left as spellbound by this passage as standing beneath those trillion glimmering stars:
"Sometimes, when the day has given in to inevitable darkness and the silence is loud, with eyes half sleep-heavy, half awake, I am caught in a ghostly, luminous light sliding under the door. For a while it tangos across the walls then, more slowly, waltzes across the floorboards. It leaves, always, by the window, its last celestial magic curls like grace in muslin curtains and is gone."
Thank you Nathan, I have never been a fan of this time of the year, the gradual — or not as it has been this year — turn from dry and bright to, damp and grey, leaves me feeling as dull as the hill, even the usual autumn golds have been looking sad and forlorn for the last two weeks its been so wet. And of course, so typical of Mother Nature’s recalcitrance, today, my first day back in classes, was glorious! Such is her rebel soul I suppose!
Ahh, so typical! Well, hopefully that sunshine shines into the classroom!
No need to have worried, Susie! The month's break between posts has not ended or broken your flow. On the contrary, this post is flourishing and blossoming again, like the flora that always comes back... such beautiful images and lively scenes captured from your hill and home. Of course we have missed you! But every writer needs a break too. xxx
A belated but nonetheless heartfelt thank you Veronika, for your sweet understanding of necessity and kindness. Although, it wasn't so much a break as a hijacking of my time. Indeed, it is an irritation that has continued relentlessly through the September and October, on through the holidays when I dreamed of reprieve and now marches ahead of me into November. If I didn't know better, I'd call it a conspiracy or at the very least spirited hocus-pocus, the skulduggery in the seasonal winds...
I hoped for change and change came, it brought rain, endless rain but still the list - travail à faire - continues. I hope your olive harvesting with friends was a bountiful one, much love xx
Yeah I totally understand that irritation and frustration when you can never get to what your soul is yearning to do, because of so much travail à faire on the list... a natural response to not being allowed to be oneself, I would say.
We harvested around 1000 kilos in two days last week. The sweetest companion on the second day was a black lamb, only a few days old... Today we're off to another round of harvesting with some other friends on their land, and the sun is shining.
A yearning is the perfect word for how my soul has felt these last two weeks, so you can probably imagine the extent to which I would love to join you with that harvest Veronica, if only… xx
I totally imagined you there, Susie. You were there in spirit, especially when the little black lamb appeared, you came to my mind straight away, and I imagined you telling the story in the way you do so well. I imagined you taking your beautiful photos of sunshine dappling through branches of olive trees and raindrops glistening on the leaves after spells of autumn rain…
I wish I had been there Veronika, photos of little black lambs are a thing of the past in recent years… I am hoping to breed again this year but finding a willing ram seems to be proving to be quite a task!…who’d have thought it! 😉
Each paragraph feels like a season breathing — rain, feathers, blood, moonlight, love. The lane, the boar, the robins: all part of your fierce liturgy of return. I read this slowly, as one might walk that road in rain. Drenched, heart full of moss & memory, grateful for the mercy of things that still grow.
Today the season breathed sunshine Kim… a temporary respite but a shimmering blessing for both moss and heather, boar and bird. As for me, well, I have gazed with longing from my classes, unable to hide my disbelieving eyes after endless rain fell for an endless holiday held captive by the rain. The mood will not leave now November reigns… but I think you already know… xx
I hope your chickens are still safe from the Badass Buzzards Susie!
As of this evening all are still present and correct Linda, it has taken some watching though... I don't think I've spent as much time in their coop all year as I have in the past almost three weeks!
Many thanks for asking... fingers crossed for la suite! x
Susie -- I'm in awe of your quiet evocation of atmosphere. I could feel, hear, smell and taste your umwelt -- and what a gift you've given us here. The photo captioned, "Autumn is many stories," looks like a Klimt painting. Only even more sublime. I dream of one day hanging a Mawhinney photo on my wall.
Thank you Julie, what an enormous compliment to want one of my photographs adorning your wall, maybe, in the future I can fix that... 🙏🏼
I am no expert on the philosophy — or biology? — of Umwelt but I think perhaps we each have different perceptions of a given thing, be it sky or water, a tree or a flower, bird or fish... we know what these things are but perceiving the details... anything could take a different intellectual or emotional form when described in the written word... I believe we all have this gift but perhaps have never had a chance to develop and use it. And, of course, each of us will have higher or lower degrees of sensory perception so nothing will ever be seen or felt or perhaps enjoyed in the same way by another person. Does that make sense? I am not sure mine is any more acute than yours, just different. I felt your own umwelt in the photographs of the three poplars, but would I have seen and heard the same whispers?
Exactly. Well said! Maybe that’s why/how language developed in the first place. — so people could share what they perceive with each other.
I've known this was here for a couple of days now, but have been saving it. Steeping its tea. Cellaring this wine of words so full of promise for yet a few days more. Waiting for a quiet space and a bit of time to breathe and settle before spurring my eyes across the glowing page, eager to translate your strung together letterforms and spaces into smells and sounds ...and feelings, captured, ethereal glimpses of your world, the touch of your soul upon it. I imagine that I can hear your voice sometimes and that this is a hearthside conversation, not a written tome.
Can't imagine what I might say that would add value to these gifts you've offered here, certainly not atop all of the beautiful notes that others have left here before me.
Surely, if boars may move contented within rose briar light then we may move within, be moved by... Susie Mawhinney light. And so it is, your words a prism and rainbow, your kind heart that misses almost nothing, neither too small nor too plainly beautiful to inspire notice. Celebration.
You're a treasure, dear Susie. No matter how much you might want to "aw shucks" it away, you move mountains: grief and worry, fidget energy and self doubt. We who read you, know this. We save you, your stories ...for dessert. Nutmeg and sweet cream.
I am, once again in your debt. Thank you.
Do you think it just might be possible to feel the warm glow of someone's appreciation across an ocean, a few mountains, rivers and forests, countless cities and towns and villages and fields, belated by days of being held captive by houseguests and endless rain? If so, dear Davey, then you will be feeling mine rolling in on this fine, yes fine, I did say that, November day.
I read this at un unholy hour of the morning, disturbed by an almost forgotten light of the moon flooding through open shutters, Orion was twinkling its geometric stars straight ahead and Jupiter glowing golden way out on the horizon. Sleep a forgotten luxury when there isn't a cloud in sight and I am not sure whether to smile my thanks at Mother Natures rebel sense of humour or shake my head in admonishment... classes began again yesterday, how could she not have known that!
Thank you for always being a reader who understands the little things, for saying "We who read you, know this. We save you, your stories ...for dessert. Nutmeg and sweet cream." I adore nutmeg and sweet cream almost as much as you.
Well said, David. I'm here to agree, wholeheartedly.
Julie, a huge heart hug for your constant and very much appreciated support. 💛x
The luminous light that dances defines this essay and tangoes in my mind!
If I can make light tango in your already beautiful mind dear Mary, I feel my time will never be wasted... Bless you 🙏🏼xx
Thank you for filling hearts for us once again! Your writing is like a lyrical hug.
Oh please consider it always such John... that is exactly how id like it to feel!
I am delighted you feel the warmth.
Oh Susie! I am so happy to read your lovely stories again! Your stories, about life, love and nature...the real things, the things that help keep us grounded. Now more than ever, we need this.
Happy that your chickens are all safe.
While I was in France this past September I thought about you...and about boars!! You: for the beauty that you write about so eloquently while walking in the forest, and boars (what I know about boars), while on a walk that we took in a pine forest.
( The cooler winds have started in my part of the world, the colourful leaves have started falling, fast! Fall is truly here in Québec, also!)
Happy Autumn, Susie! Would love to know how you prepare your rosehips!
Hugs!
PS: shhhhh! I, too, have started talking about the 'C' word!!
Hi Jeannine, it feels wonderful to be back walking my hill at last, even in the torrential rain we've been having here. If Mother Nature was intent on sabotage she chose the wrong gal! Especially in all this glorious autumn colour.
Today we had a short reprieve, the sun shone from a deep blue sky for most of the afternoon while I walked the entire circumference of the hill, I have returned much invigorated. At last...
The trees here are half decided, the oaks still cling to their last vestiges of summer greens, others; beech, ash, chestnut are are myriad bounty of golds and reds, not quite an even patchwork yet but so close!
I have to ask, did you see any wild boar while you were here? I find them such fascinating creatures, dangerous yes but what survivors they are. As are, to date, my hens thank goodness!
A very happy Autumn to you too lovely, enjoy, enjoy!
PS; I know, I am trying not to but even my daughter reminded me today!
Hi Susie! I love autumn colours! Rain is part of the season, and even though we aren't always fond of it, so necessary this year as the rain has been rare here.
As a matter of fact, Susie, I did see a huge wild boar. But unfortunately for the beast, it was lying dead on the side of the road! I was shocked actually. In Québec, we sometimes see deer that have been hit by cars. Always makes me sad. When we passed by that highway a few days later, it was still there. I must say it was a very sad sight. (I won't go into detail-it wasn't gory, but it was stiff.)
Wishing you more sunny days!
Here too it was necessary Jeannine, although I do rather wish it had come either before or after my holidays... hmm, sadly the choice was not mine and actually I have come to quite enjoy a walk in the clouds which is often how it is here on the hill.
That is indeed a sad sight, as is any animal left to the elements after death... the saddest for me this year, two badgers, probably a deliberate hit because the local farmers have an inherent fear of tuberculosis being transferred to there herds (it used to be so, now the cattle are pumped so full of antibiotics almost an impossibility). Both broke a heartstring. And there is little that can be done except send a prayer to their beautiful souls in recognition of their short lives.
Today, after dancing under sunshine and blue skies yesterday, has returned to that sort of soft blanket grey with the wind from the west and I just know is the harbinger of more rain!
I will bake bread and a cake for my daughter who arrives tomorrow instead! xx
I too am grateful for much in this broken world—our friendship across a sea being one of them. And I too am not always sure what the tears are for. Much love, my friend. 💕
Friendship above all else Holly! As for tears, perhaps we are not meant to know why they come only that they do and that this too is a good and holy thing! Forever love back 💞xx
May "he with the scar" live long in your memory, may the hens stay safe in your arms.
And may all things winged and scarred send you grateful hugs for your kind thoughts dear Fotini..
First, I never read the story of your wild boar encounter. I am glad I ‘stepped off the page’ to read the rest of the story. I cannot imagine, wait, now I can, in great, vivid detail, being face to face with that massive, menacing head, adorned with its own built in weapons, teeth and tusks. A small mountain of glorious terror. Sad for the terrible end of such a magnificent beast.I don’t think I ever told you about my Bear encounter ,4’ away from me, scary, but a good story . Suffice it to say, it was not our time to be mauled. Our lives were meant to continue on, past those moments. Now I hike with a bell, and often sing loudly, and badly. Especially when I am approaching a well trampled area in the tall reeds that hides a stream bed. I think just knowing there might be wild boars on my precious daily outings, might incite enough fear in me that would severely limit my daily obsession to be in the wild. Thank goodness there are no wild boars in VT.
“Or did I lose a month somewhere back on the trail there.” Due to the lack of rain, it is quite possible it shriveled up from dehydration. I think I lost one too. Or maybe I just lost a few dehydrated lbs. in that oven heated summer.
“Where the wild boar roam in rose briar light…” How gorgeous, Susie, words, and photograph. Ooh, what can I make with rose hips, I have a few bushes.
Excuse me, while I go put on a sweater, I am feeling a little chilled, could be just thinking about,
“rats scavenging the chicken meal and hoarding walnuts then filling the silence of the night with their noises while cracking open the shells”, yes, that’s it.
I am reading and smiling ( hearts and heart ), nodding my head in agreement, laughing, eyes wide, in awe of beauty, breath hitched in excited panic, feeling the warmth of a distant friendship. This is why I love to be here with you. I sure missed you both, you and the hill.
How good it feels to have the hill wrapping its folds around me again, I have missed being here with you too, albeit in the peripheral wilds of wind and weather. There is much to be said for the sharing of distant loves, yet more even to be felt..💛🍂
Wild boar are indeed a dangerous creature, not one to mess with by any means. I carry a stick that could wield a lethal blow (a gift made and given by hubby after that face to face encounter) just in case but the question in my head always is 'would you use it? could you in all good conscience drive a knife into the heart of such a divine woodland spirit?' and I truly don't know... if my life were threatened perhaps but I am more inclined to believe I'd accept my fate thinking 'this is it girl, your number's been called!' And you know, to die in this wild place, on the slopes of my hill that I love and revere, under a vast sky, even if it were painful, would be far preferable than fading slowly in a sanitised bed, waiting for the the light to go out. So I clutch my stick, pray that fate is on my side and take my chances... what else can I do?
The rats are an oddity here! In Ireland they were great grey monsters, little about them was endearing but here in France, they are smaller, they have huge ears and bright eyes, I can't bring myself to hate them or their skulduggery despite that they have dug so many tunnels under the chicken house the floor is now falling inwards! Hubby of course is less pleased...
Sending smiles and love right back at you dear one... watch out for the bears! Actually bells are an idea I may adopt when prowling wild places, boar have shocking eyesight but their hearing is exceptional! Thank you... xx
I agree, to die in a small piece of the wild that has become a part of your DNA. But I think I would rather lie down , years from now, and go peacefully in the soft summer grasses. As opposed to be speared and eaten 🐗. Oh, and I carry a can of bear spray hooked to my belt loop. While I did my due diligence and watched a video for instructions, one can never plan which way the wind will be blowing at the moment of attack. I am glad to have read about it first, I am quite sure I would never have thought about it, and sprayed myself in the face. Then I would be a crumbled buffet on the ground, all set to be eaten. Pass the ketchup please…
On hindsight Lor, your way sounds ultimately more peaceful, even if it were snowing!
I remember you telling me about bear spray, now I’m wondering if that might work for wild boar? Again, a more preferable form of attack than that which my stick would necessitate! But yes, blowback, especially here on my windswept hill, would need careful consideration… would there be time for that I wonder? Perhaps I should carry both? 😉
Yes , both. Maybe sharpen one end of that stick. I forgot to say, carry a whistle. I did a quick search, carry the spray. Here’s the video I watched. Read and then watch the video towards the end of the page. 🧐🫣Just trying to keep you safe !
https://wdfw.medium.com/the-truth-about-bear-spray-its-not-just-for-bears-13191225129f
Done! I have a whistle, now all I have to do is find me some bear spray! There is some controversy here as to the legality of carrying it outside… it is considered a D category weapon but here in boar country, I think I will ignore that! Thanks heaps Lor, I hated the implications behind that special stick!
I know, me too…
Yes, a daughter's hens even in town, that shape in the sky, go quickly under the wire of the mobile coop, her chicks from borrowed fertile eggs, under her wings, sister helper keeping watch. But the badger with young to feed can climb across fences and break the wood of the night time shed. There was no dog to be quick enough at the first sound.
Indeed, badgers are the battering rams of the mustelid family, they are strong of muscle and will and can scavenge no end of extraordinary left overs but I have never known a badger to partake in the slaughter. I have googled this of course... what would we do, now, without this backup? And, yes, confirmation is there, and oh your daughters poor hens! How to keep out badgers is my next thought of course?
Yes, there is always an ecology and food chains. Son-in-law Joe saw her disappearing over neighbours' fences and walls along the terrace. There is a sett in the rough grazing left on the steep slope at the back up to the University.
We have an old badger sett in a closeby arable field to us, persisting among the roots of one of the few old oaks that remain in the hedge. The trees must have been left there when the hedges were planted and the fields laid out at the end of the 18thC at the time of the enclosures. Farming has pressed even harder against the hedge this last 20 years. We see the same machines that you see. And we grieve to see a young badger dead on the road at the end of our lane, a road that has got busier over the 40+ years since we came. The ancestral ways are not up to it.
There are dogs I learned who can defend even against wolves. The recently retired German Vet I worked with in the Balkans in the late 90s was in awe of the massive beast he saw being treated in the rural hinterland backing onto the mountains of Kosovo. I was fascinated when family took a brief holiday fairly recently in rural Sardinia and saw the similar pair who lived on their own on the hill with sheep in the summer, and took care of the flock, even now there are no wolves. But there is a whole ancestry enables this ecology.
As you say, what did we do without Google! This last year I have looked at modern genetics and history. Sardinians persist identifiably as descendents of farmers coming out of Anatolia in the Neolithic.
Hens and sheep, dogs and the hedgerow nation, trust in their eyes!
To my knowledge, there are three badger setts on this hill, one — probably all —but one definitely, has recorded notes of habitation dating back to 150 years. This fact delights me more than I care to admit to my neighbours who hunt them almost relentlessly by setting traps and perching on seats high above their homes in wait for an unsuspecting nose to appear. And of course, having no predators, other than those of the human kind, those brocks never look up to ensure a safe sortie.
I have been known to practice skulduggery! Traps are easily undone, a quiet meander back and forth below hidden seats, and gunmetal is not unknown and of course, nothing can be said because here too badger hunting is much frowned upon. Outrageously, digging is still legal, though being fought. France is one of the last countries to authorise the violent “vénerie sous terre”.
I am intrigued by "Sardinians persist identifiably as descendents of farmers coming out of Anatolia in the Neolithic." I predict another Google search ahead!
May your day be kind dear Philip and all hens and livestock safe.
Yes, our ever widening circles of investigation.
I knew that badgers were classed as 'vermin' under the Tudor anti-vermin legislation (Henry VIII, 1532, 'hit list)', which seems to account for much of our ongoing 'traditional' rural attitudes and practice (and adjacent Conservative politics). Of course there was big-money involved, with fur as a legally regulated garb for who could wear it, but more widely it seems a connection with local tax-raising and the increasing importance of money. Modernity begins to get into it's overdrive here!
But I knew it turns out far less about the extraordinary history of 'badger protection' in the UK in my own time, especially upto 1992. The current 'debate' about badgers and bovineTB seems largely about politics, and control of TB in milking herds for animal health, and rather weakly, for public health reasons.
There seems to be an entire book available on line which brings the UK history up to date, Quote "...strengthened versions of the 1973 Badgers Act passing through Parliament in 1991 and 1992."
"https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK552861/?report=classic (courtesy of America in the cloud while funds last?)
And we hope the same for you and yours this fine wet sunshine day.
'The season' for our youngest (no hens, just the dog and little cat) at Spindrift Stories ends its first hectic opening. with the schools and visitors back to school and home. The winter circle for those interested in legends and stories however is widening, a tradition largely relegated as 'for children' in modern England, but she is invited to tell stories at fireside venues and festivals, c.f. traditions in Ireland, Scotland Wales.
There is still great money involved for Tax Payers I believe, the UK government sent out this report October last year;
https://www.gov.uk/government/news/government-to-end-badger-cull-with-new-tb-eradication-strategy
The debate - heatedly mostly - continues despite new strategy's being implemented here in France.
I have saved your link Philip, apologies for the delay in replying, I have had a relatively Substack free week whilst enjoying the last delights of warm sunshine in my tiny section of woodland. I am feeling rejuvenated, whether this means inspired to write yet I am uncertain, one can only hope!
I am imagining your daughter holding the attention through legends and stories of a circle of children, flames flickering, warm glowing faces, eyes wide with wonder... It is a beguiling and beautiful picture.
Bovine TB is concentrated in Britain mostly in the SW on dairy farms. Previous policies have not got on top of it. Milk production is heavily subsidised most years. We will see. perhaps.
We should see snow on the tops tomorrow, Becca 10 days ago was providing exactly your recipe for children in a valley that goes up into those hills. A couple of mothers and their children and their support people were taking a wonderful break using accommodation provided by a conservation and regeneration initiative run by the Trust that owns the valley. There are some splendid legends about the cleft into the Cheviot hill above the old farmhouse. The families had been out on the hill and were just in to get a warm and some food and drink as the sun went down.
Very glad to hear you are soaking up the vital nourishment that keeps body and soul together. Something will come of it! Best wishes as always.