Happy Fourth of July!

Here's wishing all my American blogging friends (you know who you are!) a very happy July 4th tomorrow. To begin the celebrations I thought I would post a few more photographs from my recent holiday in Canada and US.

The North Bridge in Concord is supposedly where the first shot was fired in the War for Independence (the shot heard round the world (Emerson)). Over the bridge (the farmer is in the photo crossing it) is the statue of the Minute Man. It was here that a brief battle took place in 1775. The fight then moved on to nearby Lexington - now such a pretty, peaceful place - here is a photograph of the "village" green.

Philadelphia became the nation's temporary capital in 1790. Today it is a lovely city with wide streets, lots of trees, beautiful buildings and lots of history! And finally I could not do this post without adding the Liberty Bell. That icon of freedom (its voice has never been stilled). It was first heard in 1753 when it stood on top oof the Pennsylvania State House. In 1776 the colonies were proclaimed "Free and Independent States", Thomas Jefferson drafted the declaration and it was adopted on July 4th - the colonies were now sovereign states, well on the way to becoming one nation.

So dear friends - 233 years later - have a fantastic celebration tomorrow. We shall be thinking of you all.

Ten Minute Collage.

Following posts by Art Propelled and Melrose Musings I decided to have a shot at a ten-minute collage (Thanks to Robyn and Derrick for the idea). Because the weather here is so very hot and any activity ends in extreme exhaustion for me I also decided to "kill two birds with one stone" and make the collage from my bundle.

If you remember over one hundred bloggers joined Seth Apter's (The Altered Page) invitation to create a bundle from odds and ends and hang it outside to weather until May 1st. On that date we were instructed to take it down and (by August 1st) make it into a work of art.

Here is the result. The base is a piece of black card. On it I put my newspaper bundle, which I roughly tore into strips. I then added bits of scrim and bits and pieces which had been wrapped in the bundle when it was hung in the rowan tree. Everything is glued down.

When my ten minutes was up I laid a frame on it to give the piece some sort of shape. The only other thing I did was to zap a bit of tyvek with a heat tool and then get out gold and blue paint (you can't do anything for Seth without adding blue - it seems to be his preferred colour!) I daubed paint here and there but left some of the newpaper as it was.

What do you think of the result? Here it is then - Seth my bundle "transformed into an art work", Robyn and Derrick my "ten minute collage".

Phew! It is still too hot to move.

The idea of collage.....

Collage seems to be the buzz-word in Blogland at present. Art Propelled, who makes the most beautiful wood sculptures and sometimes puts them together in what could probably loosely be called collages, made some ten-minute collages on her blog last week. Derrick (Melrose Musings) had a go at it too. There is something very free and creative about collage - and if, like me, you are no good at drawing, it is possible to put together a pleasing picture.

And that is what creative work is all about isn't it? I am not talking about "great art" here, I am thinking of creative work which gives the creator a feeling of satisfaction.

The time is fast approaching (August 1st) when those of us who did a "bundle" are going to have to post a creative work which we have made from it. At present my bundle sits in my work room, surrounded by the detritus which was once inside it and is now sitting there waiting for me to put it together - I think I shall do a kind of collage, so watch this space.

My greatest difficulty art-wise is that I cannot be "free". I suppose, if I think about it, it applies to other areas too - I have to have a tidy house, I have to file things away, I do not have the ability to just splash paint/materials around and see what happens.

Some years ago, cleaning out a drawer in my parents-in-law's house, I came across a tin full of little keys. What to do with them? You can see what I did with them in the picture - I got a piece of linen and laid the keys on the linen in straight lines and fastened them down. The result is quite a pleasing picture as you can see, and it sits on my kitchen wall. But you have to agree - it is not "free".

So, take heed, I have found a few more little treasures in another drawer and (spurred on by Robyn and Derrick and several other bloggers who have done similar collage work) I intend to "let it all hang out" as they say. No more straight lines and neat and tidy pictures - my next effort (and it may well include my bundle) will be, for want of a better word, exuberant.

That is, unless I lose my nerve!

Everyone needs a straw hat.

It is my Writers' Group meeting tomorrow. Sometimes we have an open manuscript meeting, where we can read any piece of 500 words or less - poetry, prose, travel - whatever we like. But sometimes we have a set theme - and this is so tomorrow. I like these less as I find it difficult to write "to order" about something I am not necessarily interested in. But I suppose it is a good exercise.
We were given two pictures to choose from. One was Salvador Dali's Crucifixion and the other was of a straw hat, decorated with flowers, hanging on a door. I chose the latter. This is the piece I am going to read tomorrow:-

The hat hung on the back of the door. The sunlight, which over the years had weathered the straw to a deep golden, cast a beam across the brim and across the flowers, which had faded with the years.
When she had first bought it it had been a simple straw hat, plain, unadorned, meant for the utilitarian purpose of keeping the sun off the back of her neck. But, of course, Estelle being Estelle, she had been unable to leave it like that. She had made it into "Estelle's Hat" all those years ago, when the summers were long and hot and still, and the air was full of the sounds of droning bees.
The ribbon was one from her ribbon box. How she had loved that box in those days when a ribbon was a thing to treasure. Where was the ribbon box now, he wondered? On a Winter's evening she would take it out of the cupboard, put it on the table and lovingly remove the ribbons, one by one, identifying them and smoothing them out.
"That one was the belt from my second-best muslin dress. Oh how I loved that dress with its full skirt and its sprigs of lavender. And this one, the red one, (she would hold it up) was bought for me by that Bobby Jones at the fair one year." Then she would smile to herself, roll them all up tenderly and put them back in the box for another day.
That Summer, the one when she had bought the hat, she had stopped an old gypsy woman in the lane when they were out for a walk and had persuaded him to buy for her a bag full of artificial flowers. When they had got home she had taken out her ribbon box and chosen a ribbon. Together they had gone into the hay field. He had sat in the hay while she sewed the ribbon and the the flowers, holding each one up before deciding where to fasten it. He could still hear her laughter if he concentrated hard.
When the hat was finished she had put it on her golden curls and together they had danced round in the hay, her dress flaring out as she swung in his arms, the poppies in the field had moved in the breeze as though they were joining in the dance.
When they had come home she had hung the hat on the door and there it had stayed for years.
Children, work, holidays, gardening - all these things had come and filled their time so that there never seemed to be an opportunity to dance in the fields again. Maybe not even a desire.
He looked at her now, as she slept in the evening sunlight on the verandah, her grey head resting on the old blue cushion that she loved so much. He looked at her lined face now beginning to be etched with pain. Her wrinkled and veined hands lay still in her lap. Her thin, frail body took up so little room in the chair. She slept. He watched. And as he watched, he thought,
"Everyone needs a straw hat on the shed door for days like this."

Too hot!!

Today it is very hot here and the forecast is for it to getter hotter each day this week. I do not like very hot weather and am keeping indoors between 11am and 3pm when the sun is at its hottest. So there is a limited post today.

I went down into the garden to collect a bunch of herbs for lunch - marjoram, parsley, sage, chives, mint, oregano and thyme - somehow just smelling those herbs made me feel cooler (sure it is all in the mind!). The buddleia is in full bloom - not the purple one but this lovely orange one. I counted over fifty bumble bees on it. I know it isn't a plant for the vegetable garden but there are so many bees on it that it must be good for the fertilisation of the flowering broad beans!

Outside the back door, on the Calf House, the climbing rose is just coming into bloom and smells delightful. It is Alexander Girault and I have spent half an hour on the computer trying to find out who Alexander Girault was - does anybody out there know? Whoever he was then this lovely rose means that his name lives on.

The fucshia and the marguerites outside the back door (it is shady there for most of the day) are also in full bloom. So that is today's photography done for you to enjoy.

The farmer is also feeling the heat. Our heifers are in the field next to our neighbouring farmer's dairy herd and they would dearly like to be together. It's funny isn't it - animals have no concept of boundaries at all. The rabbits hop from A to B to C regardless of who the fields belong to. And similarly the cattle -they crowd round the gate between the two fields and, when it doesn't miraculously open for them, they crash through the wooden fence into the little wood, scramble over the beck, crash through another fence and get in that way. Together with the cows at last - that's the herd instinct coming to the fore and they are all happy.

Well not now, as the farmer has spent the morning creating a new heifer-proof fence so that they are now back where they belong.

Are humans alone in wanting to own things and then to put fences and barriers around their possessions in order to stop others getting at them? Wouldn't it be nice sometimes to live in a society where no-one owned anything and therefore no-one was possessive. I thought of the nomadic Bedou in the desert, moving from place to place but even they guard their possessions (including their wives!) when they up sticks and move on.

And, thinking about it, Tess has about ten toys - balls, squeakers, chews - and woebetide anyone who tries to take one of them - she is on them like a ton of bricks. Oh dear - I have just destroyed my whole argument haven't I? It isn't just human nature.

Keep cool. PS I forgot to mention Alberinte - she is also in full bloom and smelling superb.

Walking in the mind.

There is an exhibition at the Hayward Gallery in London until September 6th which is called "Walking in my mind." Yesterday Kate Muir wrote about it in the Times Review. She quotes the curator of the gallery as saying, "There are millions of nerve cells in the brain and the connections between these neurons, the synapses, are made by you." As I read it, the idea behind the exhibition is that we are all so many different characters inside our heads - what people see of us is what we choose to let them see.

Doing my walk for yesterday's blog I got to thinking about this walking in the mind business in its wider sense. There seem to be so many facets to it.

My previous husband used to say that I had the habit of doing every job three times. For example, first of all I would sit and think, "I think I'll clean out my wardrobe - I'll put all my Summer outfits together in the left hand side." Then I would have a cup of coffee, read the paper, have a chat, then go upstairs and clean out the wardrobe. Later on he would hear me on the phone to a friend, saying, "I've cleaned out the wardrobe and put all my summer outfits together in the left hand side."

On a cold Winter afternoon I can sit in a chair with a photograph album on my knee - let's say one of our New England holiday - and I can walk that holiday in my mind again - perhaps taking an hour to do so - and the effect it has on me is almost as therapeutic as the holiday itself.

I can read Thesiger's "Arabian Sands" AGAIN and I can be there with him in the Empty Quarter all those years ago. What an amazing thing the mind is.

An aunt of mine, Auntie Ruth, who died many years ago, became frail and bed-fast in the final stage of an illness. When I went to see her she was only partially conscious but she smiled and told me that she had just had a tremendous walk all round the fields and lanes of Heighington, (where she lived as a child) - the way she told me about that walk I know she really thought she had been on it that morning. A couple of days later she died - not a bad way to end your life, is it?

So - my post has wandered far away from the concept of the exhibition; but then has it really because the connections between my synapses have been made by me and this is how I choose to present it to you. Surely that - in the wider sense - is what it is all about.

Where do you walk in your mind.

Here and there - out and about.

Another Saturday - how quickly they come round. The farmer is out cutting grass for other people today, so Tess and I have a day to ourselves. What to do?

First there is gooseberry jam to be made. We have the best crop of gooseberries that we have ever had and not a sign of either sawfly or mildew (largely due to early spraying I think). I pick four pounds, come in and make eight pounds of jam - a lovely, jammy smell permeates the house. The jars look good when they are all full and I feel good too. Then we decide to go for a walk (well Tess decides and I acquiesce - the easiest option). On the way past the vegetable garden I notice the goose berry bushes - have I really picked four pounds this morning? If so then you really can't see where I have been, there are still stones of fruit to go. Gooseberry curd next?

Shakespeare really knew his countryside when he said "summer's lease hath all too short a date". Already the wild flowers are on the wane and the grasses are going to seed. There are so many different grasses that I resolve to come out one day with my grasses book and see what they all are. In the meantime I take a few photographs of the more common ones.

We walk over the fields into the village. The grey heron precedes us, rising up and tucking in his long legs, only to land a few yards further up in the beck again. It is not until we reach the lane that he flies back, passing us on his leisurely flight and landing behind us this time.

We are visited by Mr and Mrs Curlew, both feigning broken legs/wings/beaks in their efforts to deflect our interest away from their wandering/hiding chicks.

We reach the road, walk round the village, call in at my son's (Dominic Rivron - see blog list) for a cup of coffee and a sit in their lovely garden, and then it is home again.

Watch this space later in the week for a spot of grass identification. Happy weekend to all readers.

All Stations Go!

A spell of warm Summer weather and it is all stations go on the farm here - and throughout the Dales grassland farms.

There is still some silage to get in, so grass is cut, left to wilt, baled up, wrapped, loaded onto a trailer, carted to a barn, or an open area, and stacked for winter. That is a time -consuming job I can tell you.

Also the farmer still likes to make what he calls "a bit of hay", so this week he has also cut the paddock, left it to dry in the hot sun - and a sharp breeze which also helped, rowed it up, baled it, carted it to the barn and stacked it away - and I can tell you on good authority that the farm cats were not amused as they sleep in there.

Added to that they came to shear the ewes. Many of them had already lost a lot of wool - the pasture bushes are festooned with clumps of wool - now that they are shorn they look such ungainly creatures but I am sure they feel better for it. We had the lambs in at the same time (each mother has two lambs) and they were kept back to be drenched and treated for flies - and boy were the mothers annoyed. The yard was full of bleating mums searching for their offspring and the collecting yard was full of calling lambs. Still - all's well that ends well - they are all back together in the barn pastures.

Tess and I had a long walk to get away from all the activity. Now that the fields are cut short it is possible to walk through them again (not only is it hard work when the grass is long but it is also not good for the grass to be trodden down) and we walked along to our neighbour's land and up to his barn to look at his owl box. A barn owl has taken up residence, which is a good sign. We hope that next year he/she will find a mate. Then we walked back along Mill Lane, which for once was not the muddy track it usually is. Wild roses festooned the bushes and climbed up the trees; young fledgelings were being fed on the top of the wall; it was quiet and peaceful and by the time we got back to the farm most of the activity had ended.

P.S. I completely forgot to post the photo of the sheep shearer (and that is after having to persuade him to let me photograph him - so he now has pride of place at the top!)

Churches

We are so lucky here in the UK that we have so many magnificent ancient churches to see. Our friends from Holland love them too. Yesterday we thought we would have a "gentle" day, so we just drove the ten miles to the little town of Masham to look at the lovely church there.

This morning our friends have moved on so that they can explore the beauties of York before returning to The Netherlands, so today is a day for me to catch up on reading my bloggy pals.

But here first for your enjoyment are a few of yesterday's photographs.

In the churchyard stands a fragment of an Anglo Saxon pillar.

Inside the church there is a beautiful embroidered altar cloth - I have put that on for the embroiderers out there.

My favourite part of the church is the ancient tomb of Sir Marmaduke Wyvill and his wife

.I love these ancient tombs. It is as though they felt they could live for ever through this effigy in stone. Sir Marmaduke and his wife lie on a marble plinth surrounded by iron railings. They are looking out into the church and Sir M is leaning nonchallantly on his hand as though he is basking in the grass on a sunny day. They are supported by the kneeling figures of their six sons. It wasn't easy to photograph the whole tomb and the reflection of the light on the marble made the photograph much too light. But here is a close up of both husband and wife.

And finally a new stained-glass window was commissioned a few years ago. I think it is magnificent - it incorporates various aspects of Dales life - there is the curlew and the swallow, the local sheep breed, various local wild plants, stone wall - everything which goes to make up our beautiful countryside. As you can see from the photograph there is the clearest deep blue which looks tremendous with the sun shining through it.

Now I am off to catch up on reading other blogs - I haven't even finished reading the Mug Monday posts yet - didn't people respond well to the idea?

A Lovely Day Out.

We have visitors staying from The Netherlands and yesterday we took them over towards the North York Moors to the beautiful Abbey at Rievaulx. The setting is exquisite. Eight centuries ago St Aelred - the third abbot - wrote "Everywhere peace, everywhere serenity, and a marvellous freedom from the tumult of the world." I would say that nothing of that has changed.

The abbey was founded by St Bernard of Clairvaux - twelve Clairvaux mnonks came here in 1132 and there has been an Abbey on this site ever since. I have put on just three photographs for you to see. A distance shot of the newer (relatively) part of the building, an interior shot (although of course there is now no roof) and a shot of a perfectly formed bird's nest which had blown down from somewhere on the masonry - what a beautiful piece of architecture that nest is too!

Then we made a short detour to St Gregory's Minster in Kirkdale. There has been a church on this site since about 750. The sundial in the photograph is Anglo-Saxon and it tells us that the church was rebuilt in 1055. There is a sense of peace and tranquility here too. There are very early sarcophogae inside and the coolness was wonderful after the scorching heat outside.

I hope you enjoy this brief tour.

Thanks to all those who participated in Mug Monday - and to all those who commented on my blog. I am very limited for time this week but I will visit you all within the next few days. Meanwhile - enjoy this lovely sunny weather while it lasts - the farmer is busy making hay (while the sun shines) so our friends, who have their caravan in one of our hay fields, are going to sleep at night to the very English scent of new mown hay. A brief PS after seeing the daisy in the nest photograph - a translation for what the dutch call daisies is "May kisses" - don't you think that's lovely?