The poets do have a habit - certainly Shakespeare and his contemporaries - of allying our time on earth with the seasons, don't they? I can see why in a way - it is what seems to me to be an easy way of dividing up our lives. Babyhood/ the popping out of the ground/womb of the crocus, the snowdrop, then the daffodil, then the tulip and so on until we get quite naturally that gentle move away from Spring and into Summer . Just like our babies turn into toddlers, then infants, then school dawns and everyone you meet says how quickly the baby they remember has suddenly - in the blink of an eye- become a person in school uniform.
Similarly we can visualise Autumn and then Winter - each Season has its beauty in Nature just as each section of our lives has the same. In a way I have been lucky - the death of my first husband at the relatively young age of 66 was a great blow but as I was almost ten years younger than he was and as he had suffered greatly as a young man on The Death Railway, it was not the awful shock it would have been in different circumstances. And he faced the inevitable in a very inspirational, philosophical way.
By marrying 'my' farmer two years later - in a funny sort of way - I went back from what had been the Autumn of my life to an 'Indian Summer'. In case you have not had a similar experience I can tell you that an Autumn 'new love' is very inspiring and it certainly makes one feel young all over again. My first husband instilled in me his wish that I should 'start again' if I had the opportunity and he was right.
Now the Winter of both my life and of the weather outside my computer room window has arrived I share with you some of the exciting things I can see and how much joy they give me.
It is still dark when I get up in a morning and I can draw back the blinds in the sitting room, sit down with my morning cup of tea, put on my specs - all in time to see the rooks go over on their morning sortie. Hearing aids in means I can also hear their chatter as they go over - even if I can't tell what they are saying. Some mornings the sky is cloudy and I can't see them, This morning the sky was a deep apricot colour which enhanced every black feather.
And yesterday Jonathan Tulloch in The Times Nature Notes wrote of something I had never heard before. He wrote of a 'surprising consolation' for those who happen to have starlings nesting in the eaves of their homes. Apparently male starlings sleep in their old nesting places in Winter and at night they sing softly - he says it could be that they are practising for Spring or it could be they are keeping their spirits up. But whatever the reason they mimic 'curlews, oystercatchers. owls, barking dogs and (not sure I want to hear this one) reversing tractors '! How wonderful is that?
Alright - only a few days to Christmas - but even less days to the shortest day. But already I can see a couple of primroses as I sit here and a clump of pink flowers that have been out - low to the ground - for weeks (can't say what they are as they are too far away). The Christmas roses (Helleborus Niger) were covered in white flowers. Then for a couple of days they were laid low by a blanket of snow. Now they stand up tall again - pure white, clean, wide open blooms. I love them.
I am lucky enough to have a pebbly patio which houses nine different evergreen shrubs/small trees. They are in the sunlight at present and every one is a different colour/shade from the almost grey Santolina (with just the odd yellow, rather tattered yellow flower) to the yellow/green small 'tree', the dark green Hebe with still a few flowers, a deep orangey- green bush and a low growing variegated, leafy shrub and a greenish yellowish 'creeping fern.'
And to end (sorry to have gone on so long) when I went to hospital a couple of days ago I saw on the way that the Gorse had the odd bright yellow flower. It brings me to the conclusion "Never kiss your girl when the gorse isn't in bloom" - which of course means you can kiss her always because you can always find the odd flower somewhere on a gorse bush.
Keep smiling.
.JPG)
36 comments:
I have heard the starlings in my roof, in fact only the other night. I don't think I was best pleased about this at any stretch of the imagination as I have been attempting to keep them out however the noise they are making is definitely different to that at other times of the year, I had noticed that.
Hope the noise they are making is not practising reversing tractors - I am sure you have heard enough of that in your lifetime. Happy Christmas dear friend.
Lovely descriptive post-I felt I was in the room with you. Catriona
Oh, Pat! Less / Fewer. Tut tut!
I can't read your blog posts without being deeply touched. On your behalf, and on mine.
I have mentioned to you before that you and my mother are the same age (you being four months ahead of her). Yet, a glaring and so unfortunate opposite to you, what has happened to my mother's spirit? She once said, some years ago and in a different context, that she feels I am disappointed in her. I don't know about "disappointed"; it's more that I wish she were still the person she once was. Dangerous ground I am treading here since I, as do my sisters, believe there is one person to hold responsible for what she has become, who has zapped her energy. The one she worships the ground he is walking on. She still has her marbles and still enjoys bird song and plants coming and going over the seasons. But where is her spirit? Her up and go? Where is my mother? It's tough to grieve for the dead. It's tougher to grieve for the living.
I wish I could sit with you. We'd have so much to talk about, smile about, exchanging views. And I'd bake us the Christmas biscuits of my childhood - filling the house with the smell of the season of peace and good will. If only.
Your light shines, Pat,
Ursula
It's lovely to see budding and flowering - nature is still quietly trundling along. So glad you can see so much from indoors.
I remember a bird it may have been a starling but I think it was a blackbird, make a ringing noise exactly like the old phones (remember them?). Glad your garden gives you so much pleasure Pat, Autumn has muted colours, winter becomes stark against snow. But the first primroses are always welcome. I love the Barnhaven double primroses, but the nursery has moved to France, though I am sure there are plants in this country.
Great flocks of starlings used to 'murmurate' over Bath and roost on the ledges opposite our house, but now they never visit. They would spend all night snoozing and squabbling, then fly off in the morning.
When I was a child, starlings used to roost over my bedroom window and one of them would sometimes imitate the loud outside telephone bell on the wall of the house. We would run indoors from the garden to answer the phone, it was that authentic. Both of your husbands sounded lovely people.
You are a poet, my dear. You describe things in a way that makes me see them and feel them. I adore my darling starlings. I don't think of them as pests when they show up en masse at our feeders; they need to eat, too. I love their metallic chortles and clicks. They are iridescent in the right light. We've had only 1 pair nest in our yard, ever, and it was a joy to see and hear the babies.
I understand what you mean by going back when you married the farmer. I met my second husband when I was 43 and we lived together till we married when I was 51. It was like being a teenager all over again, as all our kids were grownups by then. I was a young widow, but had 35 happy years with husband number two who was 11 years older than me. I wish my observations were as keen as yours, I will just have to try harder. Our weather is a little crazy right now, seven degrees and will be getting a lot of rain later today and tomorrow. Winter hasn’t really started yet. I love reading your posts, so thought provoking and interesting. I hope you will feel well enough to keep posting even if they need to get shorter or less often take care and have a wonderful Christmas. Gigi
Lovely post, Pat. I love how you get so much joy out of your garden and you are kind to share it with us!
I felt as if I were sitting there with you in your sitting room, pondering seasons and looking at the flowers outside. I had no idea that starlings were so skilled in mimicry. There is always some new thing to be delighted by, isn't there?
I had no idea starlings were such good "mimic-ers". We get flocks of them here in the spring and they cover the lawn, looking for emerging insects, I suppose. Enjoy your day! -Jenn
We just got a real, gray winter morning with a hard frost here in East Tennessee. I can hear a train in the distance. You blog is so fine and beautiful—thank you for this new entry.
As usual, what an interesting and entertaining blog post and a delightful read! Once a teacher, as they say.
Have you divided up your purchased treats for the days between now and New Year's Day? Hope there are some holiday wrapped Kit-Kats in the mix.
Hugs!
What a beautiful, thoughtful post. You talking about starlings makes me think of the bunch of hooligans that sit on our roof waiting for me to go out with the tubs of bird food, top all the feeders up, change the water, fill the mealworm dishes, then they descend devouring everything in a flash, but they are so funny to watch. Hugs Gill Xx
Your keen, beautifully expressed observations are greatly appreciated. The seasons march on and certainly each season brings something very special. You embrace the seasons well and your writing paints a lovely picture of sights, sounds and observations. I had no knowledge of the starlings and have not seen them in many years. They are quite unique. Possibly a predator keeps them away. Nature is like that.
For me, the best song during the winter, is that of the Robin, no matter how gloomy and depressing the day might be, there is always a Robin singing somewhere and also, both sexes sing.
Having been married three times and now with a long time partner, my "seasons" have had several re-starts, it's all good fun.
Barbara Anne - sincere thanks for the lovely gift it is so pretty and very much appreciated.
Thank you also to the many blog friends who have sent me cards. I can't reciprocate as I can't gTasker - slap my hand metaphorically!et out to fet stamps and can no longer walk to the post box now that the weather is cold.
Tasker - slap my hand metaphorically!
Thanks for your response everyone.
My husband and I were both 41 years old when he died, and I knew from the start that I was not going to stay single for the rest of my life, which could easily last another 41 years, according to the average life expectancy of women in my part of the world. Now that I have been with O.K. for almost 8 years, I realistically hope for us to remain together for the rest of our lives.
Starlings, songthrushes and even common blackbirds are good at mimicking the sounds of their environment. Many have been known to incorporate mobile phone ring tones into their songs, and I know that‘s true, as there was a blackbird doing just that at my parents‘ allotment.
The shortest day is soon behind us, and we can look forward to gradually longer daylight hours again.
My heart is filled with love for you Weaver, what a special and wonderful person you are.
Dear Weaver, I always read your posts because they give me snippets of information about the place I call 'home', although my parents, who lived in Coverdale, are long dead and my visits to Yorkshire too few and far between. I rarely comment but have to do so today to say what a wonderful attitude you have to life and what brave spirit you show in dealing with your illness.
Wishing you a peaceful and happy Christmas.
I was a little girl in Gribdale, near Great Ayton,climbed Roseberry Topping, and I do like your word pictures of what you see from your window. Your spirit is lovely.
JOHN GRAY GOING GENTLY
I cannot reply on my phone properly for some reason and am on my break at work
i enjoyed this post
i love a meandering descriptive one,
one that lets the imagination gallop
it reminds me what good blogging is all about
love
johnx
what a beautiful post and such beautiful thoughts of our stages of life. i've been reading you for a long time but rarely comment but i do thank you for sharing your life with us out here in blogland. you will not be forgotten.
An inspiring post, thankyou Weave.
Yes, those of us who get further chances are fortunate..
We have Starlings nesting under next door's roof....and they love the Himalayan Honeysuckle bush's berries! Such beautiful cheeky birds.
You write so beautifully and have such a wonderful attitude to everything that is happening in your life. Thank you.
We have blackbirds here that mimic the whistles that the marmosets at our local small zoo used to make. Used to because the zoo had its licence down graded and now can only show domesticated animals so the marmosets had to go to another zoo. I volunteer there most weeks, mainly gardening and I get great pleasure form hearing the chickens and guinea fowl as I work. Guinea fowl have a range of sounds though their alarm calls are very noisy. they are also very stupid birds. When the avian flu restrictions were lifted they were allowed to wander around the zoo as they had done previously. However the wolf dogs had been given access to an enclosure that isn't roofed in. One bird flew in over the 20ft high fence and was promptly eaten while the others watched. The next day another flew over the fence and the same thing happened. Another decided to sunbathe in the paddock where the pygmy goats live and was trampled to death by the goats. So now they have to live in one of the aviaries.
I picture in my mind the low growing pink flower to be a cyclamen. Have visualized your blooms and garden for years as I have followed you daily. Will miss you so. (Ms Nell)
Awesome clear post. You have likened life to the seasons of the year and it makes a lot of sense.
We had lots of starlings in our garden before I moved here - they were very noisy neighbours but I loved seeing the sun shine on their amazing plumage.
I have seen snowdrops in bloom already but in a small town not many other signs of spring yet.
I enjoy the transition from one season to the next, even the approach of winter. Each season has it's own pleasures. The only drawback to that is that our climate forgets which season it is, so we just get weather, and are never quite sure how many layers we need!
It must be a thrill for you to observe the awakening in your garden. I remember how I would walk round each morning to see what had appeared overnight. Cyclamen and hellebores are two of my favourites.
Like all the others who commented, I savored this post. And I agree with John, this is what good blogging should be. I had not heard that saying about gorse, but I like it! A blmalmy day here in the Appalachians, got up to 60f!
We live on the Somerset Levels so often see the starlings murmurations.
I think you describing you marriage to your second husband as an Indian Summer is wonderful.
My great gran's nephew Lewis Galsworthy died on the Death Railway in 1943, he was an only child. Although we have visited the Changi Museum in Singapore, we have not been to Thailand. A couple of months ago an old RN mate of my husband's visited the cemetery where Lewis is buried (he now lives in Thailand) and sent me some photos. Your first husband must have experiences such horrors.
Happy Christmas and keep enjoying the views from your window.
I adore the story of what the Starling sleep in the old nest and sing.
The gud dugs send woofs
We have two small apple trees in front of our front door, and yesterday I noticed that one still has a few apples!
THANK YOU ALL DEAR BLOG FRIENDS.
HAVE A GOOD CHRISTMAS.
Dear WoG, Well, here we are: Christmas Eve. I am sitting at the computer with a cat curled up in my lap, happily catching up with you and all your lovely followers. I so enjoyed both posts about the starlings (must look into this business of singing to themselves at night) as well as the beautifully expressed post comparing the seasons to one's life via personal glimpses into your own. Yet another virtual visit around the table with our cups of tea... I take time to read all the replies and am touched by them all, short or long, but Ursula's, in particular, struck a chord and brought tears to my eyes. My beloved mom passed in April of 2020, age 94, but while I was fortunate enough to still have her around, I felt all the same emotions as Ursula. I missed the strong, dynamic woman she had been most of my life. I so badly wanted that person back! She seemed to be fading away before my very eyes. I did not assume the role of caregiver with as much grace as I might have, though I did my best. (Or did I? In hindsight, I would have done some things differently...) I find myself missing both my parents and my sister more this Christmas than past ones (my sister has been gone 20 years, now; my dad, 10 years). Been feeling a little sorry for myself, and then I check in with you, Pat, and get a much-needed wake-up call from your positivity and appreciation for every new day. So grateful for your inspiration! Merry Christmas, dear WoG!
Post a Comment