one froggy morning

You couldn't quite determine if the sun was up or not yesterday morning. It was misty and murky and you could almost drink the air. We pulled on our boots and waterproofs and headed out across the fields. I love it when it's like this - the surreal feeling of not being able to see or even recognise the paths you walk every day. By the time we got to the sea creek it had lightened up a bit, and the banks glistened with moisture-laden webs. They looked like holiday garlands - elf lights - and we dawdled back, pointing out web after beautiful web.

Later in the day we were crossing the rail bridge near our house, and a man and his collie were crossing the other way. The dog was super excited, and we thought he was greeting us, but he ran right past us to the middle of the bridge and looked across, panting with anticipation. We looked questioningly at his owner, who sighed, shrugged, and said, "train". Sure enough, in a few seconds, a train pulled in to the accompaniment of frenzied barks and back-and-forth manoeuvres. It was the first time I've ever seen a dog herd a train and it was impressive. When the train stopped, so did the dog, in the middle of the bridge, grinning happily and looking very pleased with himself. A job well done.

 

winter sky

 

This is the path back through the farm from the Shipwright Arms, our favourite pub and our escape, our bolt-hole, and one of the places that makes Faversham so peculiarly special. In the summer we sit on the seawall with our pints and watch the boats and the birds - the swifts darting over the marsh and the occasional kestrel and kite hunting from far above. In the winter we shed our muddy boots in the entryway and curl up on the sofa in front of the log fire, afternoons slipping away with good company (and knitting of course), and a slippery, cold walk home in the late afternoon darkness. 

The Shipwrights had to close for months in the spring, but was able to open up for takeaways in late spring. This was perfect, as the pub is in the middle of nowhere (you have to walk an hour along the sea wall to get to it - there is a road - the one in the picture - but very limited parking). We could get takeaways and sit up on the sea wall, happily distanced and safe. Social distanced seating was introduced inside in late summer and it was a quiet safe place where you could be somewhere else. The last lockdown ended that, and now Kent is to be placed in the highest tier of restrictions when that ends which means all pubs can only do takeaways. It is dire news for our small pubs, who depend on Christmas trade to see them through the winter. 

So takeaways it is - in the hopes of keeping the Shipwright going until the Spring when hopefully some of these pressures will ease up with the introduction of vaccines and warmer weather. I cycled up at lunchtime today for some weekend pints - it was far colder than I thought it would be - my eyes were streaming in the wind and my hands were numb with the cold. But the sky was beautiful - a swan took off across the marsh as I took these pictures and the light on its wings was breath-taking.

I ordered a pair of sheepskin gloves when I got home.

Home entertainment

One of the nicer aspects about spending almost all of my time in the living room is watching the birds and squirrels. We've put window feeders on all three windows, and we have a squirrel feeder outside on the fence (James's Squirrelmatic 3000 is still going although a good chunk of the lid has been chewed through). The bird feeders are like a busy rail station at times - blue tits, great tits, chaffinches, robins, and Alfred the blackbird all zoom in and out with varying degrees of intensity. Dunnocks, wrens, wood pigeons, and collared doves wait for whatever drops onto the ground (a veritable buffet when Alfred is around).

A blue tit in the sunshine

But squirrels will be squirrels. No matter what delicacies we put into their feeder (and there are delicacies - we actually bought squirrel food - it's a mix of nuts, seeds, and some dried fruit. We are SUCKERS), they cannot resist the lure of the window feeders, which they cannot reach. The outside window ledge is at least a metre high, extremely narrow - less than an inch, and angled downward. I have become attuned to the subtle yet unmistakable soft thud of squirrel belly on glass and when I hear it I drop what I am doing and watch eagerly to see what mad scheme they're attempting this time. I'm impressed by their tenacity. I think one day, one of them will succeed. I hope I see it.

Tardy

Well it has finally happened. I have become bored enough to write. There. How's that for admitting two distasteful and unflattering sentiments right up front. Part of it is, I suppose, the feeling that I don't have much to write about. That in itself is a blessing - this is not a year where you want to have war stories. To lay low and hope to emerge, ideally in one piece, at the end of it seems a logical approach.

Neal is back working at the printing warehouse for a 6 week stint. He's working 12 hour shifts, and enjoying being back with his friends and working and (please oh please for the love of everything dear on earth and in the heavens above) not catching Covid. (There are a lot of protocols in place - masks, visors, temperature taking - it is a big warehouse and he is not near others - but still). For the first few weeks I enjoyed having the time alone but it's starting to flag. For all you who are managing this living alone I salute you. You are amazing. Keep going. Hang in there. (And tell me - is it normal to talk to yourself quite a lot? Do you also answer? When should you start to worry?)

We're in another lockdown as well so it is very quiet in my life. Work is also quiet (locking down is much less labour intensive than opening up it turns out. We've gotten better at it). I think in the first lockdown, I was knackered, and the rest did me good. Now I have probably never been so rested in my life, infancy included. All that energy has to go somewhere, and if I don't get rid of it in the day it starts hammering around in my brain and that is not a good thing. So I've been covering a lot of ground - on my bike, running, long walks. It's exhausting, but it's working. 

And there are worse places to be out and about...

A hawthorn tree on the sea creek

Seasalter at high tide

The path home alongside the creek in an impossibly early sunset