Tenacity

 Well, squirrel fans, the squirrels have upped their game. 

warning: squirrel nuts

Shortly after this, he (and there is no doubt that he is a "he" now is there?!) succeeded, swinging off the feeder by one paw for a very long drawn-out  second before squirrel and feeder crashed to the ground. Neal and I were to busy watching and laughing incredulously to capture the inglorious moment.

So steps have been taken.

Behold my Beautiful Baffles

Wait - I can hear you say - aren't those just page protectors with cardboard inside, thumb-tacked to the window-sill? Why yes they are. Only the best here, I assure you. They do flap up in the wind which is unnerving for birds, squirrels, and humans alike, but so far they seem to be doing the trick.

Over to you squirrel.

Happy Christmas

 It's 16:20, I'm sitting outside, and it's not quite dark yet. There is a fire blazing in the fire pit, and I am roasting hot on the front and freezing on the back. It reminds me of when I was little and we used to swim and slide down mountain glacier streams - the dichotomy of temperature.

Neal is behind me, standing on the steps, trying to photograph the moon. The moon is almost full and rising through the pink-grey sky like a lighthouse. It's amazing, and, judging by the sighs coming from behind the tripod, Neal is getting frustrated. He has a new camera, a digital, to which he is able to affix vintage manual focus lenses. He has been ordering these from ebay with great enthusiasm (Look at this! Made in the GDR! It's only a tenner!!) but it takes time to figure out all of their idiosyncrasies, and the moon is a recalcitrant model and is not hanging about.

All of this is punctuated by two robins fiercely singing. One close, one further off. It is only from reading the robin book I bought when they nested above the door that I learned they are literally having it out. "Come on over here if you think you're hard enough. What's that little red? You talking to me? You and what army?" And yet it sounds so beautiful. I wonder how much of what we perceive of as beauty is just us, oblivious.

One of the singing robins is Jacques, named for the white racing stripe against each wing. It is usually impossible for me to tell any of the robins apart - or blue tits. There is one great tit that stands out because he is impossibly lovely - there is something about the distinction of his markings - his black bib is crisp and his feathers are stunning, I call him gorgeous George. Unfortunately he is quite an aggressive little bastard even for a bird.

It's been a quiet Christmas but a good one. It felt nice to be just us two this year, like we were for many years. In fact, the last few days have felt more normal than anything has for a long time. 

The fire is almost out and I am pretty much touch typing now as it's too dark to see. 

Happy middle days - the true mid-winter. Stay safe x

new jumper!

 

Eventually.

I did stuff today!

 Real stuff! With other people and everything! With CHRISTMAS CAROLS! (happy sigh)

I've been volunteering with a group called Trees for Farms, who work with conservation groups and farmers to plant trees and hedgerows. For a few weeks we have been digging out a bank for a new hedgerow on a farm in Conyer (about 8 km from here) and today we planted it. It's actually quite hard work (my lower back and arse are shouting now. "Oh really? WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST CLUE?").  It wasn't raining, the sun even broke through for a bit, and it was good to be outside, working, even if planting trees implies an optimism for the future that I don't particularly share right now. It reminded me of a phrase my beautiful cousin Maria shared with me years ago from Martin Luther: (transl) "If I knew that tomorrow the world would be destroyed, I would still plant today my little apple tree."

I cycled to Conyer and back (arse: WE KNOW) (do you think arse should be plural? I suppose we only have one, but there are two buttocks which implies some degree of plurality. I think plural - if only because on one of the yoga videos I (very) intermittently do, the teacher refers at one point to buttocks in the singular and no matter how relaxed I am at that point it always makes me stop and go, what?)

Anyways, with that and the digging and planting I was pretty tired but the fun was not over as, after lunch, I met with three others from the brass band and we went to the new bandstand area in the recreation ground and recorded a few (socially distanced) carols to be added to the you tube 'Carols (not) in the Marketplace'. Every December, just before Christmas, the town comes out in force to sing carols in the town square with brass band accompaniment. Obviously that can't happen this year, hence some creative work-arounds. Today the sun shone, some onlookers gathered around, and I could have played all afternoon - I would have if I could have convinced the others to stay too. I did try. The other three undoubtedly ended up playing a lot longer than they had intended. 

It's a strange December with no Christmas gigs, no carols in the Christmas markets, no cathedral concerts, no pubs. Even today, when we finished, we were all laughing and packing up and someone said, "To the pub then?" and we all stopped short - because that is exactly what would have happened and now it can't and yet again Covid lands a sucker punch.

There's more brass carols ahead - my friend John and I are hatching plans. They involve a fire pit and the end of our driveway - I'll keep you posted!

    

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

Still here....

 

At once totally normal, and totally surreal

 

A partial brass band rehearsal...it got COLD when the sun dipped below the trees. That's me straight ahead - didn't realise how long that braid is getting.

That sky though.... full of swallows and even a pair of buzzards circling round and round. Made it rather hard to concentrate - kept looking up and loosing my place.

I have a week's leave this week and my goal is to be outside as much as possible before the dark days return.