I am currently an eremite, living a life of eremition.
What a soft word – if ‘fading’ was aural, it would sound like eremition. The word caught my eye the other day and I mused that since the advent of the pupsicle, I am in fact fading from society. I’m in purdah until his vaccinations kick in and so I spend most days behind the garden fence. I am in a phase of rather defined solitude, and it encourages me to simplify an already simple life.
We love simple, honest food – and so we grow a lot of our own, eat rather a lot of soups cooked in beautiful broths, fish caught by our family, fruit and herbs harvested from the garden. We had pumpernickel bread with hommus and avocado the other day for dinner and I followed it with a mango. The Hebridean Baker, a beautiful cookbook, arrived in our mailbox this week. It’s filled with prose that sings of the Outer Hebrides and from which I can’t wait to cook such simple but glorious food.
Each day we dress in plain clothes – really wearing out what we have here at the cottage. The pup’s teeth and claws are shredding rather a lot of what we have, so no sophistication on our patch, I can tell you.
Simple gardens – summer reduces our gardens to an almost-dryness, despite copious watering. The shrubs hunker down to maintain any sort of existence. I long for autumn when I can begin cutting back and layering the beds with composted soil topped with lucerne hay and crutchings. The wooly dags (back-end trimmings) from our merino flocks worked a treat last year, but now of course, the pup has found the wool and poo to be fabulous to drag around and it’s not uncommon to see him with scrappy wool sticking out of his mouth.
Simple amusements – no TV by choice. No Spotify. Little to no audiobooks, just now. No news whatsoever. Just quiet reading. Writing. Some heart stitching – another packet of French macaron colours arrived in the mailbox from 1000hearts.com.au.
Simple house – it’s cottage-small. Everything has its place, which the Pup is rather upsetting, with the sisal rugs having to be rolled away and my basket of embroidery now stashed in plastic boxes with lids. So, so not me. I love cane baskets; cane anything really.
Looking at the cottage bookcase, I can see there are titles to be donated to make room for others I’m accruing as my tastes change. I want a library of books that impart messages, inspirational stories, poetic pieces that chime like a beautifully crafted clock. I’m becoming less convoluted, more aware of the simple beauty of a leaf, a shell, a feather, or the seed heads of foxglove and columbine as they dry. Is it an age thing?
The pup’s toys are scattered around inside on a sheepskin mat. Those on the patio are heaped together and he adds leaves and twigs he finds in the garden (and wool). A detritus that sits at odds with my normally swept-clean, simple outdoor space.
I think of a reel I watched on Instagram from Leap and Wander Studio
about letting things go. She finishes with the idea that it doesn’t matter if things just sit because the world keeps spinning anyway no matter what we think or do. So true. And so I don’t sweep up the leaves and twigs too often. And I take time to look up at the immensity of a black heaven laden with stars. So close I swear I could touch the black velvet nap with its tiny crystals. I realise once again how humbling the night view of the universe is and that in the end, it’s just living simply within that universe that matters. Not reacting to what the Trumps and Musks of this world bully us with. Just breathing and trying to give hope to others. There’s strength in the masses who believe in simple hope and loving kindness.
Doing:
The pup and I cut back the herb and berry beds which had gone feral.
I made a spinach and herb crustless tart. The other day I made triple choc-berry brownies. I did the ironing. Not big in the scheme of things, just done when I feel like it. So it is, with a baby in the house. Even if he’s hairy and has teeth like a white pointer shark and that he’s quite loud when he’s dreaming.
Creatively, I have desires. My threads and needles await. But I’m turning the bed down at 9PM so I achieve very little. I wrote this post. And more of Act III whilst the Womble slept. It’s the writing of the novel at this time of sequestration that is thrilling me the most.
We call the Young Terrier the Thug sometimes as he learns that chewing on fingers and scratching legs is not acceptable. My friend, Sue, compared terrier pups (she has her own) with the characters in Peaky Blinders. As the blood dripped from a finger that reached for the ball just when the pup did, I would tend to agree…
We had a filthy hot day last Monday. I despise the heat and the pup can’t cope, so it was day of balancing energy and lethargy.
Whilst El Puppo slept, my husband kindly babysat so that I could grab a swim with son and family and later, just before dinner after everyone had left our village (the holidays are done for most), I popped back to the beach, dived under crystal clear water, feeling white sand and the odd shell beneath my hands as I swam along the ocean floor. Did it a couple of times and then went back to the sabre-toothed tiger cub and a house that thankfully, soooo thankfully, is air-conditioned.
If the pup is teaching us anything in the time we need to keep him safe within our gardens, it is that there is a form of simplicity in how we are living. We walk the garden and orchard with him, we teach him small things, we time our day to his. It’s like living with an horarium in our own seclusion.
At the end of the day, we take him to farflung, washed-clean beaches and he sniffs the air, smells the rocks, the seaweed, the sand, digs holes and then dives on them and smashes the hole with his tiny, chubby front paws. Such simple delights for us to watch but huge for the little uncarved block that he is. So I thank him for this time in eremition. It’s an interesting journey.
Finding music to fit was a challenge, but I found one you’ll be familiar with if you know me. It’s smooth, has a simple rhythm and will soothe, I think. And isn’t that what everyone needs right now? Close your eyes and just breathe…
I love this very calm meditation on the very calm (if sleep-deprived) phase of your life. Eremition indeed. Perfect word for what you need to be doing. Indeed, what all of us want and need to do now and again. The music matched the pace and mood perfectly too. Loved it all. Keep that calmness going for as long as possible!
Aha Prue, all this sounds completely idyllic to me. Funnily enough, whenever the world seems too much (every day, just now!) I fantasize about the Hebrides, somewhere I've never visited but know instinctively that I would love. I did not know the word "eremition" but I DO know the feeling. Simple dinners here are the best too, simple everything in fact.
That young pup has the best parents and the best life he could possibly have - and how he's grown! Also, I have to comment on 'poetic pieces that chime like a beautifully crafted clock' because ... just *exactly* spot on. Always a pleasure to read your thoughts, Prue xo
P.S. One of my sons says that my Terrier looks like he is about to sidle up to the bar and bark out: "Whiskey! Oirish, please." They do have SUCH faces lol!