Good intentions...
... for Knots in the String.
With the best intentions after time away, we’ve trundled back to the little cottage on the coast.
As I write, I can hear a soft wave on the Front Beach and during our night walk, the sky was so infinitely black and the street lightning so absent that we sucked in our breath at the awesome breadth of the starry ceiling above us. As clear as day, putting us in our place. Do you think that those humans who don’t deserve a place at the table feel such humility when they look at the nightsky? Just a thought…
Ten days we’ve been away and I haven’t been here to water my garden every second day as per Stage Two water restrictions. My husband calls the land ‘pinched’. Farming land, our farm too, is dry, struggling. Our garden which had freshened after a brief rainy night a couple of weeks ago, is paling to taupe, losing the promise of a green blush. The vibernum plicatum has shed most of its leaves, the nectarine tree has died. The big trees are in a harsh, forced autumn mode. Survival. Like the wallabies thumping along the streets at night as they search for grass to eat because the native bushland offers nothing. Our huge liquid ambers are now a flush of ruby, gold and deep burgundy. The Japanese maples – yellow with crispened edges. The euphemistic lawn is covered with a dessicated layer of fallen leaf.
Can I water madly tomorrow on the assumption I wasn’t here for five of my allocated watering days? Or must I take up now as I will go on, watering on ‘even’ days?
It’s so odd to have come 80 kms northeast of the city where water was readily available. The Matchbox’s pocket handkerchief lawn was rich green and we filled the ute, cutting back plants that have overly prospered with a daily drink. But here on the coast? I need to do a rain dance. We all do.
Perhaps while we’re at it, we can do a peace dance to encourage this momentary hiatus, this… ceasefire… to become a permanent where men of power learn that hubris invites karma. Just a thought…
Other things…
I told the Pup at the beginning of the week that in two more sleeps we’d be back to his favourite place. Did he understand? I’d like to think so. His joy and mine are a shared experience after all. But no. He dug around in my half-packed bag and found my new angora/merino gloves and proceeded to rampage round the house with his trophy. He gave them back nicely for a dog-choc but it proved his point. Let’s go, Mum… or else!
Easter was spent with family and food. Herb-filled fishcakes with an apple and red cabbage coleslaw recipe from my friend, Pan. Elderflower bubbles sparkling liquid gold in glasses. A dessert of vanilla gelato with Mum’s hot chocolate sauce. Picnicking with slow-cooked lamb, cheeses, chutneys, breads, hot cross buns, fresh jam, grapes.
(Perched alone as he seeks the best shot to illustrate a country stream - image taken by my daughter.)
My daughter had given her nephew, our grandson, a camera and some film and thus ensued a photographic expedition. He loves bushwalking, carefully notices the detail around him and was very deliberate about what he recorded. I hope it continues – some of the happiest and most mindful people in the world are surely nature photographers. That was such a memorable day – to see an interest budding, perhaps to grow.
And on the topic of pictures, my daughter is moving back into creative endeavour within Floating Studio again, and I really love this image she put together and which describes our family Easter Sunday with elegant subtlety.
However, I kissed goodbye to the little townhouse and sped back to the coast after ballet class. Pulling on old denim shorts, a faded navy cotton sweater and salty boatshoes, clipping the worn lead onto the Pupsicle’s harness and pootling to the river to wade in warm water as far as the ocean beach. The Pup was ecstatic. Wading, rolling in the sand, chasing common gulls. Standing with his hair streaming in the stiff seabreeze, the soft strands, all city washed and conditioned, parting and reforming to a seadog style. His black nose lifting as he tried to discern fish, bird and water scents.
He boggled with joy when we turned off the beach to visit his girlfriend, Vita, and my friend, Willie. We sat on the sunny verandah overlooking an autumnal garden as the dogs alternately bonked and wrestled (thank the stars Vita is spayed!), drinking cold Pellagrino as icecubes clinked against the glass.
I saw the further developments in Willie’s lyrical rendition of her summer native garden. But of course, winter is coming and she will return to her town garden and Vita and Baci will go with her. The pup and I shall miss them. But we will visit…
If you would allow, dear Reader, I’d like to recommend some stunning posts from this last week.
How I relate to this writing!
Then this one. Jennifer’s journey into publication, via gardens, family, the arts and London is pure delight. I can just see her sitting with me on Willie’s verandah! I’m currently reading The Rule of Three and it’s fresh, pacy and very sharp writing.
Ramona Grigg who provides a very powerful list of Free Press writers in the States. People need to read the links. It’s elucidating and frightening…
And this! Wow!
Finally, finally, my enduring gratitude to Cindy Hattersley, American interior designer, writer and stylist, for featuring me and my obscure life on her most recent post. I attach links and it should be noted that when I saw the montage with music on Insta, I felt like a movie star!
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CindyHattersleyDesignBlog
Instagram:
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/chattersley/
Despite flaws and freckles and heaven knows what, I leave you with our music for the week. Something calmly surreal from the inimitable Kelly Boesch. Those colours!
Gosh Prue - I didn't know what it meant when the message came up that you had linked to me. I came to your site to read you (it always feels like dropping in to see a friend for a good old catch up), then dived into Universality which was so beautiful and transported me to the sea and then, hey presto, there I was. Touched and honoured that you included me. Have now spent a happy hour reading your other recommendations and feel thoroughly nourished. Also, wanted to say what a wonderful gift the camera and film is for your grandson. Learning to choose what he wants to shoot, not wanting to waste film, is the best discipline for really seeing and analysing why you want to take the picture. He'll really learn to look and maybe be a match for his grandma in seeing and noticing and describing so beautifully. ps. I feel your pain with the watering. I now save all my coffee, tea, vegetable water etc etc for the garden and keep a bucket in the shower (like they do in Spain) to catch the extra. Can't bear to throw any away.
Prue, you've outdone yourself. Every bit of this is priceless, from beginning to end. Thank you for including my post, but I have to say, HOW DARE YOU? was just stunning. All of it so staggering so heartbreaking, so true.
I loved your descriptions of your surroundings, the nature, the animals, the need to take it all in. Beautiful. And lastly, your interview, where you tell me more about you than I ever knew, and I'm thrilled by it all. Wow! 💕