Life goes on...

... for Knots in the String.

Robert Frost said: In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

Indeed. And it would be unthinkable if it didn’t. With that in mind, one just gets on with the job of living. It’s a little grey here and there, but there are patches of colour. Like the moment with my grandson when we went to the supermarket and he found a squeaky dog’s toy. He said quite baldly, ‘H would love this, Nanny. If he wasn’t dead.’

My grandson has seen death on a regular basis on the farm. Once, he looked at a deceased ewe and asked, ‘Where is it really now, ‘cos it doesn’t really seem to be here.’

His dad answered, ‘It’s up in the sky. In heaven, I guess.’ And grandson seemed happy with that answer.

When the Terrier died, I said, ‘He’s the brightest star you can see.’

And my grandson said, ‘Is he the sun then?’

I replied ‘No, not the sun. But if you go outside at night and look up, he’s the brightest star.’

And grandson said, ‘But everyone that’s dead’s a star, so which one is he?’

By now, I was quite het-up and wanting to cry and so I said, ‘The one near the moon, the bright one.’

Thankfully that answer satisfied him.

Children are so resilient. For them life does indeed go on. A friend told me a funny-poignant story about the passing of a little girl’s mum. The mum had been ill on and off for many years, more in hospital than out. When she passed away, the little girl said to her dad quite brightly, ‘Can we go and buy a new mummy now, Daddy?’

At six, it’s that easy.

The Terrier and he were good friends, but he is already planning names for a new pup and is telling everyone, ‘It’s going to be our dog’. Because to him, ‘our’ covers not just his house (and Mum and Dad) but our house too.

I envy a young child’s simple reasoning and in many ways they think like dogs. Every day is a new day filled with limitless possibilities.

With that in mind, we’ve got on. Husband and self have found a family who are breeding exceptional little Jack Russells – sweet dogs reared in a country-household environment.

We saw three day old pups on Sunday – tiny squeaky things which could fit in the palm of my hand if I had held them. But they’re in strict quarantine to give them the best chance at life and so we don’t see them again for a month and that’s when we shall try for a connection. To see if one of the litter wants to know us…

I wonder daily if my own little mate would be hurt at the speed with which we are seeking another dog. Most likely not, because he would know more than any other how impossible it is for me (and my husband) to live dog-less. And also that finding the right dog may take time. Even if a connection is made in a month with a pup, it will be another month after that before it can come home. And to be frank, I’m also hoping there’s a sign. I’m a great believer in signs and intuitions. How medieval of me, don’t you think? But thus far, there has been one (I think). The mother JRT is called Sophie which was the name of my daughter’s Kelpie – our loved little hairy man’s bestest friend.

We travelled to the north of the island on puppy-day and found that the seasons are rippling across the land like silvered grass bending before a breeze – shivery grass we call it. Swiftly undulating across fields with the speed of light. Everything is a month early. Paddocks are shaved clean of fodder and turning shades of molten metal in the wind and warmth. The countryside vibrates with John Deere’s, with Klaas, Kase, and Fendt tractors and harvesters (so I’m told by the six year old who knows them all). We’ve already cut sileage and grass hay on our own place (much to the six year old’s delight). And more hay, this time lucerne hay, yet to come.

Our grandson gets home from school and says to his dad, ‘What jobs do we do this afternoon, Dad?’ and the two will go and move sheep into new paddocks or shift the irrigator. He’s a very quick learner, a great worker and is beginning to earn pocket money.

We visited a garden festival on puppy day – one we’ve visited three times previously. Longford Blooms is beautiful – cottage and formal gardens in the English style and couched amongst grand European trees planted by early settlers. We always park in the church grounds under an oak tree and have a picnic lunch while the leaves rustle above us and the church bells count the hours. As we walk, I make mental lists of plants, of ideas and take many photos. It’s a perfect time. This visit, we also wandered through a few Longford stores, finding a shop, Lofty Home Store – Christmas shopping and here it is still November! At Junker Jane we purchased a whimsical rusted folding patio set for the bottom terrace of the Matchbox garden. Like family members, it’s small and fits perfectly into our lives.

I’m tending to eat, sleep, walk, stitch and nothing much else just now. Reading is a non-event as since picking up The Terrier’s ashes, I sleep as if pole-axed. We are barely aware of much in the outside world but don’t feel we’re missing anything. Mainly we keep an eye on the weather for harvests and for the gardens. It’s earthy, time-honoured, satisfying and real.

However, there was another highlight this last weekend. I performed (twice) with my close friends for Felicity Ryan Ballet’s annual concert. Earlier in the year, I doubted I’d be dancing because of the two bouts of surgery which have exhausted me so much. Then of course, over the last couple of weeks dancing was an anathema because of the Terrier. But my friends wrapped me up in their kindness and I managed. Our time ensconced in our dressing room was the best – cocooned in joy and even laughter (quite loud laughter!) and with TimTams and blocks of chocolate.

That’s what I take away from the experience. Not the performance because my heart wasn’t in it, but the friendship? Holy stars above! Absolutely!

And so with the idea that there is a perpetual cycle, I move on. Grass grows, plants bloom, rabbits (damn them) invade our garden without the Terrier to sniff them out. He never killed any but his tough presence was enough. I dust the window sills and furniture of the cottage, change the linen and wash the floors  - nothing’s been done since before the Terrier became so ill.

I bake double choc-chip cookies and make soup. And walk… we still walk the favourite places twice daily - there’s an echo with us but it resonates in our hearts. I garden because it’s one of my happy places. And tomorrow, I’m swimming with my friend, Pan. The water is warm, the weather too. Like I said: life goes on.

Song for this week? Hmm, tough one. Maybe just something I really like and which Paul McArtney believes is one of the greatest songs ever written.