Swimmingly...

... for Knots in the String.

The boards at the cottage gleam – a satin glow since we had them polished last week.

But they needed to be cossetted and covered for up to 10 days. Which is why we stayed in the city for a few days. When we returned, we laid groundsheets and old towels for another couple of days hardening which our Womble Dog thought was wonderful as he pulled up all the tape that was used to join one cover to the next to stop them moving as we walked across.

All was going swimmingly (this term has relevance, stay with me), until I walked in from outside, the groundsheet slid forward beneath my feet and I fell. Legs flew east and west along with the bowl of berries I had just picked and an empty black bucket I was carrying to the kitchen. One leg bent back under my full weight, ankle and toes crunched under my buttock. The other slid forward – an inelegant split as I landed on a right wrist bent backward.

I lay for a moment, waiting for the pain of a snapped tendon or three. Been there, done that. My husband, who is currently off-balance with vestibular neuritis, wanted to lift me and I declared for him to take care of himself and his balance and leave me where I was. Eventually, I sat up, nauseous and hurting and then rolled onto my knees. He kindly brought me an icepack for the ankle and toes, and I limped to the sunlounge on the patio where the Womble joined me, cuddling up close as if his warmth could help.

Nothing seemed broken apart from my spirit. I suspected shock – and yes, it came. But surely nothing that cold water immersion couldn’t ease. So I pulled on Mum’s old red swimsuit (it was Mother’s Day after all), slipped on a neoprene jacket and took my neoprene gloves to the beach.

I sucked in a breath as I walked in, breaking the meninscus that is the calm surface of the water. The depths were clear – ice blue with rippled white sand beneath. The seabreeze had snuffled to nothing and I just willed the sea to take away my aches and soothe my spirit. I hung weightless, all cares gone, pain dulled to deep-freeze numbness, or so it felt, and stared into the lapiz sky. I wallowed, a septuagenarian jelly fish, for about 15 minutes, bare legs raw and chilled, feet apparently non-existent. All I wanted was for dolphins to arrive, to have fish floating round my legs, but perhaps they understood that almost winter-May is a time to wander further afield. Above me, a fairy tern swept along the foreshore before diving, catching and then streaming up like an elegant white rocket.

I thought of this week’s salutes to David Attenborough, who is rightly our hero, and how much he lauds the sea’s value. As I floated, every fibre of my being agreed with him – such power, such wonder…

I limped home and dressed, goosebumped and frosted, and then sat on our bed in the late afternoon sun, electric blanket on and a hot water bottle tucked behind to warm and ease the aches. It took more than 2 hours to lift my core temperature and at best I felt tepid. But I’m convinced the cold water did the trick, halting any swelling and bruising. Of course it did! It’s the ocean after all! However, I decided no matter how perfect the day, late afternoon is not cold water swimming time.

Nor is it wise to cover the floors in groundsheets. Not when you have two olds with not much balance between us.

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Just this afternoon, I discovered a massive ditch has been dug and lined with boulders to direct stormwater away from a new #Orford #WestShellyBeach development which is being prepared (and for which we currently can’t provide adequate household water and which is likely to get worse with climate change). That huge culvert empties over the edge of a shoreline bank and will run straight across the beach to our beautiful bay. I am in turns livid and sad and wonder why any of us even tried to protect our river from developers, or the bay from salmon farms when this is the kind of Don’t Care attitude that exists. Patently the owners of the new development couldn’t give a s**t that the jewel in our crown is #SpringBay in which we, our children, grandchildren and great grandchildren swim and in which there are all manner of species from squid, through seahorses, rays, sharks and many other aquatic species. I think of David Attenborough and wonder what he would do and can almost feel his hand on my shoulder. I wonder if I have the energy now to battle for the environment against grubby moneymakers and nefarious local and state government like I did twice before. Hmm… )

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Other things:

No ballet class this week because of a torn thigh muscle, product of the splits. May have to have a couple of private lessons after I get the all-clear so that I can catch up!

But walking is permitted, so we have been tramping the coastline, shell-seeking, breathing deep and just loving the impossibly blue skies and water. I’ve been trying to catch that blue in two different watercolours and it looks almost twee.

Watercolour hasn’t been my friend this week. My first effort ended with an accidental drop of neutral tint as I washed the paper and which would not budge, no matter what. In the end, I threw that precious 300 gsm sheet away. The next one has been washed and sits with its first elements drying. I’ve got the vision but reality is a whole other thing. King Charles paints softly tended landscapes and it’s my dream to paint in that gently rendered style, but we will see…

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And then there was Mother’s Day…

Mother’s Day in my own family was considered an irrelevant day – Mum always said that love and respect should be given to mothers every day and that she wanted no part of the commercial hoopla. She also believed that it was a day that excluded all those who weren’t mums for whatever reason. A wise point which has even more relevance in these days of opting out of parenthood or being unable to conceive.

I share my mother’s views and on Mother’s Day, I relished the lack of weekenders around as my little fella and I walked the deserted beach and swam. Other mothers must all have been at restaurants and big family lunches and so the emptiness made our day perfection.

I don’t want my adult children to feel they must follow some commercial tradition. I’m a lucky mum – not a day goes past that I don’t receive a call enquiring if I’m okay. That matters a billion times more than bunches of expensive flowers, lunches, and gifts that cost an arm and a leg. Let my offspring save their money for the future – it’s not an easy world in which to live and it may well get worse. It’s enough that they care in ways with much more meaning.

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Watched with joy:

1. The Assembly Australia on ABCiView. Blockbuster questions, especially from Silas.

2. Monty Don’s Spanish Gardens. So impressive in scope, in beauty and we had no idea that Spain had such dedication to ‘green’ urban environments. Green space on steroids to which I say wake up Australia, wake up Tasmania and for heaven’s sake, wake up Hobart!

From my point of view, Monty Don could read an Ikea flat pack plan in his dulcet tones, and I would listen to him till the cows came home. On another point entirely, am loving the Insta ads for Barbour that he’s currently doing.

3. Landscape Artist of the Year UK. So inspiring and I’m learning such technique although thus far, no artist is using watercolour…

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Favourite reads thus far this month:

1. Benet Brandreth The Spy of Venice. His interpretation of William Shakespeare is wicked and unconventional!

2. Dee Macdonald’s Murder in the Scottish Highlands – the first in a cosy detective series. Enjoyable.

3. Robert Thorogood’s Murder on the Marlow Belle – part of the Marlow Murder club series. (TV series as well, starring Samantha Bond as Judith Potts) Good fun, but not at all keen on the narrator.

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I’m much warmer now. There’s something about the rug my Mum crocheted for me. That and a handful of Cadbury’s chocolate that my little dog gave me for Mother’s Day. I told him to save his pocket money but he obviously didn’t listen. Not complaining of course…

Music for today?

A little video that speaks of warmth, of coastal living and… of mothers.