Welcoming...

The swallows are back.

So are the blackbirds.

Maybe it is that above all else that proves seasonal change is, perversely, a constant.

The Terrier and I walked along the beach last Monday morning and a flock of five swallows swooped and darted close to the sand, pert and teasing, resting on dessicated timbers and logs and then taking peripatetic flight again.

Welcome Swallows they are, so called because they appear at the start of spring.

Right on time! Almost…

Our lambs lie in the warmth, heads turned to the sun – all pink noses and white crinkled bodies. The mums are regaining strength with fresh spring pick, sileage and vitamin blocks and the lambs, after sunbathing, form infant cadres that cavort across the paddocks. We call them the kindergartens. One leaping and dancing mob of infant white curls in each paddock.

The hoop petticoats are blooming – miniscule daffodils that have been in the garden for more than 50 years. They were planted by Mrs. Roberts who bequeathed so much of her life to us when she sold us this quaint cottage. So many of her choices speak to me of England, especially Cornwall, and of Scandinavia – places that she and her husband loved. She and Mr. Roberts loved light and created a little cottage that opens its eyes to the sun every day, summer and winter.

Mr Roberts’ two grand willows are in blossom and leaf and thank the stars, the bees are back in droves as the willow pendules hum with honey-song. I think of the hives in the farm paddocks and hope those bees are enjoying the gum and box blossoms as much as the native bees are enjoying our garden.

We spent a morning at the river with our grandson. It was mild and mirror calm and as we walked onto the beach, a flotilla of black swans glided past. Was Odile amongst them? Or even von Rothbart in disguise? When they took flight our grandson’s mouth fell open at the crack-flap of those mighty wings as they lifted along the water – the sound as loud as a volley of gunshots.

My Time:

*I’m getting so close to the release of The Red Thread.

Last weekend, the tagline for The Red Thread arrived from Juliet Marillier, author of the Sevenwaters and Blackthorn & Grim series)

“Prue Batten is skilled at using language to create visual images, bringing the world of her books alive for the reader. Reading The Red Thread, I imagined an intricate tapestry unfolding…”
A sigh of relief. I had been holding my breath.

*A beautiful hour at the barre and then in the centre (I love the port de bras). And a further hour refining our efforts at being nubile young señoritas for Swan Lake’s Spanish Dance. Ha! At our age? Pshaw!!!

Still, it’s good exercise to roll the shoulder, and glance from lowered lashes (called attitude in ballet), and to flick up our flowing red folds as we turn, let alone actually remembering the choreography at all!

Reading.

Bearing in mind I’ve been crashing into bed and sleeping like a log, nothing new on Kindle. Will pick a new title today but must commend The Assassin of Verona for an off-the-wall ending. William Shakespeare! Who knew?

Nothing new in print beyond rather a lot of research for my next manuscript.

Audio – Book Two of Ben Kane’s Lionheart series entitled Crusader. Excellent!

Substack – oh my gosh, so much.

Mike Sowden’s Everything is Amazing.

Mike opens my eyes to the wonder of life all around.

David Michie The Dalai Lama’s Cat and Other Intrigues

Insightful direction on mindfulness of spirit and Loving Kindness from Buddhist monks, a cat and much else besides.

Tom Ryan

because Tom, Samwise and Emily are simply beautiful beings.

Rebecca Holden

because she makes me laugh, makes me marvel at her enthusiasm for life, the universe and everything, and I want to be just like her when I grow up!

Watching:

For my sins?

The latest series of Virgin River on Netflix. I like the scenery.

The Sister Boniface Mysteries because it’s easy viewing and I love that she wears Harry Potter’s very own glasses…

BBC Gardeners’ World because I think the team are the bees’ knees – especially Monty Don and Adam Frost.

You see, I don’t need to be challenged by the darkness in people’s lives. Ostrich ever that I am, I want to believe in hope, peace, laughter and joy. If I could have Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert as neighbours and Anne as a kindred spirit, I’d be content. I am, of course, talking of Anne of Green Gables.

Our weather has warmed significantly already and it’s only mid-September. I shudder to think of summer, drought and fires. Heat and I are not good friends, and my heart rattles with anxiety during a heatwave. Last time, we had helicopters swooping down to the farm dams, filling the water bucket and then dropping it on a neighbour’s fire. A few years before that, a whole district was burned out and we were shrouded in acrid smoke for days. The Emergency Plan is glued to the inside of one of the kitchen cupboard doors, and I hope to the Heavens we don’t have to use it.

That aside, and despite that my Shimmer List said not to buy any more clothes – I needed shorts for the coast and long-sleeved linen shirts because I’m conscious of heat and skin cancer (many surgeries later!). I decided on Target and amazingly, I purchased the lot with a bonus forget-me-knot blue T thrown in, in 10 minutes. I didn’t even bother trying anything on. I just thought ‘Oh that looks as if it will fit…’.

At home, I tried everything because fit is after all what matters. Now it’s all washed and ironed and despite that it’s Target, it suits my life which is a worn-no effort-who cares aesthetic. Real Coastal Grandmother, just like my music collection on Spotify says.

As spring colours our lives in accidental beauty, the blackbirds are stirring the soil looking for worms, grabbing fragments of lucerne hay for nests and tossing stuff everywhere. They are messy interlopers.

But their spring song is such pure delight. For that, I welcome them and will forgive them anything.