beach finds

When treasure means fossils, sea smoothed bone, a spoon, the delicate beauty of a hawk's feather and a whale* tooth...

*we're open to correction on the whale tooth identification, in fact Mide thought it would definitely be better if this was a dinosaur tooth but hey, let's be realistic here. Not pictured: the dead jellyfish and several crabs claws, legs and bodies which we all agreed were best left on the beach.

summer scenes

Summer days - grey skies and buttercups at the Hill of Tara, lined fields, honeysuckle woven through the hedges, early morning walks with fog and fresh scones for breakfast.

end of May

The simple pleasure of walking in the field, just after cutting but before baling. Just insects, birdsong and the sound of moving through grass. 

And then a couple of days later the grass has been baled and we walk through the field in the evening sun. Dogs and children run free and golden light is all around us.

End of May.

glimpses

  

The other morning we woke to heavy fog. I walked the dogs up the lane and around what we call 'the loop' as it's mostly off road and brings you through the landscape using an old trackway that runs between fields. It's where we pick sloes for gin and eventually it joins the road that leads back home. It was slightly spooky walking through the fogged air, past the woods where the trees were dripping and cobwebs hung like spun air. Kevin had seen a fox there the day before. He was sick or old and was slow to move off. Kevin had called the dogs to heel to allow him time to go. There was no sign of him as we walked to the top of the lane passing the small field bordering the woods where the sheep huddled together. Then on through the overgrown bit and down the track that lies dipped between fields. It can be muddy underfoot, although at this time of year it's dry earth and easy to walk on. We ended up on trackway again and there right in front of us a fox full of rude good health, sleek in his glossy coat. We had startled him as he crossed in front of us and in one glorious bound he flew into the undergrowth and disappeared. And somehow just seeing him like that, for the briefest of seconds, made me feel better.

weekending

Last day of the Easter holidays... a picnic at Castleroche and a walk up Slieve Gullion. I say that breezily but I'm not a natural mountaineer (apparently it was a hill I was climbing as Hugo kept annoyingly pointing out but it truly felt like a mountain) and even though I was encouraged to channel my inner mountain goat I fully insisted on not doing that, but instead used my small reserves of energy for complaining. Kevin wondered did I not feel a sense of accomplishment? I looked up from my 'yay, I haven't had a heart attack on a mountain-side' bar of restorative chocolate and said no, no sense of accomplishment just do not ask me to do that again. Needless to say the boys loved it and, with a sinking heart, I began to feel very out-numbered...

moon

Sunday 7.45am. Moon walking.

here and there

Here: where the fields were lit by golden light and walking brought peace among the bustle of Christmas. Our focus is on quiet traditions, the things that bring us joy each year ~ the carol service, meeting friends, drinking port by the fire while reading the Christmas issue of Country Life, icing the cake and making Plum Duff for Christmas morning breakfast.

There: we brought the boys to the Planetarium in Armagh to find out about the Christmas Star. It was a magical cosmic journey back in time to unravel the mystery of exactly what the Magi followed to that stable and, as the sun set over the cathedrals we left the city to go northwards to the sea. 

October sun

Thank you Mother Nature for October days. It's cold, yes. We light the fire every night. It's time to pull on woollen jumpers and dig out the coats. But the morning light! That burning glow of cosmic energy. And then blue skied days with enough chill to make noses run and fingers tingle.

morning dazzle

Who knows why, maybe the hormones flooded my brain at the same time the world turned on its axis, the light in the sky and the mist rising from the land, the stillness of the air, maybe it was just the oxygen fizzing in my bloodstream as I walked up the hill but I felt, how I felt those words of Ted Hughes ~

That morning dazzle stamped every cell in my body 

With its melting edge, its lime-bitter brightness.

The Morning before Christmas, Ted Hughes, River

walking

Last weekend we went walking by the sea. We chose an easy 4km or so loop which brought us to the Cooley peninsula near Carlingford. We passed golden fields and oyster shell strewn beaches. The distant purple hued mountains kept a quiet eye on us. It was warm. And we only had one mutinous child about half way along. Our trail started and ended at Lily Finnegan's pub, which by the time we got back there was thankfully open... never had the packet of Tayto crisps and glass of Bulmers tasted so good!

light, dark

Rooftops caught in evening light. Last week we ate out at our favourite local restaurant after a difficult day (autism is a tough task master). And, just for a few minutes, the sun gilds the chimney pots and weather vane of the town and from our vantage point we get to enjoy it.

Sunrise. I am out walking early. This time of the morning brings me peace. Just the dogs and birds for company. I love the contrast between light and shadow. Bright, dark. Good days, not-so-good days. All parts of the same story.

Parenting is a tough gig. The difficult times are there when you wake and when you go to sleep. Likewise the good times, it has to be said, but they are the easy days. It's the hard days that make you wonder at yourself and I wish, wish, WISH I hadn't lost the instruction booklet that tells you how to do it properly.

the lightest touch

The lightest touch of autumn is upon us. In the morning, through the open bedroom window, it is the call of the crows that wake me, my feathered reminders of a season's shifting. Out walking I pass fog-catching cobwebs dangling glinting water droplets. I have already spied mushrooms in the grass verges. The hedges too are changing. The berries are beginning to ripen and leaves are already turning. However most days the fog clears and we are left with enough warmth to know it's not truly autumn, not just yet.

little things

Gently rolling fields, quiet early mornings out walking with the dogs, the odd startled blackbird and the raucous call of the crow. Walking helps on so many levels. Fitness, yes. It's also a time to think and mull and clear out the head space. And somehow it's an immersive experience that is more than the sum of its parts, if that makes sense. It forges a connection to this place as I'm shown little glimpses of life all around me which I find comforting.