Lazy summery days

Some days we just sit and watch the grass grow for neither of us are keen on gardening, that is in the accepted sense as we prefer mother nature to do her stuff and it is only when we cannot find one of the cats that the grass gets cut.

The uncut grass

my favourite sunglasses

Mrs H relaxes

Today was one of those days when we sat on the sunny south side and enjoyed the sun from mid morning right through until She (moon) showed through with a coronet of cloud around her.

She moon

Just as the day was cooling our nearest neighbour brought us six fresh eggs from his hens. It was a timely gift and provided us with a tea of scrambled eggs hot buttered toast.

Exhibition at Brú na Bóinne

Mrs H is currently working away, as she has been for several years now, on a new series of paintings depicting Irish mythology connected to sacred sites in the landscape.

She has done a tremendous amount of research, hours and hours, running into days for each painting. The project started about five years ago from an idea which came to her in the night and then came the preparatory work up of drafting out exactly what had to be done long before a brush came into contact with paint and board.

Unfortunately it is more than my life is worth to show you any of her pieces of art.

What I am able at this moment to announce is that her work will be on view from 14th June for 14 days at the Brú na Bóinne Visitor Centre for Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth in Co. Meath.

In a few weeks time I will be able to show you a small detail along with an open invitation to view

her work.

SPRING has Returned !

It was seeing these delightful daffodils blooming on the north side of our garden the other day that renewed and refreshed my energies.

The financial doom and gloom that still pervades this country has not lessened, for our government is trying very hard to squeeze the last brass cent from those of us who inhabit

rural areas with mad-cap schemes.

However Mother Nature buoys us all up by providing an increase of verdant growth and the lawn mowers will soon be heard for the grass is lengthening, the crows are nesting and their young will soon be seen, as will those of smaller birds and we shall soon be taking our early morning coffee on to the patio to sit in glorious sunshine.

At the start of the last winter I made a promise to myself that I would replace the name sign of our cottage and so I visited a local joinery firm to look through their off cuts and provide my self with a suitably shaped sign.

On having found a semi-circular piece I then planned the layout and drew the letters by hand

showing them to Mrs H for her artistic approval [I know my lowly place :-) ] and so my friends

below is the work in hand, eventually the letters will all be filled with enamel paint and then the whole board painted with several coats of UV Yacht varnish before hanging on the front wall.

Our name board

My February Moan

an afternoon nap

There are times when in the warmth of a good fire I sit in an easy chair with a cap pulled over my eyes to cut out the light and take an afternoon nap. The images that flow into the front of my mind

are nought but an omelette of thoughts mixed with memories. The half to one hours relaxation or rather recuperation from this insanely troubled land energises me.

There are negative things happening on this island for our political servants are behaving in ways that increasingly create conditions that are socially subversive.

Medical services have been cut to the bare bones, lots of people on trollies and many operations delayed.

Unemployment is currently 439,600 out of a population of 4.5 million plus the shocking news is that 15% of the population are suffering from food poverty.

Emigration is currently running at about 3,000 per month.

I was dismayed to learn the other day of an "under the radar" increase of 62% to the dog licence rising from €12.50 to €20.00 per annum. Now we are penalised for having guard dogs or pets.

I am seriously wondering how much more deprivation the people here will accept.

PORTARLINGTON -The French Quarter Café

Portarlington is a small town of about 6,000 people divided by two counties Laois and Offaly. The division is provided by the River Barrow, the same river that flows near our home. According to my researches, Portarlington is a relatively new town founded in 1666 by Sir Henry Bennett and has experienced, like a lot of communities, various vagaries; one in particular being an influx of fifteen or more Huguenot families driven from France as religious refugees. One of the main thoroughfares in Portarlington is still named French Church Street complete with it's French Church built in 1694 and situated adjacent to the market square.

It was to the above street and to an aptly named restaurant called "The French" that we made our way for my birthday celebration lunch.

I would not consider myself to be a gourmet by any means, though to be honest in my earlier life

when I dining out on a regular basis the best of restaurants were chosen. In those far off days both the Michelin & Routier were the guides that soothed the trencherman within.

Today, life is far more modest and a pension is not an alternative to an expense account however

when a good friend asks "have you tried such & such a place?" Then my mouth waters, my taste buds jangle at an alarming rate and a mental note is made of the location.

Thus I am very appreciative of the standards of 'The French' where good wholesome food is served by the courteous staff in a warm and friendly atmosphere.

The Proprietors

The proprietors Eamon & Richard have a set menu and a specials board of wonderful meals, I confess that it is my fault that I cannot relate to you all that they serve. I am though hooked on one of the breakfast meals consisting of pancakes, rashers and bananas with a goodly topping of maple syrup - Delicious.

This time I broke the mould to dine on fish and chips. My meal was two fillets of cod cooked in a soft batter with hand cut chips, a ramekin of chopped mixed salad and a serving of herbs in a tartar sauce. The dessert that I chose was banoffee pie with cream, lightly dusted with cocoa.

In all sincerity this was the best banoffee pie that I have ever had the pleasure to eat and I have sampled several in my time.

Just as this was not my first visit to "The French" it will not be the last and I am happy to recommend it to my friends. I left the café filled with delicious food and the warmth that comes from spending time with good people in a convivial atmosphere.

A sample of the decor

Mrs H makes them laugh

January the 9th

Photo taken night of 8th after having be shorn !

I am 69 years young today and was born in Loveday Street Children's Hospital, Birmingham on January 9th at 5.20 a.m. in1943. Memories of that achievement no longer remain - that's if they ever existed.

My earliest memory is of sitting in my pram and a young girl asking my mother if she could push it, my mother said "no" but she could assist her by holding on to the side.

A very distinct and perhaps dark memory is of being carried past the walls of a bombed out building, which I believe was the Prince of Wales Theatre which was destroyed in April 1941. Another is of seeing a tin helmet with a khaki gas mask bag hanging on the newel post at the foot of my parents stairs, on the floor adjacent to the post was a large canvas bag full of rosy red apples and next to them stood an army rifle. I also remember sitting on my mother's lap at the children's street party that celebrated the end of the war.

Strangely, after all those years, there is one noise at night that wakens me in seconds: that of a propeller driven aircraft flying overhead.

As a child the bomb sites were one of our favourite places to play as long as they were out of our parents' sight . Each and every site seemed to be covered in Buddleia, so much so that the plant & place became associated; in my mind and I thought that the authorities had deliberately planted them there. A great surprise awaited me some years later, to find the plant growing profusely on the banks of a river in a country that had not been in the war.

We departed from the Birmingham area in 1946 and moved to live in Somerset. That move heralded a whole host of further moves in which we lived in different places and many houses, some only for a few weeks and some for a few years; I did a count up and found I had lived in 14 houses and six places between the time I was born and fourteen years of age, I often wonder if one of my parents had gypsy blood.

It was hardly any wonder therefore that roaming became a way of life for me too later in life. Even today I get the urge to go off in the car and travel to somewhere different, the journey itself is as much part of the cure as arriving at a destination.

Today I shall celebrate this special occasion by having lunch with Mrs H and a friend, in one of our favourite restaurants by driving across the countryside to a near by town.

The Sparrow Hawk

After writing the last blog I became rather caught up in various other aspects of my life and as a consequence needed some R & R to collect my thoughts. I am pleased to say that I have recharged and am back into blogging again.

I wish all of my readers A Very Happy & Peaceful New Year for 2012.

A Sparrow Hawk

This morning, 1st January, I looked out of the front window at the clear blue sky and noted that none of the small birds were at the feeders. On looking around the garden I saw a brown bird sitting on one of the shrubs, I did not recognise it at first and then realised that it was a sparrow-hawk and before I could reach for the camera it spied me and flew off in a westerly direction.

This then gave me inspiration, it being the day that was in it, that perhaps we need to take a feather of an idea and journey in the same direction as the hawk - to the West of Ireland!

The harbour at Kinvara

One of our favourite & closest places is Kinvara (Irish Gaelic : Cinn Mhara meaning "head of the sea") in Co. Galway. It is roughly a two and half hour drive through some very scenic countryside crossing the River Shannon at Portumna and onwards, across the high points of the Slieve Aughty mountains then dropping down to the small town of Gort, which I by-pass by using a narrow country road, twisting and undulating to our destination.

I could write a blog on each of the places that we pass through.

I have had a romance with Kinvara ever since my first visit in 1987 and she is like a lot of beautiful women, in that I am not certain I could live with her permanently. I choose instead to make several enjoyable visits a year. I believe that I am right for on some occasions in the summer the place is over flowing with visitors and I'm not a lover of crowds.

After having taken a few photos and gazed at the seascape for sufficient time, a cup of freshly made coffee was called for and as our usual cafe was closed, we tried another. We chose a table by the window that looked out across the harbour. Mrs H started up a conversation with the proprietor having both lived in northern English cities; as they chatted I peered out of the window with my back to the other customers, then a couple stepped out of the cafe and passed the window in front of me. Lo and behold I recognised them as a pair of ancient associates of mine, G & N, who own a B&B a few miles south of Kinvara. I rushed out to intercept them hotly followed by Mrs H and they like me were also pleasantly surprised.

Evidently G had kept looking at Mrs H while in the cafe thinking that there was something familiar about her and then inwardly saying "no"; G has to be forgiven for Mrs H used to be a red head and several pounds heavier.

After saying goodbye to our friends, with promises to visit, we made our journey home to light the fire and sip tea in its' warmth.

For this wonderful day, of which most was spent in sunshine, we can thank the Sparrow Hawk.

Faery at Large

Lough Graney © Gina Dean

http://bt-thecraftygardener.blogspot.com/

I have met and spoken with others who have seen the Faeries. One man told me that he was strolling through the woodlands that border Lough Graney, (Lake of the Sun) in Co. Clare, when he saw colourful, lithe figures swinging in the branches of the trees. He said that some were as small as children, others as large as himself (he was about 5ft 6") and most were much larger. As he neared to them they swiftly vanished except for the feeling that the air felt as if it were electrically charged.

One night during a ritual a friend and myself became aware of a stream of miniature, multi-coloured lights flowing up and out of an old boreen to fix on to the branches of a hawthorn tree. Those lights twinkled away throughout the ceremony and only disappeared when we were finished.

Faery Paths are very like ley-lines in that they carry energy and respond to a divining rod or to a pendulum. It is not a good idea to build on them for very often people who move into such homes live a very disturbed life and generally end up moving elsewhere. There is an old place a few miles from me that has been sold at least twice and nobody lives in it more than a few weeks. It has now stood empty for several years. 

During the recent building boom a new property was built in our locality. The architects visited me to talk about water and whilst we were conversing I told them about a faery path that runs diagonally through the field the new house was to be built in. I actually showed them its route and a few strange looks passed between them, although they did say to me they would try to avoid the path.

Well, by the time the ground floor was built my wife had seen figures moving about at night time and when the top floor was erected I too saw figures moving past the window openings and also heard doors being slammed from inside the building, all very well except that there were not any doors in the place at that stage and nor was the roof on.

This is the third winter now the completed house has stood empty and that is bad luck, more so because the builder was taken ill just after he had finished building and has since died.

In similar fashion faery trees ought never to be cut down because it is said the person who does so will have bad luck. I have been told that years ago if one of those trees needed to be cut then a man from England would be invited over and paid extremely well to do the job!

Today we, who are pagans, have no fear of the faerie. In fact rather the opposite is true, for we welcome them to be with us when doing ritual, accepting and acknowledging their presence as being part of the normal order of nature as much as the birds that fly overhead. Consequently we have no iron or steel in our rituals or in the circle for the faerie abhors that metal and I will never do anything which is against them.

A Visit to Faery

I am starting off with an apology to those of you who are very sensible and aware that the subject I will shortly write about is a sign of insanity on my part, except that it is not and was conducted to explore possible life in other realms.

Some years ago I used to spend a lot of time doing trance channeling. This came about by using certain cerebral skills that I learnt from the practice of transcendental meditation, something which I still practise for a few minutes twice a day.

Channeling brought in a considerable amount of information on variety of topics that I could not have learned from any other source.

The immediate area where we live is well known locally as being Red Cap Country (The Folk/Faery) with numerous faery paths criss-crossing the fields. The Folk have been seen playing hurling along their own roads and tales abound about who has seen them and who has not.

So it seemed to me that here was a subject that needed to be investigated.

Communication with Faery took a little while to establish, even though I had been involved with some healing work for a Welsh druid friend that bordered on that area some years previously. This time I had the assistance of a colleague who would switch on and off the tape recorder whilst I was in trance and would ask a set of questions which we had agreed on earlier.

The information gained was that The Folk stand between homo sapiens and creation, in fact they belong to Nature much more so than we do. Similarly, at the opposite end of the spectrum Angels, for those members of the major religions, stand between their God & homo sapiens. Just as people don't often see angels, the Folk are likewise hidden from our general sight living as they do on a plane of existence that borders our own and only rarely merges.

The Folk have a mentality which can best be described as 'playful' when in contact with us, however within their own domains the business of life and it's politics is just as serious as ours. During the channeling sessions the Folk would make use of puns in a light hearted manner; one of which was to describe another member of the Folk as being Terry Ibble - terrible!

On occasions, for reasons best known to themselves, they have been known to cross the division between the two planes of existence and live with a human. There is a story in my locality of a Faery woman who while her husband was assisting his neighbours to cut corn, ran across the field and jumped into a lake. Voices were heard rising out of the lake welcoming her back saying

" Hooray and Welcome home, Meela Moor as long as you didn't tell the verge about the egg water"

The complete meaning of this sentence is lost to us apart from the phonetic 'Moor' which may be the Gaelic mór meaning 'big' and 'Meela' or míle in Gaelic, meaning 'thousand'. Perhaps they were saying 'A thousand big welcomes'.

What we don't know is the language The Folk themselves use. Unfortunately the story was not told to me until long after I had stopped channeling and this is something that I am now loathe to resume practicing.

A Samhain's Eve

On Samhain' Eve

a fire burned and candles flamed

under a waxing moon in a starlit sky.

Walked a single silent file of druids

thrice around a standing stone

each round a blade of the awen.

Forward then to a ritual home

breasted by elder,rowan and oak

a sacred circle awaited secrets.

Each hooded figure called

across the winds of time

ancestors, gods and fae folk

to bring their speciality

wisdom, history and humour

with old tales now forgotten

of mystery and magic.

The ancient ones live on

alive in their memory

they wander to imbue the land

and through the veil inspire

open minds with gifts.

(Let this then be a tribute!)

©MRL 08-11- 2011

The Samhain Fire

The Standing Stone

Dancing Candlelights