Experiment Number Two

And here we are, in the river, Bools on investigation duties.....

Gus as well....

And me.  For these are my legs, in my wellies, in the river.
"So what", you might ask, "are you holding in between your legs?" 
An ex-potato sack with a handful of fleece in, that's what. 
"For why would you be doing that", again you might ask.
"To wash it", would be my reply, for it has now become time to do Experiment Number 2 of the Sheep Wool Project, which is to clean the fleeces recently sheared from our flock of sheep. Some of it is very mucky, some less so. But being a novice shepherdess and  trainee spinner of the fleece, I need to make an investigation as to whether it is best to  try spinning with the lanolin still in the fleece, or wash it, thus removing the oil plus any other detritus such as bits of straw and lumps of poo.

A quick mention of Experiment Number 1: This involved a bucket, a squirt of washing up liquid, and the kettle. So: Two kettles boiled, water into bucket, cooled down by some cold water, some fleece put into bucket, left to soak, bucket upturned on the garden table so fleece could drain, more water of same temperature into bucket (2 more kettles boiled), left for another soak, then bucket upturned again so that fleece could drain. And what a palaver that was, especially because Googled instructions said not to prod at the fleece. Makes it 'felt' apparently. But does it not look deliciously inviting, that open bucket of wet fleece,  such that one can hardly resist the temptation to plunge ones rubber-gloved hands into that water to prod at the soaking wool?

So I did, but gently.  And did the wool 'felt'. Not sure. Don't know what 'felting' actually looks like. The wool did look crinkled, but that have been because one could see the fibres once the muckiness had been removed. 
The conclusion of Experiment Number 1: Surely those in days of old who had a similar task did not boil up loads of hot water on the stove, or fire - what a waste of fuel. And they didn't have rubber gloves either. And the fleece itself: robbed of its lanolin it felt  sort of 'emptied out', and lifeless. So: hot washes in bucket not do-able.


Hence Experiment Number 2: washing the fleece in fast running river water. Container needed, so plastic potato sack recycled. Fleece put in. Rubber gloves replaced by rubber wellies. Off to the river. Then into the river, Bools and Gus staying in the quieter water, me into the faster flowing current. Dunked the bag into the water. A few minutes later, (the time dictated by my ability to keep bending over holding the bag) out it came again.
The conclusion of Experiment Number 2: The fleece still felt 'alive' so some of the lanolin remains. Some of the detritus also remains, but has been reduced. 
But would those in olden days have washed the fleece like this? Would they have stood in the river, bent over, getting splashed? Did they even have wellies? Such questions I will continue to peruse on. 


The result of these experiments? Probably best to spin the fleece into yarn and then clean it, a skein of yarn being more manageable. Presumably any bits of straw that escape inspection during the spinning will come out in the washing, as will any remnants of poo. As for the heftier bits of soiled fleece, am going to try Experiment Number 3.


Have I inspired you? Are you feeling a surge of enthusiasm to have a go as well? No? Are well, you are probably more sensible than me! This smallholding lark, while it is good for the soul, is time consuming beyond belief. No time to watch the telly. But then don't have a telly anyway. 


Smallholding is a way of life. It is not nine to five. It is about going with what the weather offers, what the day brings. It is about physical activity, and the staying power not to let things get you down. It is about becoming sensitive to the natural environment of nature, and desensitized to the un-natural environment of twenty first century urban living. It is about feeling the beat of the rythms and cycles of life. It is about feeling alive. 


Things I have learnt: that it is good to have that 'alive' feeling even if the days are long.

Incoming email from Bruv

(Bruv lives in the UK and sent me this email the other day)

Hiya,

Sodden wet day today, poured all day, but not too cold, mind you we have had the cental heating on (twice a day timer) for weeks now.

We were invited out today, Camilla's cooking group decided to do a buffet lunch for special guests.

We had a great time, lots of fun, laughs, and general mucking about (mainly by me!).

Still sharing some of the cooking duty, its nice to help out, and something to smile about.

I have cut and pasted the text of that poem, sorry it did not occur to me before.

I didn't write it, although I twiddled with it a bit to improve the "beat". It had a note attached to pass it around

I just like the sentiment.

Smiling is infectious; you catch it like the flu,

When someone smiled at me today, I started smiling too,

I passed around the corner and someone saw my grin,

When he smiled it dawned on me I’d passed it on to him,

I thought about that smile, then realized its worth,

A single smile, just like mine, could travel right around the Earth,

So if you feel a smile begin, don’t leave it undetected,

Just start an epidemic quick, and get the world infected.

Cheers for now,

Love willyham

It's me now! Thought I would post this up for you to read. Loved the words, and hope you do to.

Quick update: Roof tiles ongoing. Fence posts now all joined up with strands of fencing wire. Docks still growing.
Sending you blessings for a lovely day.

Today I dropped a screw

Oh not from out of my head did the screw drop, although sometimes I do think there are screws lose within the scaffolding of my mind. No, today I dropped a screw which I was endeavouring to fit back into the side of my glasses so that they would have two sides, thus ensuring that the glasses stay on my face and not keep falling off. Glasses with only one arm are, quite frankly, useless. One has to use one of one's hands to keep them up in place on one's face, therefore limiting the tasks that one can do.

The screw which has loosened and fallen out is a tiny little thing, and has to be fitted in the tiniest of holes on the frame of the glasses. It is the most fiddliest of jobs trying to get them joined up again.

Now anyone sensible would probably try to do this fiddley job over a surface which would be condusive to retrieval of the screw should it tumble from one's fingers. I, myself, did it over the keyboard of my computer. The inevitable happened, and into the keyboard itself fell the screw.

So I flipped the keyboard over, gave it a bit of a tap in the hopes that the little screw would fall out. It did. Along with a large amount of other detritus. Such as the head of a fly, with one wing still atached, a few assorted insect legs, bits of cake, fragments of leaves, other more microscopic insects too small to observe with the naked eye, and a couple of mouse droppings. And one tiny screw.

I still haven't fixed my glasses. Probably never will if I keep trying to get the screw into the hole. An idea popped into my head to try some jewellery wire and wire the side arm to the frame so will follow through with that thought.

But I am fascinated with all that stuff that came out of my keyboard. All those bits. LIke the way my head feels sometimes: all full of unconnected bits. And an oddness, because the keyboard is not sticking so much. It seems looser and types the words faster.

Which is perhaps why the words flow out of my mind with great vigour sometimes, and other times I seem to suffer from mental constipation. When all those bits of lose thoughts are floating round my head, and the screws feel lose within in, then that is when I become mentally clogged up. But when the bits have evacuated my head, I seem to become unclogged and the words tumble out.

Obviously the key to getting the words out is to keep a clear head and a detritus-free computer keyboard. The latter is easy. Upend and tap every few days. Can't do that with my head. Might help if I could.

Task of the day: Will try to monitor the detritus of thoughts, those flotsam of extraneous thinkings, that clutter my mental processes up, thus endeavouring to keep those screws nicely tightened, hopefully creating a calm mental space for the words to pour out. Is this likely to happen? Nope. But I can try.

As for my glasses. I will try the wire. As for my head. I will try to make some calm moments. Off out to walk the Bools and Gus now. That should produce an opportunity for calmness albeit a soggy calmness because it is pelting down with rain at the moment.

Sending you blessings for calmness within your day.....

Message to self: Try as best you can, but don't try so hard that you stress yourself out.
Message to self (2): You have already managed to write one book, create one website, done loads of other writing including managing a blog for almost a year, so perhaps your screws are not as loose as you thought.
And self answers back: Yes but I have a list of books I want to write. Mental constipation keeps hitting. And.....
Message to self (3): Oh do shut up and go walk your dogs! xxxxxxx

Oh now look at this!

And over our heads, just as sunset, came this rainbow yesterday. But we have found our 'pot of gold'. We are living here, in France, being endlessly stretched mentally, physically and emotionally, but we feel stimulated and alive. I think that will be sufficient for our 'pot of gold'.

So sending this rainbow over to you, so that you can hopefully find your own 'pot of gold' at the end of your rainbow.

Oh...., and my aching back.

Mmmm. Well. Gussy booked in for The Op. October 22nd. There. Done it! Got back from Plaisance to find a worried and irate Hubs. "Gus has gone missing again. So has Fleur. We (Bruno and Hubs) think that she has taken him off. I'm so sorry" he said, "Only I know I promised to keep an eye on him and I did and when the builders went off for lunch I blocked up the back entrance as usual, went into the office to do some work, went back out again ten minutes later and no Gus." Apparently he had pushed open the two old doors put across the entrance and had gone.

Hubs was oh so worried, but I wasn't. I seemed to have become quite fatalistic of late, and as far as Gus is concerned: we are doing our best for him and that is that. If he is meant to return to us he will. If he isn't then he won't.

Half an hour later: message from Bruno. Fleur back and with Gus. Hubs gets the lead to go fetch him. Bools goes too. Part of the team, he doesn't like being left out.

A while later, back they all come. "Bools has just been on top of Fleur" Hubs says.
"What, properly on top?"
"Yes, all the way in."
"Oh." Taking a minute to digest this info, I turn to Bools, "Oh well done you," I say to my brave Springer "It's been a long time coming!".
And I think of the hundreds of times that Fleur has flirted and flaunted with Boolie and then sat down on her rump so he ends up with a scrambled head. And I am so glad that he managed to have a go. He is deserving.

Oh. So Gussy. Obviously he has been wanting to get over to Bruno's because Fleur is in season. So we can't really get cross at Gus because he is doing what comes naturally, and that is following his instincts to procreate. But the problem is that he picked up Fleur's availability before Bools did, which means that he is more likely to pick up any other female dog's availability as well and be off. We can't have that. So: October 22nd it is.

And so? Possiblement uno problemo. Is Fleur now pregnant? If so by which of our two boys? Or both? And if so, should we assume responsible ownership of our boys and help out with any vet bills? Is it our fault? But then Bruno comes trotting over here with Fleur following. And she has been such a tease, particularly with Bools. Not so much with Gus. Mostly she has snapped at him in temper. But with Bools, well .........

Taking a moment to give you a roof update. Half tiled!

re: 'My aching back': Actually it isn't aching now but it was for a couple of days. The reason was that in an attempt to wear Gussy out and stop him from roaming over to see Fleur, I have been walking the boys for at least two hours every morning. This is the fifth morning. We have found some splendid new paths to explore, but oh how my body has been complaining.

Leg aches: which I counteract by walking for twenty steps with the right leg leading and taking my weight, and the left one then being able to rest, and then twenty steps with the left leg leading and right one resting. Works perfectly. Counting the steps is good for relaxing my mind, and my tendency towards excrutiating leg pains has diminished. Back ache: Crikey but for two days my back was sore, but I kept on walking finding that swinging my arms as if jogging made me loosen up my waist movement. Et Voila! Today: no back pain. Wet feet because the grass was so wet, but no pain!

And marvel of marvels! I seem to be able to keep going during the day without feeling as if I am wading through treacle for some of the time. My head feels clearer, and I feel generally more chilled out both mentally and physically.

Things I have learnt: That it is not clever to say to oneself 'I haven't got time to take a long walk because I have this to do or that to do.' What nonsense! Because I have found that taking a two hour walk makes me more active during the day, therefore I can actually do more.

Things I have learnt: That walking to a rythm clears the mind, reduces stress, and has a feel good factor so high that it is almost addictive. Take this morning, for instance. Wasn't going to be out for long as had to go into Plaisance. Fifteen minutes down the lane, then out into the maize fields, then on into the woods and I was hooked. Two hours later we were done.

Things I have learnt: That making the effort to take exercise can be tiring on the body at first, but when one has a little doggy called Gus who one is trying to keep occupied so he stays home, then one has to make the effort to do the two hour's worth of walking. And that that little doggy called Gussy has become quite a blessing. Most of the time. But October 22nd still stays.

I suppose Fleur, Bools and Gus all had a good day one way or another. I will keep you posted as to whether there is the patter of tiny feet.

If you greet the day with a smile, then the day will smile back at you.x

One tile, two tiles, three tiles up, & Sara's snake

You have been spared yet another photo of our roof because my new camera eats batteries like a hungry shark, so: the back roof is now having its tiles put on. And really the only feeling I have at this time is of disbelief. As if my life is galloping onwards and I am several steps behind. Catch-up time, I think, when the builders have gone, and we have got all the boxes, furniture and other assorted paraphanalia which seemed vital to our UK lifestyle but which we haven't needed at all since we arrived here sixteen months ago, from out beneath the tarpaulins and into the dry space of the house. And that will be satisfying enough. Meanwhile we will carry on living in the caravans for the winter. We've done one winter already, so are more prepared than what we were last year. And if the winter storms hit us too badly, well we can always move into our house temporarily.

Sara down the road came by yesterday with the news that her friend had been almost attacked by a hissing python of a snake. OK. A bit of exaggeration, but it was very long snake of over a metre long, and had taken up residence beneath his car. Didn't like being disturbed, so had had a hissy-fit at him. He hastily retreated, meanwhile the snake took it upon itself to climb at the nearest tree and continue its hissy-fits.

Now this is disturbing. Walking around the local woods and fields have reassured me that there is not too much wild life around that is likely to either attack or eat me. This time last year there was lots of hunting going on, with guns going off nearly every day and quite close by as well. This year there is silence. So either the local huntsmen are giving this area a rest, or there is nothing else to shoot.

But: snakes. Sara prodded the snake up the tree, her intent being to make it come down so she could somehow box it up. What she was going to do with it then she seems to be fairly vague about, but I suppose she felt she had to take some action. It stayed put. Became more hissy, so all retreated. An Internet search fetched up the info that it wasn't a poisonous snake but could make a hefty bite if it felt so inclined, and that it killed by wrapping its coils around its prey. Ooooohhhh dear!

Not to worry. We are aways up the lane, but Sara isn't. The snake is in residence at Sara's house along with the camels, the lamas, the goats, the pigs and the chickens. It is not likely to want to leave either, because she has loads of young chickens which are snack food for it, and the bare-knecked chickens lay their eggs all over the place which provide it with nibbles. I said the only thing was to make loads of noise when they were moving round the farm. Bang drums. Stomp feet. That sort of thing. Then it could either clear out of the way, or have a hissy fit so you would know where it was. Don't know what else you can do about it. Neither do I like the thought that it can climb trees. I thought only jungle snakes did that.

Naughty Gussy. Musing over whether to have him de-balled or not, I was veering toward not. I have tried running the legs off him each morning by two hour walks, thinking that would wear him out so he would feel less inclined to go trotting over to Fleur. (The lady dog across the road) Hasn't worked. Not only that, but he will not let himself be easily caught when I go and fetch him. War is now on. On lead for his walk this morning. No glorious hunts and gallops through the maize and woods today, and de-balling it is. He has pushed me into the decision himself.

I am not sure if Fleur is in season, but I don't think so because Boolie doesn't seem to be excessively interested in her. Which means that Gus is going to be one of those male dogs who will sniff the wind and then follow any scents of lady dogs wafting about. This will not do. Because he will then wait for an opportune moment and be off. And another thing: why is he howling? For some reason he has taken to sitting in the middle of the courtyard and howling, which starts Bools off too. They have been fed. Walked. Lovied up. So why the howling? Is it some sort of doggy phone-system? By his howling, is he saying 'Wait for me, oh you wonderful lady doggy, and I will come and play and do all sorts of things with you if you only but wait for me'? Is this his way of answering the doggy lady scents he has captured on the wind?

Otherwise, all is well, down here in South West France. The temperatures have dropped fast the last three nights, so into thermal vest and thermal long-johns. Not very elegant, but hey ho! Caravan homes and country living dictate the necessity for these items. And layers. This morning I have on: 1 vest, two t-shirts, 1 body warmer, 1 hand knitted cardi, 1 pair long johns, 1 pair of trousers. BUT I don't have any heating on. The reason for this is because I can't be bothered to switch the gas fire on. This not only helps my carbon footprint, but also the bill for the gas cylinder refill and my sinuses which get clogged up whenever heating of any description gets switched on. So with halo shining brightly, and hoping my rather slender reserves of patience will carry me through another day with Gussy-boy, I say cheerio for now.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Take the positives from your yesterdays and forget the rest. Today is the start of all your tomorrows. x

Don't Quit

I have posted this up for 'Slouching Past Forty' (a fellow blogger) to read. I have these words printed out and put into a frame which is hung within eyesight of my PC, and I thought they might help her, and others, who are struggling with trying to make headway in their life. They might inspire you as well. By the way, I did not write this poem!

Don't Quit:

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When the funds are low and the debts are high,
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh.
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest, if you must - but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As every one of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up, thouguth the pace seems slow -
You might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
It seems to a faint and faltering man,
Often the struggler has given up
When he might have captured the victor's cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down,
How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out -
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt -
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so afar;
So stick to the fight when you are hardest hit
It's when things seem worse....
....THAT YOU MUSTN'T QUIT.

And to make you smile:

Dear Lord.

I'm thankful for all the food you're giving me.
Thank you for the fish, the snails, the crabs, the shellfish & the seagrass.

But also thank you that I haven't been eaten yet by the bears, the whales, the coyotes, the sharks or by a strange specie called homines.

Thank you Lord'.

(I found this photo and little poem out on the Internet ages ago, and the link I made a note of no longer exists, so if you are the owner of this piece, thankyou..... it always makes me smile)

Epitaph for a 'friend'

It's been a strange couple of weeks. Everything has kept ticking along in regards to building our new life here, but in myself I have had to let go. I suppose it was time. I was reflecting on these thoughts out on our beach on the Adour river this morning, and I thought of how all the plants which have arrived and grown on the beach. Sometime soon it will rain, and the river waters will flow. Perhaps the plants will survive. Perhaps they won't. But their seeds will flow on to other places, the same as the original plants fetched up here. So there is continuation of sorts.

Last week someone I thought of as a friend detached themselves from me. Without cause. Without reason. For years I have known this person. We have a history. But several times this has happened before. And several times I have taken that person back into my life.


I suppose in the scheme of things, that a friendship is not really very important. But it is. Because you let someone into your life and when they leave a gap appears. Especially if there is no valid reason as to their leaving.


I cannot be bothered to question the person as to their actions: after all, they have the right to do what they must. But there has to come a time when the door has to be closed for good. So I went through all my files and deleted any reference to that person. And when it came to my phone book, I did the same, but carried on and deleted all phone numbers relevant to the last ten years of my life. I made a new phone book on my PC. One page for family contacts in the UK. Another for other phone numbers, of which the majority are French.


And so, last week, not only did I close a door on a 'friendship' which had become lop-sided, I also closed the door on my old life. We have been here for one year and three months, it's about time. Moving forward, that's what I am doing.


Surprisingly, it was quite hard getting rid of that old phone book. Even though I never contacted any of the people whose numbers were noted in it, and they never contacted me, I think I still needed the security of having those people in my life, in the background. Now I don't. I guess that I really am ready to build a new life here.


Although I have no friendship networks here as yet, I look forward to new people coming into my life and getting to know them in the years ahead. I am not in a hurry. Like our river beach, I will wait and let people take root in my life who are right to be there. And not bend myself to fit another person's view of me which makes me feel diminished in myself.

Thankyou for sharing these musings, and ending with the early morning tranquility of the Adour.

Making friends with the Wind

I could here the wind rocking the tree tops out by our river. My pinafore flapped over the bowl of figs hiding them from view: goodbye for the moment. Jamming prep put on hold.

Along my spine there came a shiver as I heard the sound of the wind ratchet up another notch. I stood and watched my pinafore. "Do you want to come play with me?" the wind said as it tussled the fabric playfully.

But in my mind I was not here. I had backtracked in memory to late January: to the day, the longest day, of the Tempest. Oh fearsome strong was the wind on that day. Not a wind but a raging, roaring surge of air that was supreme in its arrogance. "You are all smaller than me" was it's message. And we were.

I suppose, in the scale of things, that it was not perhaps as fierce as the fiercest of hurricanes or tornadoes. But it was a big wind nevertheless. Big enough to blow trees over: loads of trees. Big enough to carry gallons and gallons of water which fell onto the land which fed it into the water and made our river big and full of an energy which was sufficient enough to carry away in its surge the trees which had fallen down into it.

We laid all day in the caravan, tucked under blankets, freezing, wet, mentally blitzed, hearing the wind roar its way towards us as if it was an army marching as to war. Phone lines were cut, electricity was cut. The outside world seemed miles away.

For hours the wind made its surges. We dozed. But in our minds we still heard the roar of the wind-fronts approaching us through the trees. From all sides it came. We seemed to be surrounded by an army of wind fronts. It was the tramping sound which was the worst. How can a wind sound like it has feet, but this one did. Big booted feet. Stomping towards us. Coupled with the sound of the wood of the house, what was left of it, moaning its anxiety about being moved about so forcefully, the elderly gate of the front porch mooing like a cow as it was bashed about against the side of our campervan, and the tarpaulins on the roof beams, what was left of them, flapping angrily with whip-cracks of temper, as the wind tore at them and eventually did them unto death.

And the legacy of that long day was that I flinch when I hear the wind, any wind, play amongst the treetops. Breezes I am OK with. Not so good with windier winds.

Today, I made a grand flinch. Along my spine it ran. For today the wind was a tad on the wild side. Not naughty, just frisky. Sufficient to blow my pinny across the figs I was prepping for jam. Sufficient to lock my mind back to the day when we almost became passengers of the wind.

'Twas no good. For this fear was starting to feed itself into a bigger fear, and that was of being outside in the wind. So I took a deep breath, and reduced this fear by telling it that today's wind was a gentler wind not an angry wind. Stimulating, not destructive.

My eyes caught and held Hubs's eyes as he crossed with the tray of tea for the builders, who were even then up high, working on our roof. Unspoken memories flooded between us: it is surprising how much can be said in a glance.

Things I have learnt today: That when one has had the hugest of huge experiences, which has shaken one to the very root of one's being, that sometimes it can take a while to get over the shock of that experience.
That one has to careful not to let that shock build on the original memory and make it more that what it actually was.
That sometimes smaller triggers can spark those heftier memories into life.
That it is better to cloak that original memory in loving memories rather than let the more difficult memories have the upper hand.

So: In January last, the biggest of big winds blew our way. With great teamwork Hubs and me battled our way through. Wow! How exciting it was! This I will have to work on, but at least its a start! And if you have had a horrendous experience which sometimes pops to the surface of your mind and looks like spoiling your day: Wrap that memory round with lovingness and find something good within that experience.

I carried on with my task, the wind continued to blow and got stronger, but I concentrated on my task and didn't scuttle away inside out of its way. That, I think, will soften that other memory so that in time every time a strong wind blows I do not automatically click on to that day in January when a Tempest blew our way. Rearranging my mental filing cabinet containing the Tempest Memory is what I am doing.

Plus I made four pots of marrow and ginger jam, eight pots of fig, jam and six pots of tomato chutney. Crikey my halo is shining bright!

Sending you pot-fulls of blessings.....

(January 2009: A Big Wind: Part One, part Two, and part Three.)

Meanderings

And so we meander along the days of our lives, having quiet days, busy days, no-builders-here-today days, 'am I ever going to get on top of these harvest-time' days, 'when will it rain so we don't have to water' days, 'where has the French gone which was in my head but is no-where to be found' days, and most of all, fun days: because we laugh a lot despite the ups and downs that accompany relocating to a new land and learning new ways of living. Laughter is precious. Laughter is priceless. Better to have laughter lines on one's face rather than frown lines. Better to wear a 'happy' face when one is of an age when one's attitude to life has become stamped on one's face, rather than a 'snappy, irritated, miserable' face which carries a downward turning mouth and dull eyes.

And so we meander through the days of our lives, still 'pinching' ourselves in disbelief that we are actually living in France. We have been here just over a year. It feels like always, yet still feels as if we have just arrived.

The swifts are marshalling their forces. Round and round they are flying, zooming here, there, some just above our heads, some high up in the sky. They are not aimlessly doing birdy-things whatever it is that birds do when on the wing, neither does it seem like they are feeding on other things which fly through the air as well. They just seem to be very busy, excited almost. Well I suppose we all would be, if we were about to depart south to Africa sometime soon, like they are. And just now they have assembled into a flock and are flying en masse. Wow! I have high regard for those little creatures who fly for so long and for such a great distance. Bon courage for them as they go on their way.

We had drop of rain today. Well not so much of a 'drop' rather it was a light drizzle for all of an hour. However, soon the builders will be up on the roof beams and Sod's Law says that then the Heavens will decide to give us a thorough watering! Oh well, c'est la vie! AND the builders managed to be here for half a day, which is better than not being here at all.

Things I probably never will learn to do:
Open a box of matches the right way up so the contents do not spill out all over the floor when the box is opened.
Wash up more frequently: That when one is busy trying to keep up with jam and chutney making, that it is best to wash up first so the surfaces are less cluttered. Otherwise the mess is, quite frankly, horrendous!
Keep off the Internet when I have reams of writing to do and then get cross at myself because of the guilty feeling of having wasted good writing time.
Be cold and unfeeling towards people who are less than what they should be towards us.
Water the veggies as regularly they need thereby not doing the plants justice.
Be totally and ruthlessly organised.
Get into bed at a reasonable hour at night, and deny the creative flow which seems to start streaming in just as I am thinking that I ought to get off to bed.

Hoping that laughter is not too far away from you, I wish you happy travellings through your days as well.

Introducing The Towers

And here be the left hand Tower, beside the chimney.

And here be the left hand Tower and the right hand Tower all in a row, with the chimney betwixt them. Et voila: Our roof!

I can't say anymore really, other than Phew! It's been a long time coming! Oh I know that there is still fresh air above our heads, as can be seen by the moon making its appearance in the lower photo, but the Towers will support the main beams on the left hand side of the house. I don't know what the builders are going to do with the right hand side. I think the left and right sides were originally two houses because they are build differently. Anyway, we have trust in our Spanish / French builders and are confident that they know what they are doing.

But I must away. My head is minus any more words and is going to go on strike at any moment!

Things I have learnt: That coming through the new gates on the porch makes me feel like I am coming into a hallowed area: all sanctuary-like. And that is despite the builders and their equipment being on site.
That harvest time is an exciting and busy time, and a promise to myself to be more organised next year.
That I am not to worry if the French language seems to have evacuated itself from out of my head. Lots going on here, which is chewing up head space. So to be patient with myself meanwhile.
That making lists helps keep one's head organised when thoughts are dog-fighting each other in one's head.
That I am not the person I was this time last year, and that all the accumulated experiences have helped me continue to grow as a person. That it is wonderful to see the same thing happening with my partner.
That I have promised myself not to get a miserable and bitter person, like so many are.
That I am constantly surprising myself by me.

May the light shine in your life.

The Hope Word

Now here's a strange thing: all the day long, well for two days actually, everytime I close my eyes I keep 'seeing' the word 'HOPE' inside my mind.

Now I shouldn't be surprised at this really. I am, after all, 'psychically well-endowed'. But this 'HOPE' word just seemed to stay stuck fast.

So it came to our afternoon 'stretching of our backs' in the bedroom caravan, which some people may call a 'siesta' but I think a siesta is a state of being whereby one drops the eyes shut for a space of time. 'Stretching of our backs' is just that: giving our spines a rest from the hours of sitting working at our PC's. Our eyes remain open, although may have a momentary droop, but definitely do not shut completely. Lester will be listening to his Ipod, and I will be drifting about in my thoughts, or reading French, or we will be having a family pow-wow.

As soon as I was lying prone on the bed, straightway into my mind came 'HOPE' again. And this time the letters of the word became split up:
H is Happiness: that living in hope will bring long term happiness.
O is for Opportunities: that living in hope will not allow for any opportunities to pass you by.
P is for Prosperity: not necessarily with copious amounts of money, but a richness of self.
E is for Excitement: which is how you are going to feel if you live in HOPE because you will be living your life, not sitting on the sidelines and watching the days of your life pass you on by.

But like all things, being Hopeful requires effort. No gain without pain, as the saying goes. What I mean is, that it is hard at first to learn to be Hopeful. But with practice, it becomes easier.

I have been thinking of these words often over the two days. When I push them out, they pop back into my head. So I pass them on to you as well. I have definitely become filled with more optimism, something which had become drizzled away with the effort of making a fresh start in somebody else's country, and I feel my feet stepping lighter as a result. What I have been doing to achieve this state of being, is every time I have a worrisome or negative thought drift into my mind, I turn it around on itself by Hoping for a good outcome.

I have found that the HOPE word is a very powerful assistance in lifting one's spirits. As I put on my Facebook page yesterday: to HOPE is to be a travelling-forward-in-life person. But to be without hope, and therefore HOPELESS, is to be a going no-where person.

On shelling beans in the storm

So last night we were sitting out in the awning with lightning flashes which were lighting up the sky every few seconds. It was getting dark. And we were shelling beans. No sound apart from Boolie snoring and thunder cracking.

"I can see us doing a lot of this in the future" said Lester with a smile.

We didn't get a humungous pile of beans. Probably enough for three meals. But it was another small step towards feeding ourselves.

I am going to save most of the beans for a mid winter feed. I think that eating summer harvested food in the middle of winter brings back the warmth of the sun. Not that we are ever lacking in warmth here. Even in the middle of winter the sun gives us a warm bath when it shines. At the moment it is endeavouring to cook us, though. Forty degrees yesterday, and it was hot, hot, hot.

I moved into the half barn yesterday. Not entirely. Just my rocking chair and my bag of crocheting. I sat in the middle of the space, in the coolness of the space, and felt the peace of the space seep into me.

Someone recently visited who was full of negative stuff, making us feeled pulled down and negative as well. I don't know why people feel the need to dump their disbelief that we can survive here. I don't know how people can be so very, very unkind. Or why they think they have the right to diminish our enthusiasm. Perhaps that's what upsets them: the fact that we are enthusiastic and living our life when they are parked up on the sidelines, letting their lives pass on by. Perhaps we make them feel diminished and that is why they have the driving need to diminish us by their unkind words.

We have survived here. And very well. Both as a couple, and as individuals.

Most of all, we are proud that of our achievement here.

For a while I wanted to leave here. For a while I wanted to sell up and go away from this place. That is what that visitor did to me. My passion was taken away.

But last night we sat in a storm, with bright flashes of lightning spurting across the sky, shelling beans we had grown ourselves. And yesterday I moved into the half barn and spent a very pleasurable hour crocheting away in the middle of the space which will eventually be our home.

Things I have learnt: That anyone who feels the need to be disrespectful of our efforts here must be thought of as being a sad person living out a sad life.
That anyone who feels the need to critisize needs not to be encouraged to make a return here.
That there are very few people who actually enjoy our efforts, and they can be counted on the fingers of one hand. They are people who are actually living their lives as well and not standing idly by waiting to die.

There once was a time...

There once was a time when I had a house. With a roof. Now I have a roofless house, full of fresh air and sunshine.

This week the floors have been dug out, and the drainage stones laid. The house now looks the tidiest it has ever been, and probably the tidiest it will ever be.


Once I move in then a natural chaos will ensue.

But for the moment the house is pristine. And here is the view looking from what will be the downstairs bathroom along the hallway to the front door.

They took the front doors off this week. Presumable so they could get the machinery into the house. I miss the doors. Gave the house a sense of being a house rather than a shell.

However, inside the house is the tidiest space here. The half barn is full of insulation work stuff, the courtyard......

....before the floors were worked on,

...and after the floors were started. The courtyard now resembles a dustbowl!



But not to worry. A drop of rain and all will become green again.

There once was a time when I had a house with a roof, and central heating, and a proper toilet, and a shower, a bed with four legs, a kitchen with shelves and a proper cooker, and I could shut the door at night against the world.

There was once a time when I felt trapped by the way my life was.

I might not have any of the things I once upon a time had, but I have the makings of a floor in my roofless house, and the half barn is starting to look more and more like a space I will enjoy staying in. The veg plots are coming along, and I have written my first book, nearly finished my second, have started the third.

We have fresh air in abundance, and life in abundance.

Once upon a time I had a house with a roof and all the comforts therein. Now I don't.

Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Things I have learnt today. That when the sun is at its warmest then perhaps it is best to stay in the shade otherwise the heat might pickle one's brains.

On camels and poo

Lunch. Last mouthfuls being eaten. Car door slams shut. 'Oh who is that for Heaven's sake' we think to ourselves, seeing our after lunch half hour siesta disappear down the shute. It's Sara. But hooray! In the back of her car she has managed to jam in five black plastic rubbish bins and they are full of camel poo. NOT donkey poo, as has been already spoken about here, but nicely rotted down doings from her camels.

Wow, but wasn't Lester pleased, even though he was busy chewing the last mouthful of his lunch as he surveyed the aromatic bins. "Round the back" he said, and off they went to put their precious cargo on top of the severely depleted pile of donkey manure.

UG to the rescue. (A reminder that as helper to the Head Gardener known as HG, aka Lester, aka Hubs, I am sometimes designated with the title Under Gardener, aka UG) Into the motorhome I got, down the road I went, and an afternoon of camel poo shifting then transpired.

Thought you might like to see Sara's pad. The huge tree is a mulberry tree under which everyone sits and eats the mulberries as they fall onto the table. They are delish.

Oh now here is the white camel, busy chewing on a piece of grass. This is the one who has rickets, but is doing a whole lot better since it came to the farm.

And just to prove what a busy UG I have been today, here is the evidence of the new contribution to the poo-pile.






Things I have learnt today: That when a camel looks like it is going to charge you as you are carrying a bin full of its poo from its bed in the camel barn, across the camel paddock, under the electrically wired fence and then to the white van, that is really only trying to tease you into walking fast.

Best to walk slowly, as then the camel thinks that you are not fussed about playing with her. If you show any willingness to walk faster, then she thinks that yes, you do want to play and may then make a little charge at you.

Since camels are quite big, and we are quite small in comparison, this can make the whole experience of shifting the poo rather intimidating, especially because I had to make eleven trips across the enclosure for one van load of manure. We filled the van five times. 5 x 11 = 55. Fifty five trips through the paddock.

Not to worry though. Once you have bobbed under the electic fence then you are safe. Not that you are unsafe when you are with them but they look a tad on the big side when one is up close.

If the camel is bored it will hold herself aloof, and turn its head away. If she is willing to have a play, then she will look you straight in the eye and dare you to walk faster. She might even gang up with her mates along the fence so you have to either go round them all, or push through the middle of them, saying in a sing song voice "Coming through", meanwhile keeping a nice even rhythm to your stride. I erred on the sensible. I went round the long way.

I learnt that the electic fence doesn't actually pack too much of a wallop, but it is best to be careful especially if one is stroking the nose of a camel at the time. Only if one's elbow accidently touches the electric cable and that elbow is the same one which has the hand attached to it which is the same hand as is stroking the nose of the camel then the electrical charge will zoom up one's arm, through one's hand, and on into one's fingers. Unfortunately, when it has reached your outer limits it does not stop, but carries on. Right on into the nose of camel which one's fingers were gently caressing seconds before.

Not to worry though. The camel will only toss its head into the air with alarm, and will possibly do a couple of bucks and kicks in dislike of the transfer of the electrical shock into its body via its nose, but as long as one is one side of the fence and the camel is the other side of the fence then all will be well. The camel will soon forgive you. In time. Best to go have a glass of wine and wait a while though before going to get another load of manure from its house.

That it makes for a fun afternoon digging the poo with the camels keeping an interested eye on you just in case they can do a bit of mischief, and that the young man who was my assistant for the poo-dig was equally fun company and gave me a few hours of stimulating conversation ranging from space tourism (he was going to start saving up to buy a ticket for a trip into space) to Ibiza (he wanted to see the 'pretty ladies'), to driving with gears (they only do automatics in Canada, which is where he comes from), to 'how does it feel to have Chinese ancestry' (his parents are Chinese), to physics and the energy of life and the Open University learning I have done (wow, I could remember quite a lot of physics from my physics course sufficient to engage in quite an enjoyable discussion with him), to keeping chickens (we still don't), to keeping positive as best one can during the helter skelter ride that is one's life.

I felt I was making an difference to his outlook on life. And that, at the age of sixty plus, makes all the years I have travelled worthwhile.

Waiting for the bread to cook

So I was sitting in my rocking chair in the awning waiting for the bread to cook knowing that if I was to vacate this spot and go somewhere else that the bread would inevitably burn because time would pass and I would get interested in another occupation and it would slip my mind about the bread in the oven and the bread in the oven would therefore become singed. Maybe even burnt black. It has happened. Best to stay put, and wait.

And my eyes idly wandered over the scene infront of me and I thought you might like to share it with me.

Here is the view to the left.

And looking to the right.

Adding left and right together.....

The floors of the main house are still being dug out and the half barn had its beams sanded down and sprayed with anti-termite stuff today.

And I am still smiling, and hoping it will all come right in the end.

What I have learnt today. Actually not much really, only that wearing a hat is fun, mops up the perspiration when one is cooking in the sauna of a caravan, that it can be used as a extension for graphic descriptions when in conversation with Hubs and builders and friends, and that Sara wears one yellow shoe and one blue shoe because it makes her smile, and wearing my hat and playing around with its position on my head also makes me smile. It must be the open air life that gives us the predisposition towards eccentricity.

What I have learnt today: that it's lovely to be eccentric!

In a muck again

"Look at the state of my wife's legs!"

Leaving you to dwell on those legs, HG turns his attentions to the wall the builders are rebuilding at the back of the house, with Bools in tow.

I, meanwhile, carry on getting in a muck. No, I am not growing leaves. Mould perhaps, due to camping conditions. But I have not, as yet, started sprouting green stuff. This muckiness is due to the project of the afternoon, which was strimming out front. With a safety visor on to protect my eyes of course, which is a devilish thing to have to wear as it is too big for me and keeps slipping about as I strim.



Things I have learnt today. That it is best to wear trousers to cover up one's legs when strimming, as the bits of green stuff tend to stick to the skin like glue as they dry and make the skin itch. That it is perfectly OK to say sorry to the several poppies which were inadvertantly decapitated because the safety visor considerably reduced my vision. Also to the hedge rose, which has now lost one branch. And also to the baby silver birch tree which I decapitated, but HG said it would grow again but will look forever stunted. He was not so calm about the three inch gash I sliced in the bark of one his fruit trees. As a result he has now banned me from going anywhere near his trees.

So, carrying on with 'things I have learnt today': That HG is only trying to preserve our future fruit harvest when he is instructing me as to where to strim only gashes in the bark of a tree tend to weaken it perhaps even to make it firewood fodder. That using arm swings to the count of fifty, and then changing arms, keeps the momentum flowing: this for both jog-walking and strimming. That it is better to walk forward when strimming, rather than backwards as this will reduce any tendency to fall backwards into a waiting pot hole. That if one does, not to worry as one can use the strimmer to get oneself back on one's feet quite quickly by using it as a walking stick. Of course it is better to switch it off, as the strimmer can do all sorts of interesting things when it's head is jammed into the ground. This may be the reason why HG feels the need to check up on me when I am using the strimmer. That after the bonhommie misfire of yesterday, it was nice to wave to the Swiss lady and the Swiss man as the drove past very slowly this afternoon, on their way home to their house in Geneva which is not by the lake but in the middle of the city slap bang up against a tall block of a building which is over one kilometer wide. That it was nice to wave them off with a smile as they went on their way. That I am glad we are here and not having to leave to go home, because we are home already.

A wedding, a dunk, and a farewell.

Holah! And may I give you due notice that the wedding of Maddi and Bruno has taken place and they are now married.

The multi coloured person with the hand painted French flag is the 'vicar-type', who is the under-mayor of Castelnau village. Maddi is the one in the white frock, and Bruno is standing in between her and the under-mayor.

And in their back garden the marriage this all took place. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and it was very friendly and great fun. The swimming pool is just behind them.

Here be proof that they be 'done'.

"Hooray!" And again, "Hooray".

And a song from Maddie to Bruno, and then a song from Bruno to Maddi. Ah, sweet!







What a jolly bash it was. Much frivolity, champagne, jigging about, and general mayhem. Plus we only had to toddle back down the road a little way to get back home.
And may I say that if it had been warmer then I would have had a splash in the pool. After all I am soixante deux (62) and can therefore be considered eccentric enough to do so. But it is still only May after all, and the water was a tad on the cold side. I had try-out sneaky toe-dip earlier just in case it was warmer than freezing. It wasn't.


But I had my dunk the next day. The sun shone brightly again, and Lester seduced me into the shower in the house. Well, not 'seduce' exactly...just made leading comments about how warm the weather was, and how warm the shower was because the water heater had been switched on for a while, and "why don't you have a try, I'll keep guard in case anyone comes calling."

Instructions followed: this is how you switch the tap on, you stand in this Halfords plastic box, you put your clothes on this plastic chair here, when you have finished you stand on this pallet,etc. And away he goes.

I am left. OOh. The first time I have disrobed in our house. Our roofless house, but nevertheless, our house. Oooh. Gosh. All comes off. OOOOOOoooooohhhhhh! Into the Halfords Box. Shower on. "Lester," I yells, "It's toooooo hottttt!". In he rushes. To my rescue he comes. He twiddles. All is well. Mmmm, that's better.

Onto the pallet. On with my clothes. My first shower this year. In the open air. In our house. OOooooohhhHHHHHHhhhhhhoooooo!

And now we are parted. From Pau, France, Lester has flown. Out to the UK he has gone, to do London, and to earn the money for the roof of our roofless house. Bless. I waved him off after he had booked in and had the security check, just in case he wasn't deemed a suitable occupant for the Ryanair plane which was going to take him off with itself when it left a couple of hours later. It's his passport. It makes him look like terrorist. No worries. Through he went.

So back up to Labartere I drove, musing on the trips I have already made to and fro the airport. We are building a history here already. I have met two new neighbours: the Marquee (not sure how to spell that one) who is rich, can open over forty bottles of almagnac just to have a taster from each bottle, does casino trips to Morroco and other places to while away his time, and looks as lonely as hell proving that money can't ever buy you peace of mind, and the Railway Lady, whose name I can't pronounce let alone spell, but lives upstairs at the old railway station, is a widow (her husband drank himself into not being here), and waves at the maize trains which occasionally potter up and down the line. Both were at the wedding. Both I had fun with. Neither went into the pool either, it being only May and a tad on the cold side as I said before.

But Eric did. A big splash he made, he being a big man. Getting to the grand age of 50 last week has entitled him to start practising for when he gets eccentric in ten years time.. Plus he was carrying a tank of alcohol in his tummy which sort of pushed him along a bit.

Last week him and Bruno walked along the railway line at midnight, after a 40-bottle almagnac tasting session at the Marquee's house which is just along from the Railway Lady who is just along from Bruno's house. Fortunately the trains go to sleep here when it gets dark. So no damage done to anyone, including the train.

So, waving to Hubs in the Uk.....yahoo! Got back home OK. Behaving. Car OK. Bools OK. All the neighbours know that you are away so will be keeping an eye on me to make sure I stay OK.

Lessons I have learnt: That dancing on the lawn can play havoc with one's best shoes, so to wear an older pair when the occasion next arises. That it is best to put one's shoes away from the Halfords box when having a shower and not leave them conveniently placed to step into when one's shower is finished. Wet shoes are not nice. That it is best to smile with one's best smile when one is waving off one's Hubs at the airport because then he will take that smile away with him on his journey.

Pedalling along

Today Lester has spent all day working on his PC. In the UK it has been a bank holiday, but not in France. Today, Lester has worked all day at his PC. He has to. We have a roof to pay for. Today Lester has sat all day at his PC.
And this really is to say to him 'Thankyou' for carrying the dream.

Thankyou.

Today Lester has computed all the day. I did my part to keep us afloat: Underling Gardener work, Chief cook work, Head Launderess work, Animal welfare expert work, etc. We are two people pedalling the same bicycle to make the dream come true. When one of us tires the other keeps pedalling. Sometime both of us tire, then we fall off and lay spraddle-legged for a little while. Then up we get, back on the bicycle and off we go again.

Sometimes I think the Universe makes it harder for some of us. Sara of the Camels down the road needs money to finance an animal sanctuary, meanwhile her husband has to commute between here and the UK. We want to set up a self sufficiency training camp, and a get-off-your-bike-for-a-while rest and recovery centre, which we will do if the Universe sends us the finances.

So for all you erst-while dream-makers, keep pedalling and don't ever put your bike away, because there are a lot of rusting bicycles out there which are disregarded, regretted, and forlorn. Few people manage to keep pedalling. Let you be one of them.

Lester worked all day on his PC. He is pedalling. I did the running around work. I am pedalling. Together we pedal along.

And as I walked across the courtyard this morning, I looked up at the ragged and torn tarps hanging off the tall barn roof, and for which we have no money for repair, and a voice quite distinctly said, "Soon". So the Universe spoke to me, and said the roof would be going on.

It looks like the Universe is the also pedalling our bike.

Val's Duck

Back aways, after the great wind of late January, angels descended from the Vienne going by the name of Val and Ron. In tow behind them was the replacement caravan for the now-dead gazebo which had done us proud all through the winter, and in the back of their car: fodder. Val is an excellent cook, and came with provisions. PLUS, meat from her smallholding: leg of lamb, lamb chops, and pieces of stewing lamb. Plus some local pork. AND a duck. All frozen. We have no freezer. Down the road to Sara of the Camels the meat went, there to reside for a while.

And it came to the time of distribution. Along to Sara I went. On my bike. There to retrieve but only a portion of the meat, the donated pieces being bigger than I thought. A bike is not the easiest of vehicles to manage when the handle bars are festooned with plastic bags carrying chunks of frozen meat. Tends to make the bike feel unsafe as the wobble factor increases.

Met, at Sara's, a white camel who a Dutch girl had had shipped down from Russia or somewhere similar, so she could learn to ride it and then travel back to Holland via one of the pilgrim routes of which there are quite a few. However, the camel was too young, so she had bought a donkey from the Ju Beloc donkey farm which Lester and Bruno have raided for donkey manure, said manure being a subject I raise quite frequently in these blogs. Anyway, here she is, on a practice walk up by our bridge. At the time this was taken, the donkey was having a bad moment: he doesn't like dogs, and he doesn't like cars, and he doesn't like bridges. Put the three together, and on strike he goes. He is actually heading in the opposite direction to the one she wants him to go in and she is trying to pursuade him to turn around. It had already taken her ages. He is a stubborn fellow. She leaves today. I think 'all best wishes' are urgently needed for her.

So, duck and pork retrieved. Pork went into pot. Duck was donated to Claudine and Daniel over at the Chambre d'Hote to say 'thankyou' for all the help they have given us, and for the splendidly huge repast they invited us to on New Year's Eve. And it wouldn't have gone into the caravan oven anyway. It was well received.

An email arrived shortly afterwards. To dinner we were invited. Our hearts sank. They only speak French. It can be a long evening when one doesn't. We wrote back with a 'yes', there being no way we could do a tactical withdrawal.

Wednesday night: over the road we went. Starter: cochon noir pieces. Next: Cheese souffle. Followed by: Duck, quartered. With flagelout beans. Then: Hard goat's cheese, soft goat's cheese (from local goat farm - we are going to recce that out when we get the chance). Next: Cake made from Daniel's Mum's recipe. Then: prunes in almangnac. All interspersed with quantites of red wine, and white wine which is like nectar and nothing have I ever tasted which is as delicious as that wine.

So the duck was laid to rest. I was proud of the fact that it was my English friend who had provided it, - the French have a tendancy to make jokes about the English infront of us. Since we can't understand their language they think we don't know that they do. But they can never disguise the word 'Anglaise' sufficient for us to remain oblivious to their in-house jokes. Curiously, we don't mind. It is their country, after all, and the English do not always show themselves very well here. We feel as if we are good ambassadors for the England because at least we are trying to integrate with the French community, and Val's duck, that very kind donation, pushed us forward with this. Not one word of English was spoken, although there was another guest sharing the meal, who did. But he gave no quarter to us, which is another thing we are finding: that the French will not speak English until we have made the effort to speak French first. And I think this is quite right and I have much respect that they do this. As I say, this is their country after all.

We survived the evening. And felt all the stronger for doing so. We managed to hold our own with French conversation, Claudine has invited me along to the local swimming pool on Monday afternoons if I can find my swimming costume, and the Duck was great.

So thanks to Val and Ron, thanks to Claudine and Daniel, and thanks to the Universe for giving us an opportunity to partake of an evening of excellent French hospitality.

Now onto the leg of lamb.......

UPDATE ON THE DONKEY-GIRL: She is on her way, having just this minute passed by. A minor problem is that it has taken her nearly two hours to get to us from Sara's, which would normally take ten minutes walking time if without a donkey who is not enthused about embarking on this adventure.

And I think of the other people I know of, who are also embarking on 'mad-cap' ideas, who are having a go a doing something different, including us. And I think how safe the majority prefer to stay, and how few 'have a go'.

It is better to have tried and failed, than never to have tried at all. As Dianne, a fellow English woman, said yesterday: "I don't want to be one of those people who say 'Oh I wish I had done this, or I wish I had done that, but now it's too late.' " I agree with her totally. So good luck to the madness of the Donkey-Girl, however far she manages to get towards her goal of Holland. Even if she decides to pack it in at four o'clock today, at least she gave it a try. But then, she might surprise herself, and get further than what she thought, and she might learn a lot about herself along the way.