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.)

Drowning in veggies.

What is it with me! I seem to have the knack of opening things upside down! Of late it has been the box of matches which is opened loads of times during the day to light our camping stove in the kitchen caravan. So just now, I was thinking that we would have scones for breakfast since we are minus any bread because I haven't made any as yet today and we gobbled up the last of the loaf last night with some spoonfuls of the first batch of this season's home-made fig jam, (gorgeous!!!). Anyway, scones. Baking Powder needed. Mmmm, not much left. Not sure if our French supermarket sells it. If they do, it will be labelled in French (of course!) which will require of me some researching. Therefore need to use the remainder of the contents sparingly.

So then why do I open it upside down, sending all the contents everywhere! Fortunately some could be scooped up from the handily place recipe book over which it had fallen, just sufficient for today's needs. The rest fell over Bools, our Springer Spaniel. And how could I have opened the container upside down! That is what I am now asking myself!

And so my day makes its progression.......

I photo-shot myself by mistake and was going to delete the picture but stopped and mused about how this is actually what I am doing for a lot of my day - busy doing this, busy doing that....

And the reason why I am so busy is this lot:

..........and

So I have a problem. I have been removed from the half barn, or rather the produce has: three bags potatoes, loads of onions, wheelbarrow full of courgettes and squashes. The builders required that I remove it all because they wanted to do the floor. All is now squeezed into the awning. And it is very untidy, and not really a good platform on which to shout 'We are being self sufficient' because to be quite honest with you, it is all a muddle. The onions have been dumped on top of the piles of tomatoes, the figs are being harvested as well, and to be quite frank with you, I am getting a tad fed up with this feeling of being drowned in veggies.

I have pots and pots of chutney and jam and no where to keep them apart from The Hut which is now crammed full of food. In the middle of it all we sit working away on our computers. Hubs began complaining about an odd odour the other day. A hunt around and he found a box of six eggs which had somehow managed to fidget their way behind some paperwork and were now well past their sell-by date. Not to worry though. The temperatures are starting to slide down a bit, so I will be able to keep some of the food in the kitchen caravan soon.

And that is why I put that top photo in, because of my commute between this area, that area, and everywhere in between just to cook lunch. I tell you what, though, it is getting me fitter, and I noticed the other day that my thighs have got some emerging muscles on them! Wow! From out of the cellulite, muscle is appearing! Crikey! Never thought that would happen again in this lifetime!

And so now: lessons I have learnt: That I am a messy so and so, but that I have an excellent excuse not to fret about that at the moment because of being drowned in veggies.
That I have picked up foot speed since arriving here just over a year ago.
That I have found a new love in my life, and that is my husband as I keep on discovering new facets of him which were submerged beneath our UK lifestyle.
That I am continually discovering new facets of myself, and that's not a bad statement to make when one is sixty-two.
That I will never have the svelte shape of my sixteen year old self again, but for my age, year, and model number, I am doing OK. Hope you are to.

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.