Is this Autumn?

Looks as though its that time of year again...the cold misty dawn sent me hurrying back under the duvet this morning ...yet there have been many mornings this year I have clutched my mug of tea, opened the front door wide to the fresh morning air and opened the computer up to see what is going on in cyber land. I am a morning person, I love the freshness, the peace and quiet in the house, no TV or other background bubble...let them all sleep and leave me winging round the world to read blogs and catch up. But one look out at the hills this morning to thick blue grey mist and drizzle and it was back to the bedroom with my mug of tea. I've just realised that we still have the winter duvet on the bed ...oops how did that happen. Its about now I change them over and lug one of to the industrial washer in Welshpool ready for the next changeover. Mmm dont know how that happened...strange... never had any hot flushes in the summer nights or even had the fan on ...hang on a minute I thought it was supposed to be getting warmer! Obviously not here then!

I am also a summer person, although I can appreciate the beauty of the autumn colours, and the mounds of available produce for my other hobby ...preserving and pickling ,I am going downhill fast towards the long dark nights and the winter. For weeks on end I only see home at the weekend ...I leave for work before it is really light and have to drive home in the dark. I hate it. I was born a Leo, a summer baby, and I do not 'winter' at all well. I loathe snow and cold. The minute I can smell that tinny metallic smell of snow I am in the house and that is it. There have been odd times when I have gone out and shared a plastic bag and whipped down the hillside shrieking and screaming with the rest of them and thoroughly enjoyed it but I never crave a repeat of the experience and as for skiing ...no chance.

We have been replenishing the log store this afternoon across the fields with the trailor and chain saw to reap our winter fuel from where the wind ripped through an ash tree last spring. So different to when my mother would set out on an autumn Saturday in her old mac to go down the river meadows sticking. I love sticking...gathering branches to saw up for the fires..we would take my mum's idea of a picnic ...a packet of crisps with a cold sausage and a hardboiled egg and an apple. We had to drag our sticks home then and leave them propped up ready for Grandad to saw up. Grandad always maintained you get at least two warms from wood...the one when you saw it up and the one when you burn it....we used to get three when we had to drag half a tree about two miles home. It was easy today ...I was loading the trailer as fast as the logs were sawn. The smell was wonderful...seasoned wood. I have always wanted to work in wood, Grandad used to whittle sticks for hours into animals heads, birds and even people. I did go to wood carving classes a few years ago and really enjoyed it but simply couldn't fit any more into my busy schedule but it is definitely something I would wish to return to in the future at some stage.

Home again and sticks unloaded and stored it was time to unload some bags of vegetables and start peeling and salting. I have a market stall next Saturday and an array of jars will be expected. So there are beetroot cooking slowly on the back ring of the cooker in an old saucepan kept specially for the purpose. I sliced a huge red cabbage up ...and was straight away transported as always back to art classes when my lovely teacher would present us with a red cabbage to slice and draw the whirling patterns that are within...we could then take it along to cookery and pickle it! Just have a look the next time you slice one ...it really is amazing. Then it was the time to don the plastic gloves, the glasses, grab a mug of tea and move outside to the table and set to to peel onions. I can't say it is a task I enjoy ...endure would perhaps be a better word. It is a job to be done outside...it does help to be in the fresh air and a breeze if possible. I have been spotted on a November night sitting on the doorstep in a howling gale when I have run short of pickled onions for my stall. Today the sun was warm on my face as I peeled and peeled until half a large bag was done and dusted. I must do the other half tomorrow what ever the weather.

Soon it will be time for the crab apples and sloes and winter will be here before we know it. As I peeled and sliced I thought of other things....do I pick another Open University Course to follow next year.?...I have really enjoyed OU studying and had a 'gap' year this year as I became a grandmother and wondered what would be expected of me along those lines. Or do I just sit down and get on with the final book in our local history trilogy?....most of it is written and ready for action but there are still research tasks to be done and legends to unfold like who DID murder the nun at Hogstow?...we know who hung for it...unfortunately both he and the nun remain roaming the countryside frightening the natives at the most inopportune moments. So where do we head for holidays next year? I really fancy Le Chateau, Ireland is calling very strongly and he has mentioned a canal boat which I loved last time as well...and a friend has just returned from Tuscany extolling the way of life in Italy. Now shall I be brave and venture a little further from these shores ?...mmmmm decisions, decisions! Decisions to ponder on as I peel another bag of onions!

Carry on Ireland!

When I re read that last entry I was just a teeny bit worried that someone may have thought I was having a poke of fun at the Irish...so I was indeed deeply honoured by Irish Eyes' lovely comment and I heaved a sigh of relief that must have been heard over there on the Emerald Isle. Anyway just to set the score completely level between us I will just tell you of my awful embarrassing accident when on holiday in Ireland the last time!

We had decided to take a ferry out to the Aran Islands which in itself for me was a bit brave with not a travel sickness tablet in sight...it was a beautiful day and the sea and sky met in beautiful shades of sparkly blue. We landed on the main island and straight away realised that we had a choice...we could either walk, take a horse and cart, a mini bus or hire a bike. We wanted to get to the far end of the island to see the ramparts of the old fort which are indeed spectacular...but how? It was going to take too long to walk, the minibus...on a hot day..no thanks, the horse and cart appealed but it was actually rather expensive...so a democratic decision was achieved...bikes it was!!

Now although I remember learning to ride a bike in my childhood years I have never actually possessed such an article so my cycling skills are non existant. Feeling rather like an intrepid explorer I mounted my trusty rusty steed and we sallied forth along the narrow lanes , between stone walls and honeysuckle hedges....I was soon left to my own devices as husband and son tore off in front... I could see them ...specks in the distance and then they would come tearing back to have a laugh at me plodding away and then they would disappear again. I was very happy, I felt elated, I had never envisaged riding a bike on holiday but, here I was ,thoroughly enjoying the experience. I began to be brave and overtook walkers...at some speed I might add! Wheeeee!

I did wonder why the other two had stopped and were looking back over their shoulders and laughing...I could see them ....but oddly enough the road went round a corner and disappeared down a bank...mmmmmm...I suppose the brakes work...but just in case...as one is sarting to hurtle down what suddenly became a very steep bank...scream! Very loud screams that were probably heard back on the mainland. I could not control the dratted machine at all and a veritable wobble crept in as I gained even more speed. Apparently the screaming reached a crescendo when I realised there was a ninety degree corner to get round at the bottom of the bank.........a crashing noise was heard and silence!

There were some beautiful stone buildings with a soft grass verge all the way down the infernal bank..farm buildings ...near the bottom and just before the corner there was an opening ...just a sort of window hatch thing. Yep! just like a 'Carry On' film I had catapaulted straight through the opening into the farm building ...the bike was still spinning in the road. I was lucky enough to have had a soft, but not very clean, landing two goats just stared at me mid chew and a couple of chickens squawked a bit, a donkey eyed me from across the yard as I struggled to stand. By this time husband and son were peering through the opening looking for mum! After getting my bearings I realised that I had no option but to either climb the outside wall back onto the road or get back how I had arrived ...through the window! So with husband and son heaving and me sort of abseiling up the wall I returned to the road. The bike was bashed back into shape and off we went again....they rode off and left me because they said the smell was so bad!

I sauntered along ....there was a couple in front of me having a row because she was fed up with cycling so I just overtook them .....'morning' I called and pedalled on ... they just stopped and stared open mouthed....I must have looked a fright...filthy, bent bike, bloody elbow...we stopped by a little bay and I was able to clean myself up a bit in the crystal clear sea ...but they kept holding their noses ...my horrible family. We reached the fort, we had lunch outside a little whitewashed cottage...and I longingly eyed a horse and trap up for the return journey...but no I had no option but to return on my new best friend...the pain I had to endure!

The next day I could hardly walk...did they care? did they hell! Just kept on saying that next year we were going on a cycling holiday.....in the Alps!!

So there we go... fifteen all! I could go on to tell you about the breathtaking scenery, the paths down to the beach where orchids grow like common daisies, the lonely ruins of a convent overlooking the sea where short fat dumpy cattle grazed in what would have been the chapel. Or how about an earlier trip when we found Kenmare and the jauntily painted houses lining the streets, Killarney and the flowers, the beauty of the Beaura peninsula and the historic port of Cobh and the Titanic museum, the sub tropical climate due to the Gulf stream, the little shrines with the fresh flowers and the cliffs of Moher...shall I go on?I think I'll finish at the folk museum in Cashel where I found the poem of the willow pattern china.....

The Willow Pattern

Three little swallows in the sky,

A little vessel passing by,

A little village near the town

And drooping willows hanging down

An orange tree with oranges on it,

An iron gate, and all along

Three little people going to Dover

this is the bridge that they pass over

This is the church without any steeple,

This is the parish without any people.

Two Irish gentlemen!

It is Fennie's fault ...I have just read her wonderful blog about scents and sounds and was immediately transported to Ireland with the mention of peat smoke! I have a long standing love affair with all things Irish and have frequent bouts of what can only be defined as homesickness when I read Irish Eyes. It started many years ago when for quite a time I was in a relationship with a mad, bad, red headed Irishman . He worked in TV, was a writer and an artist, he introduced me to Ireland, to Dublin in particular and I was hooked. Looking back quite objectively not romantically, I think this was the nearest I was to come to my Mr Right...and of course it was wrong at the time...he was staunch Catholic and I was a newly divorced young mother. My family went wild with horror...I never asked what his did! I met his sister, she was the first nun I had encountered at close quarters and we got on famously. Eventually distance was to mean 'out of sight out of mind' instead of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' and the last I heard of him he was working in Japan.

But Ireland had 'got' to me and never am I happier than when I am on a ferry heading West! I soak up the atmosphere like a sponge, the history , the culture, the mist...whatever ...just bring it on. We have spent countless holidays discovering Ireland, from all of them hilarious memories float to the surface and include....the 'cottage' we rented in an asylum seekers complex next to a dog track. The cottage we rented right out on the West coast that we reached by a causeway when the last words called to us over the owners departing shoulder was 'you will look after the cows!' Whaaaaaaaaaaat! Cows? Where? Oh yes ...there were two of the dearest Hereford cows with three calves that came with the cottage...and came with us for walks on the beach, joined us at mealtimes on the lawn and would have come in and settled in front of he fire had we let them! Noses pressed to the windows as soon as the curtains opened...theirs not ours! I could bore you with photographs of them but I haven't got the technology.

It was while staying at the Cow cottage we found The Burren, an amazing almost lunar landscape with plants and flowers to die for, Thor Ballylee the castle home of the poet W. B. Yeats, Sligo and the Isle of Innisfree...and we met Pete and Doug!

The day had been unbelievable ...July and you could not see your hand in front of your face. The thickest sea mist had crept off the sea taking the sunshine and blue sky, it was like November. It was a case of donning waterproof clothing and walking from one end of the island to the other ...it simply was unsafe to drive anywhere. We took our lunch and our picnic was held in a bus shelter with an old horse and a couple of sheep joining us for company. We trundled back to the cottage not having seen much except rusty corrugated iron, a couple of donkeys and the travelling people's encampment with damp washing strewn across the gorse. The evening beckoned in front of the TV with the log burner taking the chill off the stone cottage. But as quick as it had arrived the mist went and there we were.. a beautiful evening, the sun shining on the clear sea, the brown sailed curraghs slicing through the waves as the teams practised hard for the forthcoming weekend races.

The mist had curtailed our travels around this part of Ireland and we were not going to waste a minute of a sunny evening so off we went with a flask of coffee to the hills and lakes where we watched a couple of gnarled old men shearing sheep by hand under the shadow of a drystone wall. We sat outside a bar near a lake with Guiness for him and an Irish coffee for me and watched the evening sky change to pink and gulls wheeled overhead. On the way back we came upon areas of peat bog that was cut for the home fires ...I was out with the camera and spotted a couple of peat diggers working away as the light dimmed. I walked across and asked if I could take their picture working in the peat. They were only to pleased to oblige and smiled broadly for my camera...I think they only had three teeth between the two of them. I perched on a pile of cut turves and a conversation struck up about peat, the quality, the amount needed to see a home through the winter...I was transfixed. We discussed everything that evening Anglo Irish peace pacts, dog racing, sheep farming, Ireland, England, families...husband had joined me and brought the flask and four cups, a bottle of Jamesons Irish whisky appeared from under a pile of cut turves....the moon shone down on us. One conversation always comes to mind when I think back to that night.....'Well is Shropshire anywhere near Bristol?' .....'Not really...its further up the Welsh border.' ....'Ah ..but I know Bristol' ...'Oh have you been there?' ....'No...but my son is in prison there so he must know it!' mmmmmmmm no answer to that really!

So now when I smell those evocative peat fires as we wander across Ireland I remember two men digging peat...we named them 'Doug' and 'Pete' in the photograph album.....and the evening we put the world to rights under an Irish moon.

Now ....where is that ferry booking form.....

homework!

Thank you En Peu for the baton and here is my homework.....

Twelve sounds or smells that would surely reach me...

1. have got to start with sweet peas...my mother loved sweet peas and she grew them every year all over the wire netting that bordered the chicken run from the striped lawn. There was always a bunch on the kitchen windowsill, and every other place she could find to put one! When I got married I carried a basket of sweet peas and pink and white roses...and the church was stuffed with them. Thanks mum. One whiff of that scent and I am madly looking for the flowers.

2. The song of a thrush...after rain .....early evening in May.

3. Bacon cooking.....I have known strict vegetarians nearly wilt at this smell..but it always takes me back to evenings when my Uncle would visit my Grandad...and my mother would make them bacon sandwiches and we would all sit outside under the trees in the early evening.

4 Richard Burton reading Dylan Thomas' Under Milkwood......amazing.

5 Now for one smell that is simply not available anywhere else but Brighton on the South coast. Its just the smell of summer....geraniums, ageratum flowers, lobelia, the sea, sun tanned skin, coffee, hotels, buses, chickens being spit roasted, antique shops, hot pink concrete, pebbles, oil paint and linseed oil...all mixed up! The favourite smells of teenage years long past.

6. The Rhos Male Voice Choir from Llangollen...I have a dear friend who sings in this choir and have been to many performances that leave me spellbound. But good old Dylan Thomas creeps in again because hearing the Rhos singing Eli Jenkins Prayer is just wonderful.

7. The smell of damp wool....the real stuff...still on the sheep...clean sheep of course! Working with the sheep when they are damp you become enveloped in this smell..it is so warm and comforting somehow. Early in the year in the lambing shed ...as a new lamb is born and it finds its mother and they bond seemingly by unique smell...and the shepherdess heaves a sigh of relief. A pure wool garment washed and drying flat still has that smell.

8. The sounds of the sea.....rushing and sucking over a pebbly beach.

9. The smell of the hay harvest...pure sweet grass drying. As dusk falls if you walk through it and disturb the top layer......Estee Lauder beat that!!

10. I have no idea if it is the custom in all seaside towns, but in Wales where they need little excuse for a good old sing song on a Sunday night...open air hymn singing. With the sea gulls wheeling above in a clear blue sky. We stood amazed one evening as a drunken yob of about 20 years of age staggered from a nearby pub and balanced his pint on the seat of a parked motorbike...leaned on the handlebars to gain support and sang the whole of Amazing Grace ..the proper hymn book version without missing a note! We all stood and clapped...and he sank to the floor!!!

11. Lavender....oil, flowers, whatever...just pour it on...

12. Kris Kristofferson singing 'Me and Bobby McGee' .....years ago I was somenone's 'Bobby McGee'..........

there you go..homework done and dusted and I'm off...out through the door like the proverbial scalded cat to go and cause mayhem somewhere..just like when I had real homework all those years ago....

Baton handed on to Mountainear, Country Craft Angel, @themill, Irish Eyes and Posie Rosie