Week Of The First Snowdrops

Snowdrop bud in a green crowd of ivy and young nettles

15/1/22 Saturday

Whizzed through housework this morning, possessed with a motivation to live in a pleasant home. No frost to ogle. Sky, and sea, when I view them on my commute, are the same muted steel; one patch of cloud glows like a furnace.

The hydrotherapy pool is open again so my co-worker and I load the car to take our care client, she is keen-keen-keen to get in the water. Feels tropically hot. After this, we are all hungry and relaxed. On the drive back a three-quarter moon looms in the pale sky, bobbled clouds of grey darken, rain dribbles down the windscreen like rivulets of mercury. 

16/1/22 Sunday

Drive to work with my new bright yellow raincoat on the front seat next to me. Sky is Wedgewood blue, clouds ripple like the low tide sand, horizon hazy-white. It is unlikely to rain but I want to wear my rubber duck coat. We take a short stroll; after which I hang my prize on the back of a chair, put a rainy day scene on YouTube, and eat a pot of tiramisu. 

17/1/22 Monday

A sugar-frosted morning, with mist over the river thick and whirly as whisked egg white. 

At work, after running a few errands, we yomp to Charlestown to look at the calm, inviting sea: and then quickly away before I can’t resist a dip. Speedwalk back up the hill, tagging in and out of pushing the wheelchair, while our client stretches out her hands to the sun. Frost has melted but the air holds a sparkle.

Winter sun is forecast for most of the week. 

18/1/22 Tuesday

No frost in spite of the night’s clear sky; the moon was full, the night barely dark. Everything is so still this morning it seems frozen, touched by moon magic.

We drink coffee, somewhere out of sight crows caw, geese are cackling. 

Home improvements happen- fire extinguisher and bedroom roller blind are fitted. 

19/1/22 Wednesday

Another shrouded morning, stirred by the solo flight of a crow. Bamboo leaves in our neighbours’ hedge twitch and stop. Snowdrops make their debut.

We visit the land to verbally wrangle hedge progress, agreeing on a mix of pollarding and laying in. The Rayburn is drying, slowly, so we light a fire in a metal bucket to warm the stable and help the dry-out. Down at the parking bay, we drink ginger tea as our resident robin hops in the scrub, singing, snapping up bugs, and puffing up his feathers. There is a daffodil in bud, and many spring flower leaves jutting up along the line of the iron fence. 

20/1/22 Thursday

Pick up Grandchild 2 after school to come training this evening. She has a homework app on her phone and catches up on some maths on the journey, it sounds like this:

‘You cockroach! This is ABSOLUTE DOG WATER! You suck, you dog water cockroach!’

Her lowest score out of 20 was 18, she says the shouting probably helps.

21/1/22 Friday

Frost has turned the world into silverware. We hug our coffee mugs, snug in bed, then we are up and pulling on layers. In the van, I have to wiggle off my boots as my thermal socks are keeping the cold in. Get the heater going to rescue my toes in time to do one of our favourite couples’ activities: amateur tree surgery. Mr does the chainsawing, I am on rope duty, pulling the felled wood so it doesn’t fall on him or into the road. Ping ping ping, down come the ash trees at the iron fence. They will grow again, this is a harvest, not a cull. A couple of hawthorns are trimmed and laid down too.

We sat on the paving slab bench in the earth mound which is now known as Treasure Island, drank ginger tea. Dog wandered hither and thither, her back legs unsteady but her tail wagging fine.

Our resident robin followed all the progress, warbling away.

He may be trying to tame us. 

Robin bird sits on a wooden gate, backed by ivy. He is looking at the camera, inquisitive


Hey, sweet lady. Reading your words is like getting a hug from an old friend. So normal and familiar, ya know? And comforting. Your writing always feels like that to me.

We had snow here, too. About 2 to 3 inches. More than enough for me to build a snowman in the back yard. Or actually, a snowwoman. An anatomically correct one. I mean, she WAS out back where no one could see her. Until my fella took her picture and posted it on Facebook. HA Oh well. Now, she's naught but a grapefuit-sized snowball. But more snow may fall this weekend. (Guess I better not make an anatomically correct man, eh! HA)

Take care, kiddo, and have a super weekend.
It sounds like a damn fine week to me.
Lisa Southard said…
Word hugs are good to give :-) Wish I'd seen that snowwoman! My 4 yr old granddaughter is going through an anatomically correct drawing phase- although we can't really say phase until she moves on, this might be her life's work. Snow, ink, pencil- all creative mediums are valid. Happy weekend to you too xx
Lisa Southard said…
That is a correct observation :-) I'm hoping to keep these updates coming, and the happy vibes xx
Friko said…
this is good enough to be published elsewhere. I love your record of things you observe, feel, admire, appreciate. You will come to enjoy this once the nightmare is over. So much better to be doing what you are doing than dwelling on the madness of the material world we live in. (which is what I am doing, although I have come to realise that it is not doing me any good)
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you Friko :-) We were a long time planning and working towards the start of this land journey, knowing it would be hard work, not knowing what an antidote it would be to the chaos in the outside world. I hope you find a healthy distraction/escape xx

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