Wrong footed Wellies!

Wrong footed Wellies, now there's silly! Like a clown (actually, more like a demented duck!) I trounced along the muddy, puddled path to my studio earlier this week with my boots on the wrong feet. It made me smile out loud', to quote my niece when she was four or five and something silly (probably me) made her laugh. A great visual gag, but by the time your in you reach forty seven, best not shared with an audience. Daft isn't so cute when you reach middle age (did I just admit to being middle aged). Thankfully my only audience was my husband Neil who was out and about in the mud as well. He didn't exercise himself much beyond rolling his eyes in comment, simply smiling back at me. Well, perhaps I should have seen the Wellie boot incident as an omen...or, less portentously, more of a silly sign. 

Once or twice I have been asked abruptly; 'Did something drop on your head from a great height!' Well Neil and his family do hone from 'Gods country'...Yorkshire as those 'less blessed' know it. Being 'arty', often actively choosing to be 'off with the Fairies', I've always taken it as fair comment when proffered. But this week, it did, it really did! 

An empty olive oil tin, boasting a pretty picture of a Spanish lady sat underneath an olive tree launched itself off the top of the fridge freezer where it was decoratively balanced, touching down briefly, smack between my eyes before clattering to the floor. Now the merits of keeping empty tins is doubtful (especially if your from Yorkshire!), but really! I stood there dazed, and not in a fun 'off with the fairies' kind of way, with one ear tuned to Neil's well intentioned, entirely obvious advice, which, if followed (and I can't promise to) would result in such an incident 'never happening again'.

Well, there's more, but this time 'the boot is on the other foot!'. This afternoon; Neil, still out and about in the mud, about important business fixing things, elected to take a tea break. Calling by my studio, smiling up at me, looking like 'Stig of the Dump' he elected that I should make the tea! Cheeky, and it told him so! Reluctantly he trundled off in the general direction of the kettle. 

Moments later, calamity! He'd toppled down the garden steps, recovering himself he hobbled theatrically into view. I looked out to see him, more mud than man limping about like a troll, cursing the air and intermittently calling out for me in a sweeter key. Off course I went running, helping him to the safety of our comfy sofa, providing tea (I know, perhaps I should have made it in the first instance), sympathy...a foot stool and ice! Ice is an excellent treatment for such calamities...I should know, having sat dazed beneath a packet of frozen peas after my incident with the olive oil tin. I do have a 'Harry Potter' style flash between my eyes and an unattractively bruised nose but I've  got away without black eyes. I'm told this is a bonus, apparently you nearly always get black eyes with a punch to the nose...kind of 'buy it' (biff!) and you get these free!

Neil's now quite recovered. He can't think how it happened; you know the score, one minute he was walking down the garden...the next! Generally these things are explained away as 'accidents'. I've proffered sympathy rather than 'advice' offering up no 'why's or where-fore's'. More likely than not it was 'natural slippage', though I strongly suspect fairy mischief. They get bored in January you know...beyond all the sparkle of Christmas, impatiently waiting for Spring. The clue that this week was likely to be a little haphazard was 'in my Wellies', oh if only I'd heeded it, all along.

PS: the olive oil tin is in the recycling bin!

A colourful grey day

Monday morning dawned magnificently across the Menai Straits where I woke to see the sky ablaze; magenta, amber and lapis blue, ember bright in the furnace of the rising sun.

Tuesday mornings light transcribed this magic; back home, walking the country lanes with Neil I glanced up from conversation to see it kissing the tree tops softly. The birches blushed pale mauve, colouring a perception of Spring, albeit shyly, in tight bud.

Today it's raining, the sky is like the cover of my sketch book, smudged with graphite finger marks, tattered, used. Recent weather has flourished with changeable artistic temperament, daubing brilliant blue and mercurial grey, harshly spattering hail and sleet, carelessly throwing down washes of rain across its canvas, the sky.  From day to day, it's energy, seemingly all but spent, it leaves vast patches un-inspiringly empty, canvas white. From time to time it's demeanour softens altogether, relenting it apologises in rainbows and invites the sun to shine.

However miserably the weather may express itself today, I sit here gazing out from my studio having 'seen the light'. I know that the magic of a beautiful dawn, the soft light of early spring, is,in essence, inherent in this day too, however dilute and imperceptible it may be. Knowing this colours my mood.

...on a more lighthearted note, and waxing less lyrical; I always have my waxed hat and Wellies and we have some 'awesome' puddles in the field! - though their depth should not be trusted! I've jumped in one or two that I could swear I heard laugh out loud as they drenched me, breaching my wellie tops...how old am I!

Aloha

Well, I'm still 'love struck'; everything reminds me of our extraordinary recent adventure....thousands of sea leagues from here in Hawaii, an island chain in the South Pacific.

I'm anxious not to weary who ever may be sharing my recollections through this blog. I guess it's inexperience on my part; after all, the word diary has not long been commonly prefixed by the words 'on line'. Calling a diary a blog doesn't deceive me; a diary is a diary is a diary (say I thrice!). I'm confident that my first ever diary had a little lock and key and 'Top Secret' writ large across it. It takes a real call of confidence to share in this 'modern way', denying the voice of insecurity that whispers: 'desist' or someone will catch you out for over sharing...over thinking...being boring!  In Hawaii they refer to sharing love and celebrating what is beautiful as living in the spirit of aloha. With reverence, I'll therefore continue in this spirit.

So, whole heartedly, in the true spirit of aloha, today I'll share every colour of the rainbow with you!  Hawaii; the land of sunshine and showers is perhaps where the colours of all rainbows are divined.   I believe we may have hovered above the mercurial centre of the world! - Mt Waialeale Crater, Kauai, the wettest and rainiest place on earth. Here majestic waterfalls cascade thousands of feet breaking beyond mans gaze, refracting brilliant colour into their spray as it meets the sun bright sky. If the universal colours of the rainbow are mixed anywhere surely it's here!

The climate across this paradise archipelago chain is fairly constant throughout the year, reliable bright sunshine, brilliant heat cooled by gentle (occasionally temperamental) trade winds and rain...plenty of rain of the showery kind. The daily weather forecast varied between 'sunshine and showers' and 'showers and sunshine'! This being the case, most days we admired rainbows; broad brushstrokes of luminous colour flourished with artistic aplomb against the canvas of the day. Some days we saw them high above the ocean forming perfect arches, others stretching out from the mountains, burying their tails, reputedly along with their treasure, where they met land, deep within the islands lush interior. Sometimes they fell fragmented across the landscape; where isolated rain clouds burst or irrigation fanned out across manicured lawns.We even glimpsed their magical colours caught up fleetingly in the sea spray along the islands costal fringes. But my most vibrant memory of all is of when their colours brushed our faces as we explored the mountainous terrain of Haleakala National Park, to the east of Maui.

We set off early that morning to drive 'The Road to Hana', reputed to be one of the most beautiful drives on earth. In my estimation, it's rather like the reputed treasure at the end of the rainbow, not everyone who seeks it finds it! Neil, being the driver actually found the constant twists and turns along the so called scenic drive a little tedious. According to historic record, once upon a time it proved a challenging journey. It was first constructed in 1926 from volcanic cinders by prison trustees; rain filled pot holes dimpling it's patchy surface, it presented with treacherous bends, narrow stretches and sheer drops to either side. Today; re paved and widened, winding ever onward with little opportunity, save stopping at limited points along the way, to admire what you are driving through, it is perhaps, dare I say it (it being famous and all!) a little boring! At least, as the passenger, I had the privilege of snatching glimpses of waterfalls, flourishes of tropical flora and views towards the rugged windward coast. Neil had to keep his eye on the seemingly endless road. To add insult to injury we'd left our picnic behind, so no snacks or drinks to boot!

We eventually found snacks... of sorts; vegetarianism is not the way of the road to Hana! Lunch consisted of some delicious banana bread and some rambutans (of all things; exotic but certainly not Hawaiian!). Water was even more difficult to source but bizarrely we found a roadside seller with a giant refrigerated unit...mostly full of coca cola, with a corner to spare for water; well, technically it is America!

I guess our day really picked up when we met a lady along the way at the foot of a spectacular waterfall selling shell leis, and sharing the spirit of Elvis. I know; quirky aside, but it's another days story! From there, Neil decided that he couldn't bare the boredom of the same journey in reverse. Boasting off road savvy; feeling intrepid at the wheel of our bright red jeep...with the blessing of the remarkable shell lei maker we therefore set off, off road to complete our journey.

The road became much more exciting, bumping, grinding, winding and eventually widening, opening out into the most amazing mountainous terrain. Majestic, cowboy territory, even boasting the occasional lone goat, adding to that remote Western movie vibe! We wound closer to the coast too...the awesome windward coast. We took every opportunity to stop the jeep, step out and gasp in sheer wonder at what our eyes surveyed. Surely it was impossible to be more awestruck, yet as   I marvelled at the sheer grandeur of the mountainsides we were flashing by I noticed them flush magenta...and cyan and turquoise blue, the colours of the rainbow were chasing us! We stopped and stepped out of the jeep yet again and found we were all but bathing in their light. It felt like a tangible blessing and still does. We were captured by the joy and luminosity of this spectacular rainbow light until it faded. For some forty minutes we gazed into it as it seemed to gaze into us and light up our hearts. Aloha, pure aloha.

Hawaiian Blues

It seems 'jet lag' is not the only unwelcome thing served up with the in-edible food on long haul flights. Evidentially 'bonus bugs' circulate in the pressurised air...they replace a little oxygen; I'm convinced the O2 is turned down at least a notch to induce us to sleep. Well, that's my theory, however misguided, inexplicably I feel a little better for it. In truth, it's probably the paracetamol and throat numbing, cough suppressing lozenges that are making me feel better, that and the cat purring reassuringly beside me. Of course I do appreciate that I am in no position to be feeling miserable, however horrid my cold is, after all I'm privileged to have be flying long haul in the first instance, never mind returning from paradise! When I couldn't get comfy in my 'premier economy' seat...when there seemed to be no substance whatsoever to my backside and I was literally perching on my bones I remembered we had not since long witnessed countless down and outs living in cardboard boxes on the streets of San Francisco. No complementary miniature pillow or standard issue scratchy blanket for them...not even a smile to keep them warm.

Onto warmer thoughts; another colour from my 'kaleidoscopic' memory. I'll choose blue, for the Hawaiian Blue butterflies, when I close my eyes I see them dancing like the light on the ocean.

My most vivid memory of them is from the day we visited the Kauai Coffee Plantation. We were winding our way along a self guided tour; a less than intrepid route through tamed plantings of coffee trees and sweet smelling tropical blossoms when I looked down to see the sparkle of tiny wings basking in the sun amongst the short grass. I had read that their food plant is Koa, in fact it's familiar name is 'the Koa butterfly. No Koa here amongst the coffee trees, so I was all the more surprised and delighted by my chance sighting. Six or seven in number, they flickered and fluttered like eye lashes, seducing the sun to warm them. We were early, having waited in possibly to best car park in the world for the plantation to open, I imagine we caught them just as they were waking. Their wings span barely an inch; as they flutter and close momentarily they reveal exquisite iridescent soft green undersides. Admiring such perfection probably accounts for the first of many mosquito breakfasts I unwittingly provided whilst in Hawaii. Though the Hawaiian Blue is native to this paradise, the mosquito is not. Whalers bought them to the islands; one could argue that it but a small curse for the carnage caused by these brutal early hunters, tainting the beautiful blue Pacific blood red.

I should mention the coffee; being our first full day in Kauai, we thought we'd begin our adventures gently and simply, indulging our yen for a delicious cup of coffee. As our friends and family know; we are not great drinkers, except when it comes to coffee. Sometimes we teeter on the brink of becoming coffee 'bores' or put more politely 'connoisseurs'. As they grow, roast and grind our 'drug of choice' here, you can imagine our excitement as we waited for the establishment to open.

'The Kauai Coffee Company' is Hawaii's largest coffee estate, boasting rare coffee beans such as 'pea berry' and special roasts, not to mention unpalatable adulterations such as chocolate, coconut and tropical fruit flavoured coffee (yuck!). Well, all this being true, alas it seems that they have yet to master 'the brew'. No 'cafe crema' layer to be admired here, no superlative expresso shots, no velvety thick top to your cappuccino...and if you want to see they very definition of a mystified expression, try striking up a friendly conversation about 'barista art!' Of course, all this will only resonate with coffee geeks. That said, it was a curious and abiding pleasure removing the skin from the roof of my mouth in sampling thimbles full of hot coffee from the twenty or so complimentary coffee urns which stood like miniature Darleks amidst a display of coffee sacks and springs of coffee cherries in the cafe. Frankly, and entirely appropriately, the lack of a decent barista brew didn't come close to distracting from the joy of finding ourselves in paradise. As we sat basking in the early morning sunshine on the plantation lanai, privileged to the very first two strangers in paradise to visit that day, we were incapable of any expression deviating from a broad grin. We had smiles to share as by the time we left we found ourselves weaving through the first caffeine deprived American coach party to call. Discreetly scratching my itchy knees as we found ourselves back in the best car park in the world I wondered how many visitors would notice the Sapphire bright jewels in the grass, the Koa Butterflies.

December 28th 2013

Well, I'm sat here warm and cosy under a new fluffy blanket, glancing up occasionally to see Neil lumbering about the garden purposefully in his Wellies. He discovered a bubbling spring earlier, just where the Unicorn Lawn foots the field, a cause of great excitement and future thinking. Why by this time next year it will be diverted to fill the Moon Burn (crescent pond) and top up garden ponds... we may even be bottling it and supplying it to pilgrims at the gate! The springs are certainly coursing; full spirited after the recent exceptionally stormy weather. The wind is still in high spirits, roaring like the ocean, pushing tides of cloud across the sky, revealing the softest blue beyond.  

...still day dreaming of our time away, no it's more than that, I think I'm still clinging to sleep, longing not to wake up completely, and I'm not just referring to the 'jet lag!' Who knew sleep could be so grasping! Why, I'll just be sat here quietly when the next minute, it's an hour later and I realise that sleep came and snatched me away, it's more like a secretly administered sedative shot than a snooze. But it's the daydreams I should focus on before they fade like rainbows. Our time away was 'such stuff as dreams are made of', it was truly magical. It's fascinating to see what is illuminated in my minds eye now, to appreciate what has abided with me most.

My Mind is like a kaleidoscope, so many memories like fragments of iridescent colour, constantly shifting and turning with my thoughts to create new reflections, new patterns. Day dreaming has never been so vibrant! Perhaps the best way to make these recollections, these transient daydreams more tangible and enduring is to pick out the colours one at a time and arrange the patterns into words.

The colour green; the verdant green of Kauai's lush mountainous wilderness from the sky. We hovered above it like a larger than life dragonfly, sweeping in to almost touch the mountainside, pulling away to scope in waterfalls and canyons...pulling out to skim across the sea and trace the Napali coastline. We touched down at the foot of a magnificent waterfall, inaccessible by foot. I felt the cold spring water of the plunge pool with my finger tips, it made my heart tingle. Others may have taken a helicopter ride, I took the 'dragonfly' and my spirits soared with it! The pattern in my minds eye freezes as I remember the omnipotence of this place, how the volcanic mountains towered above us, the power with which the water fell against the rock and plunged deep into the pool at our feet. The soft cool spray misting the air and as we stepped away. The timeless stillness. The deep forest and thickets we would never traverse and the secrets they held. I watched as a butterfly followed a light trapeze into the tree canopy. I longed to follow, but stepping just a few feet off the path, attempting to admire the pattern of the creatures wings my legs were scratched as if by way of caution; go no further on foot, imagination is the best vehicle from here...as I'm still daydreaming it seems I left this place with a great gift, freely given for the purpose 'imaginings'.  

Another rainy day dawned this morning. I nudged our roof windows open quietly at about five thirty, breathing in the soft rain drenched atmosphere, casting my sleepy eyes across the landscape with out focusing, it felt soothing. Though, no doubt my disappointment in 'yet another' rainy summers day would eventually waken; in unison with the rest of Britain, for now such negative feeling was still sleeping.

The summer rain had filled every dimple, hollow and new dug pond with in the bounds of our garden. Earth and sky in unison had created magnificent mirrors across our land, into which the dawn was now gazing.

The greatest reflection was cast by 'The Moon Burn', a feature in our landscape yet to be fully realised. In the future, this deep hollow will be lined and planted with water reeds, Irises and King cups...in the mean time, nature, it seems is content to complete it without us. From the window, I imagined slipping into the cool, still waters of the Moon Burn... swimming in the dawn. In 'imagining' one can experience bliss without chill realism! Then I imagined stepping along the Long Barrow, through the Narrow Way, towards the Fairy House tucked beneath the hill. Tracing my imagined path with sleepy eyes, they were at once wide awake when I glanced a family of Hares, two adults and a lively leveret, munching softly on tender wild flowers just beginning to flourish in the area set aside as meadow. What a beautiful way to start the day!

In truth, I snuggled back beneath our warm feather duvet and lulled myself back to sleep contentedly; the soft patter of rainfall on the window panes, the consciousness of the beautiful day before us.

I woke again at about eight... a lie in for me on a Sunday, to see a rainbow; the multicoloured arc sinking perfectly between the ridges of the narrow way... how could I possibly feel disappointed today.

Dance of the May Fly

I arrived in Bath this morning at around coffee time. The air was close and broody; I sensed 'sunshine', tucked beneath the blanket of grey cloud as if it had been thrown over it like a warm comforter, affording it a lie in. Surely eventually it would rise... enthusiastic to 'seize the day', if only to mock me for having worn jeans and a jumper!


I found myself in the city of Bath today. Weary, having milled around the shops all morning, I sought out a quiet place to sit and rest whilst Mum braved the confines of a changing room; a clutch of new clothes in hand to try on. Waiting rooms... waiting places generally, can be dreary but this one was particularly lovely. It looked out over the River Avon; that is the open window beside me did. It was a gloriously sunny day. I sat there contentedly and watched as a pleasure cruiser motored along its course, entertaining myself by trying to make out the muffled commentary of the cruise guide. Then, out of the corner of my eye I caught the sparkle of wings glanced by sunlight 'May flies'. A spiralling balletic swarm rising and falling, fairy like creatures engaged in their nuptial dance.

The last time I had delighted upon this spectacle was in Normandy whilst staying in Calvados at 'Le Moulin de la Mousse', a converted mill house beside the race (of course, where else!). I had looked to books then to realise an understanding of these exquisite creatures by way of which to underpin my delight. As an artist I am determined that my observations of nature should be more than flights of fancy and fantasy. I feel somehow obliged honour what I admire by growing a little wiser with each new observation, pursuing a better understanding of what I see, one that is cerebral not simply visual. I now understand that they live for no more than a day on the wing (the final stage of their metamorphosis), having lived beneath the water for about a year as nymphs. Sentimentally, perhaps this seems sad; the famous poet Shelly once referred to them as creatures 'gathered into death without a dawn'. However for me, the counterpoint to this sentiment lies in the exuberance of their flight; in their nuptial dance. If our earthy demise were preceded by such joy, realising our progeny, I venture to suggest that it may not be considered mournful at all. As I watch them dance, bobbing up and down as if held by invisible strings of light being tugged by the air itself, I perceive that 'this is' their dawn, they are dancing it! Their flight is so joyful, I am incapable of mournful thought. I perceive no nuance of suffering, no sense of pending death and find myself wishing our demise was akin to the mayflies. Sprightly...beautiful, invested in making love... seemingly devoid of suffering. A desire surely harboured in many human hearts. Though, I'm guessing by that by the same token many would find my allegory far too fanciful... an artists whim. Perhaps my interpret ion of what I observe is, more often than not, 'fairy tale'... comforting fiction. Never mind, I feel blessed to find comfort in the way that I see things. Risking being perceived as fanciful by some is of little consequence.

They really are visually fantastical, few would argue otherwise. They have four gossamer wings, the hind pair much smaller than the fore, which they hold upright at rest and flutter like quick silver whilst in sprightly acrobatic flight. They have two or three long tails called cerci which I fancy they trail like fairy tale dress trains. They never venture far from the stretch of water from which they hatched, their delicate wings unless caught on the wind, lack the necessary strength for distance flying. Indeed neither distance flight nor appetite need concern the mayfly during its fleeting life on the wing. The males of the species are possess the greatest acrobatic prowess, courting the females with their seductive nuptial dance moves. Once seduced, having mated, the females lay their eggs by the score, hundreds in the day-span of their life time. Some types of mayfly lay their eggs by simply scattering them into the water during flight. Others settle on the waters surface and, dipping their abdomens beneath its surface, deposit them more demurely. Others discreetly crawl down water plants to lay them on submerged stones. Having hatched the mayfly nymphs live beneath the water for about a year. Some species are understood to be burrowers and diggers, such as the 'Ephemera' others are more agile clambering and climbing about their underwater world, for example those of the 'cloeon' group. Others, like the 'Caenis' confine themselves to a more sombre life on the bottom of the pond or river... I say sombre emotively, they could well be very happy fellows! There are yet others who are active swimmers, namely 'Baetis' and those that enjoy life amongst the weeds of fast flowing rivers and streams, known as the 'Ephemerella'. Just as the adults trail three long tail filaments, so to the nymphs, though some species loose a filament during moulting, resulting in an adult mayfly which likewise trials just two. All nymphs have tracheal gills situated on their abdomen to aide respiration. Some absorb oxygen directly from the water whilst others employ their gills as paddles to maintain a constant flow of water across their bodies; respiration occurring through the skin. The nymphs feed largely on plants, favouring green algae. Uniquely, the mayfly goes through two further stages of metamorphosis before emerging as a fully mature adult or 'imago'.In its initial transformation from nymph to 'sub imago' it is still covered with a transparent skin, dulling its vibrant colouring, cloaking its glistening, translucent wings. Over the course of several hours it proceeds to moult once more before taking flight, though flight to me seems too inadequate a word to describe the spectacle of their transcendental nuptial dance.