Shuffle Fail

So, I was happily holding forth on the importance of education, using the example of a Sudanese refugee who had fled with her books (while Pickle was trying to eat her breakfast) when I felt my point somewhat undermined by Killing in the Name segueing into Another Brick in the Wall. Shuffle, sometimes you disappoint me.

Capers

A call to caper craftily and getting totally folked up on Dartymoor.

Brushing aside yesterday's tangly bramble of thoughts (this may take some time and require protective clothing), Pickle and I have been off adventuring again since I last wrote and more is afoot.

We've visited my parents again. We're seeing more of them lately because Pickle is such good medicine for her Granny as she goes through chemotherapy, and the upcoming surgery. They're off to medical appointments almost daily, so Pickle and I get the run of the place. We give their fat cat Smoky a bit of exercise as Pickle trots after him, oblivious to his disinclination to be stroked by a small person and, at every break in the rain, we explore their lovely garden, trying not to compare it to ours.

When Mum's feeling relatively energetic, she likes to use it all up immediately on something fun. This is very similar to Pickle's policy, although Pickle gets up a lot earlier the next day. This time we had a scenic drive and a little walk to a boating lake. We entirely failed to interest Pickle in the boats (tractor obsessed, that girl), but she had a fine time leaping over a gulley with Granny.

Here we are, taking shelter under a huge tree on our way back. Only Pickle knows what the joke is, but it was definitely funny.

On our last day we just wandered along the road so Mum's friends could meet Pickle and I. We walked back in the gloaming and admired some beautiful skies.

The next morning we drove home and I performed my unpacking/packing trick in under an hour, then off we set again for the wonders awaiting us at Dartmoor Folk Festival in South Zeal. 

The dancing started at the pub at the top of the hill. At this stage there was plenty of humour, but also serious discussion around the importance of holding traditional dances whilst allowing evolution and creativity.

Then, in a trail of stovepipe hats and feathers, tankards clanking at the hip, the dancers led us down the hill to the next pub. Pickle was delighted to get a prime seat, but what I assumed to be absorption turned out to be the beginnings of heatstroke. Scary, but all better now.

The thing about the second pub is that the hill really is quite steep and a fair glug of ale has been consumed by now. It's the same every year.

Giggling breaks out among the performers at the slightest stagger and knuckles are rapped by sticks. Pickle and I had a hilariously clueless go, having claimed a stick just after the dance had been explained to the other children. Below are Molly dancers. A close kin of Morris dancers (his sister?), but accompanied not by accordion, fiddle, guitar and whatever else someone in their local can play, but by a lone singer - a woman in this case. Beautiful and surreal amongst the chaos of sticks and kicks.

Down at the main field there was the same but more so, plus men in very silly (by these standards!) trousers making happy fools of us all and some great Appalachian music and the champion broom dancers gave a joint performance.

In South Zeal's sibling village, Sticklepath, the annual Fireshow is holding its Crafty Capers Summer Workshops from August 20th. Info here if you can get there. It's a great way for kids to explore puppetry, costume creation, clay modeling and whatever else takes their fancy, and for adults to do the same. At Thomas's funeral we gathered coins instead of flowers and split them between GUCH (Grown Up Congenital Heart Patient's Association, which supported Thomas towards the end) and the Sticklepath Fireshow which represents the kind of creative community spirit which Thomas loved to be part of - and which had the fire element so important Thomas. He was part of the build for several productions, his puppets often taking a front stage role, even this last year when he was feeling awful. They have used his money for the Crafty Capers Workshops, so Gappy, Pickle and I will be checking it out and getting messy.

And while I've been gallivanting about, there's been a bumper crop of babies delivered. So, welcome and much love to

These are on their way to you :o).

Looking for a uniquely personal gift?

Of course you are. So am I. I've come up with a solution by making personalised name plaques for people. In the process, I've created a new problem of trying to squeeze in the odd bit of blogging and, you know, life, around creating them, but they're so much fun I'm kind of addicted.

I liked this one so much at the halfway point, I almost stopped there. What kept me going was looking at it with a child's eyes (Jasmine is 10) and deciding I would have preferred the full-on colour explosion when I was that age.

I've got a few more to do for people I know, but I'm also hoping to take commissions. I've been sketching for a new oils project for a couple of months, but now I've got embroiled in the fun of my brush pens again. Somehow it feels less like 'proper' art than using an actual brush and paints, so I let myself be freer.

I think I would have been proud to have an original work of art with my name on it when I was a kid. I've got a vision of making these for adults, too - weddings, housewarmings, birthdays, whatever - but I feel I can go a bit crazier with the colours for the children's ones, so they're the ones I'll enjoy making the most.

They're up on Etsy, possibly too late for Christmas, but this is when they have arrived and maybe they'll catch someone's eye.

I'll leave you with my song of the week - literally, the song I'm replaying endlessly. My family have been tolerant thus far.

Three weeks in the life of me

Did you miss me? I've been doing everything but blogging lately, so here is a pictorial wander through my recent life.

We were invited to a Lammas homewarming and stew-and-potato feast. The sun shone, the dogs ran, my daughter fell off a chair.

This very handsome man gave Rima her first ever lesson in archery (best to start with imaginary arrows)...

with a little 'help' from Pickle in her Miss Havisham dress.

With a little of Baba Yaga in her eye, Rima fired the best round of anyone.

Lisa joined her in music-making round the fire...

and it seems they (and the rest of us humans) enjoyed it more than than Warlock, our local alpha lurcher, who was more intent on the sausages sizzling at the end of his nose.

As the stars came out, Tom told us the story of Lugh, warming up his storytelling muscles for a performance at Uncivilisation, the second Dark Mountain festival. Very sad I missed his bear dance, but hoping to go another year.

My girl nodded and nuzzled towards sleep, until her kind Gappy (Great Aunt Philippa) took her into her Romahome for a snoozy snuggle so Thomas and I could drink and loll unfettered by a staggering toddler.

Other nights have been quieter, just me and my man and beautiful sunsets. There are huge rewards at the turn of the seasons. The rain can seem relentless, but I wouldn't leave this temperate, rainforest climate when I get skies like this.

We've been to Dartmoor Folk Festival to see more morris dancers and the genuinely alarming Minehead hobby horse.

I've completed another piece for my exhibition, which is now in five days (I will be ready; I will be ready; I will).

We went to Chagford Show, saw very impressive rams,

llamas which I thought were cute until one looked like it was going to spit at Pickle,

miniature donkeys - cute by anybody's standards, but the calf (do donkeys have calves?) was only three months - too young for so much fuss and attention, I felt.

We saw people spangling around the field in big bubbles,

 and the highlight - totally out-of-control terrier racing. 'Terrier' here means ' anything four-legged'. I'm surprised the llamas didn't join in. Once they've been thoroughly wound up and released roughly at the same time to go in entirely separate directions, there's the even more entertaining race between the humans to recapture their dog (who may well be barreling through picnics/toddlers/people perched precariously on stick-stools) and not be the last one yelling and lurching and grasping at thin air while the crowd laughs.

In relation to such ape japes, the beautiful heavy horses were a model of dignity, despite the silly hairdo's, 

and I was quite taken by the fine whiskers of this judge.

Sadly too late to get a stall of his own, Thomas's pixie doors (which now have a dedicated blog) made an appearance on the edge of Miriam's unique jewellery stall

and next to Yuli's stall of felted wonders.

We've been spending our Sunday 'family day' time picking gazillions (I counted) of apples in our incredibly abundant allotment. If you're local, we're looking for good homes for cookers and eaters. 

The trees actually seemed a bit relieved when we took the weight off them, but the three of us did a little thank you dance anyway, just to be polite.

And, most importantly, I have been doing hours and hours of this, soothing my girl as she grows her first molars:

What have you been doing lately?

Solstice Sex, Partying and Hilltop Reflections

A few days before the solstice two friends shared a birthday and the usual suspects gathered to eat, drink and make merry, with the obligatory musical feast. (Rima and Tom  [Edit: also make a moment for Coyopa] had to bargain hard to eat before they played!) Below is also Howard and, under the hat, David. To the right is one of Dartmoor's finest fairies. Only don't call her a fairy because today she may be a princess. And she was running about with a (water-firing) machine gun, so approach with caution!

 Handsome men had earnest discussions by the fireside in time-honoured fashion (although I have reason to believe they may have been discussing computer games)

and the children's energy outlasted the dogs' as they charged up and down from fire to orchard, with only minor incidents (e.g. "Mummeeee, he's weeing on my leg!").

On  the actual (calendar) solstice, I found this happening in our pond:

 I knew these were Red Eyed Damselflies, but I couldn't understand what they were doing. Before they landed on this grass head, they were flying around with her dangling off his, um, tail (?) and it looked most peculiar! 

Turns out (having consulted my friendly local ecologist who usefully was in my living room), he (on top) was depositing a package of sperm on the back of her neck (feminism is slow in the damselfly world, but at least she doesn't have hair to worry about) which would then slide down her back (there MUST be a better way, surely) and fertilise her eggs as she laid them in water, later that day.

Afterwards, she flew off and he rested on a leaf for a bit, eyed hungrily by one of our little frogs, who is just a bit too small for such long fare.

 

 

That solstice evening, we marched up the hill we live on (me panting quite a bit with no-longer-very-Ickle Pickle on my back) and sat enjoying the mixed skies and reflecting on the view of the hill across the valley, where Ent and I got married in October 2009. We still chuckle about making everyone walk up that hill.

And I had a quiet moment for my lost boy. The prayers I have said between these stones...

The dark clouds blundered across us without spilling and we celebrated the turn of the light-tide with cider, chocolate and a fab aeroplane - Jason's Fathers Day present. (Ent received a magnifying bug viewer - a tie would only be a comedy gift around here!)

And best of all, better even than chocolate, is the fact that my girl believes the whole world lives like this, that it's normal to play music around fires; watch life happen in your own garden pond; climb a hill with friends and gaze out over miles and miles of green. 

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Right now I'm struggling with symptoms of a chronic auto-immune disease and sometimes that weighs down my mood, but then I have days like this and I am so grateful for all the good things in my life. My hope is that such good things find you as the shadows roll in (or out, down there).