It started with an email. As a subscriber to the local garden centre’s newsletter they kindly offered me a tray of wildflowers. A sucker for anything floral and even better if free I was eager to acquire some. There was only one problem — I was in Sweden and the offer expired before my return. With a big sigh I accepted this was one deal I’d not take up.
A day after my return to England another missive stated that the offer had been extended one more week. Imagine the dash to my car, engine revving, tyres kicking up the dust as I drove away! Unfortunately this was not my departure to the garden centre, rather a subdued tired drive, remembering to keep on the left and at last I was there.
Stepping past tables of beautiful blooms, bushes in full display and hanging baskets in all their glory, I enthusiastically walked up to the tills to claim the free tray. With unmatched enthusiasm, I was directed to a trolley outside. My heart sank a few notches. Before me were three forlorn trays, featuring the straggliest weedy flowers! I nearly caved into my initial desire to leave them alone before choosing the best of the worst and headed home. Maybe, I hardly dared to hope, maybe with TLC galore they might flourish.
Mid May – the straggly ten wildflowersMid May – planted and looking rather lost!
In the following days and weeks, I avidly studied the wildflowers which had been delicately planted in a corner of the garden. What magical transformation as the warmth, sunlight and watering helped them recover and grow in unrivalled spurts.
Mid June – Promising!Mid June – First flower!
Soon glorious green plants with fragile flowers swayed in the breeze, filling the mass of brown earth with buoyant blues, reds, and yellows.
End June
Nurturing and growth became the motif for me during the month of June. A month of reflection and these humble wildflowers symbolised the metamorphosis within me.
The wildflower garden this week in July – full ground cover.
Having helped a young couple over two weekends to move into their first home I pondered the love, care and nurturing that led to this moment. To help them find their wings and to give them belief in themselves. Heartened by their joy and excitement my thoughts drifted back to my life.
This month my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. I must have blinked for a moment or a lot longer as I was not at all aware when those years flew by. For days I contemplated this Silver occasion, waiting for an epiphany to strike me. Instead, an awareness crept up on me, maybe while gazing at the wildflowers, the roses and poppies. That the richness in life is in the minutiae, that it is impossible to sum up a quarter of a century of togetherness. However, the growth, the care and nurture of each other and our relationship is tangible, an exponential development of our existence. The small moments of caring and love, of understanding, of laughter creating a whole.
We celebrated over a long weekend with friends. On one afternoon I was entranced by talented students at the Yehudi Menuhin School in Surrey, England. Founded by the master violinist in 1963 the school, with just over eighty students from ages 8 – 19, takes in pupils from around the world, whatever their financial circumstances.
The orchestra and auditorium at the Yehudi Menuhin School (Photo from school website)
As they are guided by their teachers, so our spirits were lifted by the sheer and absolute beauty of the music. I was transported up and beyond the wonderful auditorium, tears in my eyes. At one stage my friend put a knowing arm around me and we just nodded. No words were needed then. Later picnicking on the school grounds with the other members of the audience conversation flowed easily, our joy shared as we discussed our awe of these young gifted musicians.
The importance of our roots was reinforced during the visit to one of England’s largest vineyards. Set in the beautiful Surrey Hills the chalky soil is key to the success of the 256 acres of vines at Denbies Wine Estate.
Each year is fraught with possible hardship, particularly from the elements with regard to frost and rain. The grapes are harvested by hand for the most part, tenderly picked to avoid any damage to the skin which in turn would effect the quality of the grape’s juice.
Below is a slideshow of a series of carved oak barrels exquisitely detailing the wine making process from the training to the tasting!
Once again the theme of nurture and care, of dedication flowed through this beautiful and relaxing visit. The highlight of the visit included the tasting experience of some of the sparkling and table wines as well as a road train tour. The latter provided stunning views of the landscape and the hills full of young vines with a chance to view the young budding grapes just as they were emerging from the flowers.
The flowers have just ceased and young grapes soon on the way.Young vines trailing down the steep hillside.
How could we not celebrate our special day without a romantic meal? I was overjoyed to have the chance for a sublime meal and experience at The Ivy. The iconic restaurant was founded in 1917 and even this one, an hour away from the original in London, features the signature harlequin stain-glass windows!
Me outside The Ivy after dining!
The Ivy is not somewhere we would normally go but wow, the food was superb, the dining experience exquisite and we were even presented with a surprise delicious anniversary dessert!
Our surprise chocolate choux pastry and strawberry dessert.
The evening is engraved in my mind and spirit.
To finish my post, I want to share a few sentences from a precious letter written to us by my dear departed grandfather upon our marriage. (To those who do not know, he was a fisherman.) As always upon reading this loving analogy I am struck by his eternal wisdom.
‘ It is rather difficult to explain to someone else what a marriage is to me, but I will use an image.
That this will be a boat (a fishing boat) is quite natural to me. The boat (love) is setting out to sea, out to the North Sea. It isn’t a day trip; it will probably be a week before you are home again.
You are not guaranteed nice weather. It is autumn and you have to meet storms as well as sunshine. What is the first to do before you set out on such a trip? It is to check the condition of the boat which is to carry you. You don’t set off with a boat that is ready to ‘fall apart’. No, it has to be of the very best material available. The engine (heart) has to be strong and safe. You have to learn to listen to the engine that you can hear the smallest change in tone and rhythm — and as quickly as possible correct any fault. I hope you understand my image.
Yes, this I also have to say: when you have been fishing for days and nights and have no strength left, then drop the anchor and fasten the hawser at the front. The rest and sleep is indescribable. Do not forget the anchor and the hawser. One more thing, do not anchor on clay bottom — it can set you adrift. Anchor on a hard bottom so you can trust your anchor.’
What is it about a tree house that beckons us so alluringly? A structure much loved over the years, one feels it promises so much, to step amongst the tree-tops, reach ever so slightly closer to the sky, feel the sense of mystical as one, for once, gazes down upon the earth.
The tree-house this morning was handily equipped with sturdy steps and railings, no need to clamber through twisted branches, avoiding bare sticks ready to blind and scratch. Handy yet not quite so adventurous!
Inside the magical tree house, a large branch spiked its way into the centre of the surprisingly spacious wooden crow’s nest and I danced around a little, pausing to admire the view. Before the wood was fully grown one would have been able to look out for over fifteen miles but I did not mind the retreat, nestled and surrounded by many more trees. Safe and secure up here, cosy within Nature’s richness!
Down on the ground the sense of a time warp continued; I left my childhood self playing in the tree house, while my adult being, back on terra firma, wallowed in the immersive tranquility of the gardens. Stepping away from the busyness of everyday life to utter peace, the haven was an abundance of treasures!
I scrunched a path across the deep pile of gravel to absorb the quiet and beauty of the restored Italian Garden.
A heron majestically flew across the lake at the far end of the gardens.
The silence in the walled garden was only interrupted by the flitting of the butterflies.
I stopped to talk to a volunteer gardener about their fragile guests and he said how these numbers were nothing compared to the previous week when he was surrounded by a cloud of butterflies!
My imagination played riot with this event, conjuring up the wonder of walking among a cloud of butterflies, the sight, the sound and no doubt the sensation of the wings! The picture is still in my mind! I took many photos on this little outing but the image engrained in my brain is from this one line. May I return in time next year to experience this incredible encounter!
After a grey and unusually cool summer in England, the September heatwave was a stunning surprise and an opportunity to enjoy the sunshine. A week later it is time to bid adieu to the summer for real, a tentative cool has swept in, the tart morning chill a fresh and welcome start to the day.
It is that sweet time of year, the flowers still clinging on to some of their resplendence; I’m thankful for the beauty and colour before the starkness of winter.
Note: The photos feature from a visit to The Forgotten Gardens of Easton Lodge, near Dunmow, Essex mid-September which is only open to visitors every Thursday and one Sunday a month.
Summer slips into autumn almost unnoticed; the body hugging warmth acquiesces to an insipid invasive damp that clings to our lungs.
One minute the green of July and August, then with the next blink there is the hint of the golden copper of October. However, leaves fail to create the usual heart-tugging, breathtaking display. Rather there is an inhaled gasp of surprise. Already? When? When did the trees hearken to winter? When did the leaves scatter and clutter the paths, the lawns?
A life lived indoors … hospital, home, caring, worrying. Fears threaten to crumble the mind, spirit, soul. A battle of chaos and peace ensues.
Some flowers grace us with their presence; their resilience reminding us to remain likewise unyielding. Yes, do bend with the circumstances but do not break.
Outside the storm wreaks its path across the country; its disturbing dissonance a reflection of us all. Swirling of winds, lashing of horizontal downpours, so violent and ferocious; anger captured at its peak. Roads turn into streams; in awe and impotence, we gaze from the security of our homes, behind the safety of glass windows, reinforced from outdoor threats. In a bubble of us … bubble of loneliness, separated from loves, friends precious lives. Aching for ourselves, more so for our children. Wisdom of years gives scant comfort, neither to the young nor to the old. It just IS!
Yet!
Glimpses of unadulterated joy crash without expectation upon us. A song catches us unawares, soul swoops, memories gather like swallows, building momentum before taking off in a glorious flight. Laughter, yes, it still exists, reverberates in the pit of our bellies following the initial sudden gusto of giggles; chuckles which so delight we cannot help but prolong the moment. All else is forgotten.
Note: The extract of my morning pages was written early November 2020 when pen and paper reconnected for me for the first time in a month. Morning pages are advocated by Julia Cameron in her ‘An Artist’s Way” and “the idea is to wake up, open your morning journal, and write three pages of longhand of any thoughts that come out of your head. Julia Cameron created this approach to journaling as a way for people to unleash their creativity”. I can highly recommend her book!
‘It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.’
This is the last of three posts during my break this summer which combines the profound words from the beginning of ‘The Invitation’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer with pictures from a beautiful calendar which our company gave out many years ago. It features watercolours of lives during the Viking Age. Never having the heart to throw away the calendar I welcome the opportunity to show these images here accompanied by the inspiring words of Oriah, who I recently came across here on WP. Since I am just back from my long visit abroad, I am at last connected to wifi and look forward to your comments about this series of posts, words and pictures. Wishing you all a very Happy Sunday!
‘It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”’
This is the second of three posts during my break this summer which combines the profound words from the beginning of ‘The Invitation’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer with pictures from a beautiful calendar which our company gave out many years ago. It features watercolours of lives during the Viking Age. Never having the heart to throw away the calendar I welcome the opportunity to show these images here accompanied by the inspiring words of Oriah, who I recently came across here on WP. I’ve turned off comments for this post.
‘It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain!I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.’
This is the first of three posts during my break this summer which combines the profound words from the beginning of ‘The Invitation’ by Oriah Mountain Dreamer with pictures from a beautiful calendar which our company gave out many years ago. It features watercolours of lives during the Viking Age. Never having the heart to throw away the calendar I welcome the opportunity to show these images here accompanied by the inspiring words of Oriah, who I recently came across here on WP. I’ve turned off comments for this post.
Annika Perry 