Thursday, 2 July 2009
Cool Down, Mr Jigsaw
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Puppy Video!
Thought you might like to see feeding time. The sound on my computer doesn't work so I've tried to keep the commentary to a minimum.
The puppies are ten days old now and should be opening their eyes soon. It usually takes them a few days to focus properly but I guess once they can walk too it will be like having six toddlers, when eyes in the backs of heads will be desperately needed.
Monday, 29 June 2009
Pass The Cream Cake
It's clipping day at Jigsaw farm. The strapping shearer arrived at 7.30am, shearing equipment gleaming and raring to go in the back of a pickup. The Farmer and I brought the sheep in last night, the first 200 ready for a trip to the salon, lambs in tow. Most of them look bedraggled, looking forward to shedding the overgrown mass of devastation on their backs. The younger sheep stand at the gate, eyes transfixed as John reaches for his shearers, turns round to face them and aptly says, "here's Johnny". We make no money from the shearing these days. The sheep have to be clipped to stop fleas, maggots and other revolting creatures bedding in, apart from which, at this time of year, who wants to walk around with a woolly jacket on. We get very little for the wool, have to pay the shearer and our assistant and of course we take no money for ourselves. For the Farmer, it's back breaking work but, as always, he enjoys it. Unlike the sheep.
Friday, 26 June 2009
Dutiful Woman
Thursday, 25 June 2009
The World Turns
When I get these waves of thoughts, taking me back to a time which set me on the road to finding this country way of life, I realise how important my roots really are. But what I did not realise was that inside this street-wise-townie-cum-soft-centred-country-bumpkin, I have been given a responsibility that out weighs (in my book) any other born to man; parenthood. My sentimental moments of nostalgia have taught me that I have the ability to nurture a life and guide it to it's own path of destiny. That, to me, is the most incredible gift I could receive; it makes me feel whole; it gives my life a purpose and my own path a reason.
So why, if I am able to feel such wonder in my life, can't every one be blessed with this immense feeling of love, this powerful emotion that can match no other? Why do we continually hear on the news about parents who have once more neglected their child, beaten and abused them, sometimes even killed them? I am not so naive that I do not know it happens on every door step but my rose-tinted glasses want so much to shelter these children, make them realise that their lives are just like mine and yours, if only they were given a chance.
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
The Love of Farming
The one with the biggest white collar is Bonnie (the pup we're keeping).
*********
The two orphaned lambs which still feed from a Shepherdess bucket have been reduced to two meals a day from the three they have been used to. Between 11.30am and 12.30pm, the noise is almost unbearable. They have grown immensely and are looking really healthy. We feel quite pleased with ourselves that they have done so well. It isn't always the case with orphaned lambs due to the lack of colostrum they consume, needed and supplied by the mother. We are still bottle feeding Charlie and again, he looks great.
We've arrived into silage season now where fields of purpose kept grasses are cut and stored in bales to be used as animal feed, mainly for sheep and cattle, or haylage for horses. The Farmer gets together with neighbouring farms and is known as "chief wrapper". His job is to wrap specialised polythene around the bales to keep the moisture in, thus protecting them from the elements. Some farms sell their silage or haylage but we keep most of ours to feed the sheep in the winter. It's quite a busy few weeks and means I get left in charge of the farm. In other words, I get the house to myself all day, get to play with the puppies on my own and can chill out to my heart's content. That's in between writing a book, doing the housework (whatever that is) and seeing to the animals. And then we move into harvest which for me means making up flasks, preparing bait and zipping around the fields on a quad bike to feed my hungry Farmer. Arrhhh, the life.....
Proud Auntie Molly
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Six Little Bundles of Joy
Friday, 19 June 2009
Another Extract for you
It was 11.30. The night was drawing to a close as I continued to contemplate my life. I could feel no spirit presence, just a hole in the fabric of life. I was lonely. Once more alone with my thoughts. I was not sure this was a place I wanted to be. Yet I had been here so many times before, so desperately trying to ignore the sadness that I always felt when I sat alone late at night. A part of me hated it. Another part of me knew no different. I had spent nearly twenty years living alone, almost thirteen of them wondering about my mother, about her discovery into another world. She had so seldom visited me. To be here, in this place with only myself to think about was proving difficult since I had met Marcus. Spending nights with him had given my life a new perspective. When I was once more alone I felt abandoned. The way I felt when my mother passed over.
I knew she loved me; I was a child adored by many, my mother being the love of my life. It wasn’t as if I needed her now, but I needed to remember her. Photographs were all I had, memories were beginning to fade.
I decided to sit in the reading room, not because I wanted spirit to join me, but because it was such a tranquil place, a place where dawn did not break and night did not end. A place of peace when I was feeling melancholy. A place of explanation when my mind raced with thoughts. I opened the door, the hinges creaked. The dim light from the hallway guided me into the room leaving me standing by the small table and chairs. The velvet curtains were closed; I had made a point of closing them earlier in the evening. I went over to the arm chair opposite the book shelf, a chair which had been left in the house by whoever lived there before me. Resting myself upon its leather cushion, I sighed. Comfort overwhelmed me, I so loved being in that room. The sorrow I had felt earlier in the day at Lucia’s funeral seemed to lift, a light entered my heart, flooding all images of sadness away to a forgotten dimension. I wanted to remember my past. I ached to learn more about myself, about my reasons for living at Rosehill. How, at aged 43, had I become so lonely? Why had I never accepted a marriage proposal, loved the way I so wished to, had a child even? Did I regret my life so far? Did I feel so sad towards my own self that I wanted to go back and change what I had already experienced? But it was too late. Surely, I couldn’t revisit my past without feeling regret. When I had found Rosehill I thought I had found my life. I thought I was complete. The jigsaw I had been trying to accomplish was within my reach and surely I was able to tidy it up, put it away and start living the life I had always wanted to live.
The only problem was someone had taken away my hopes and dreams. Someone I could no longer connect with. Yet someone I loved. And the most important aspect of it all was I did not know who that person was. I stared through the darkness. Shadows ached for my attention, searching for a place to rest. I could feel my body seizing, my limbs rigid, my mind knowing that another soul now stood within my space. The room remained in darkness, a glimmer of light trying obligingly to filter in. The spirit which now hovered before me was male. My first suspicion of it being Lucia was dashed when I realised the aroma of aftershave invading my senses. The smell was familiar, not one I had experienced often but one I had only recently discovered. Thoughts were being impressed upon me, the name of Harold was strong. The shadows I had witnessed a few minutes before had faded yet I could sense the manifestation of a spirit, a man presenting before me. I could not see his face but I felt love; an overpowering sense of adoration pouring from the mysterious soul. I called out, requesting that spirit moved an object, knocked on the table, touched me. Somehow, I knew I was safe. I knew this was a visiting soul, yet one that seemed familiar with the surroundings of Rosehill. Being in the reading room with this spirit was a comforting feeling, as though we were meant to be there. There was a bond between us; not just a feeling of being together but something stronger, like the feeling between brother and sister, parents and offspring. Spirit moved passed me, making its way to the opposite side of the room, the wall where my book shelf stood, hiding the secret that Jane had tried to unveil.
The manifested soul faced the wall. Within seconds it turned around to face me and for a very brief moment I saw a face; that of Harold Sharpe. Somewhat taken aback, I stood from my chair, asking spirit to communicate with me, tell me why it surrounded me with love. But no sooner had the words left my mouth, spirit began to fade into the wall, as though walking through to the space of which I had recently learnt existed behind the reading room. My mind was overwhelmed with racing thoughts; had this indeed been Harold Sharpe telling me he was buried behind the bricks of the reading room; had this been what the spirit of Jane was so keen to have me understand. And was William Sharpe a murderer.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
Home-Schooling
The support from a mainstream educational environment has without doubt made me realise that Amy could, and probably would, fall way behind should she be home-schooled. Not only would she suffer academically, but her social skills would be so far removed from those of a child her own age, I would be afraid she could find adolescence and adulthood even more challenging than she would otherwise. Amy copies her peers. She has done this for many years, it is her way to learn how to communicate with the children she usually spends time with. She would still copy should she be home-schooled, but who? Her tutor? Me? I have always liked the thought of Amy being with other children. She has no brothers or sisters and seldom sees friends outside school. Our rural way of life is something she is used to however, and the current six hours a day she spends at school, Monday to Friday, have been a huge benefit to a child who still learns from others. I guess I would say to the person who asks what I think about home-schooling, that they should consider the needs of the individual child; but, it may be difficult for the child to become integrated into the education system if that child has become used to a constant one to one learning foundation. I know very little about home-schooling and even though, as stressed here, I would never consider it for Amy at this stage in her life, I am interested to learn and know more about it from anyone who does home-school their child; how they find it affects the child - in a positive or negative way; if there are activities in which the child takes part outside home-school hours. And how difficult or easy it is to motivate a child to do school work, in a home environment.



