Home and away

Since I changed jobs some time ago (about 21 months in fact) I have been away from home on a regular basis. It has been less easy to find time to write posts for the blog, and I find myself missing the simple pleasure of taking the time to think about the things that matter to me: family; friends; the contentment and privilege of living in a place I love.

Long days and weeks spent in a hotel room or travelling to and from offices have been tiring, and the demands of the job have been significant. Don;t get me wrong, dear reader, I do love my job, and for that I am also grateful. I also love to come home, to our little village away from the noise and excitement of urban living, and to sit looking at the garden and listening to the birds while enjoying a cup of tea in my very English home.

What has struck me forcefully is that I need this quiet to recharge. In the modern era of electronic gadgetry, I can imagine a little icon above my head of a battery flashing as it drinks up mains power until eventually a message appears letting me know I can unplug myself and return to normal operating service.

Today is a day off. I am using it to catch up with housework and to soak up the peacefulness of my environment - often interrupted by farm traffic or children on their way to school, but peace is not the same as absence of noise after all. It's a sunny day of the October kind, with a chill in the air after last week's unseasonal excess, and I have work to do of the nourishing kind; tasks which feed the soul and warm the heart because they make our house a home.

And tonight is the Village Quiz which we need to finish writing, so no more time to chat for now.

Crazy apples

I was wondering why our apple tree was looking so laden this weekend - then I heard on the news that apple season is early this year due to the unusual weather. So it looks like I'll be knee-deep in Bramleys ahead of schedule.

I am looking forward to that!

The patter of tiny beaks

Hurrah! Baby swallows are now in full voice, feeding unceasingly throughout the day. The apparently empty nest erupts into a furious scramble for nourishment as one or another parent flies desperately in to feed the monstrous demands of their offspring. Near collisions are narrowly avoided as they dash back and forth, trying to keep their brood satisfied, come rain or shine (although not, I must say, gloom of night).

Meanwhile, we fond surrogate grandparents are trying not to disturb them too often and using a different door as much as possible, waiting to go in or out when the parent birds are away for a moment.

I am looking forward to the babies learning to fly soon; one of the greatest joys of a summer's day. Newly fledged swallows zipping and tumbling exuberantly across the sky is a simple pleasure which can burst the heart.

Shelter

The weather has been glorious in this part of the world for quite a while now; although we were all glad, I think, to have a little rain over the last couple of days. The BBC has been very exercised at the early flowering of a number species, especially down South. I think we have that story every year, except when things are disastrously late. Perhaps someone needs to explain to them how averages actually work. Did you know almost 50% of children are below average? Shocking!

Anyway, the adventure this weekend has been the construction of a tiny greenhouse, in which I hope to grow tomatoes and peppers. While the courgettes and pumpkins are generally butch enough to flourish in our unpredictable climate, I find tomatoes and peppers still yearn for a more Mediterranean state of affairs than North Yorkshire can realistically provide. So a greenhouse seemed the very thing.

It was all going so well. The man of the house constructed the frame yesterday afternoon with consummate ease, and we looked forward to loading the glass today. Then it got windy. I swear the ash trees in the garden are bendier than a bus in York.

It did not seem a wise move to start heaving panes of glass about. So we have indulged in other activities instead, such as demolishing the wonderful Victoria Sponge bought at the Malton Food Fair yesterday. It's a hard life.

Cheerful bulbs

The snowdrops put in their appearance a few weeks ago, displaying their glowing brilliance in the shade of the lilac tree. It lifts the spirits to see them poking through the winter earth and know at a visceral level that spring is on her way back again. This year I have been especially cheered by the way they gleam in the shadows on those days when the clouds block out the feeble returning sun and the world is grey and cold and damp.
Today I noticed that we now have a golden crocus among the snowdrops. A rich buttery yellow, it adds some real presence tot he garden. The snowdrops announce the end of winter; the croci herald the more imminent arrival of warmer days and new life.
Already the world is lighter earlier in the morning and I hear the mutterings of birds in the branches outside the window. Soon I will be complaining about the racket, but for now it is a joy.
Our village has kept going through the snow and cold and dark; we continue to hold events and spend time with neighbours, fund-raising for our village hall and for wider concerns such as Youth Diabetes. or celebrating birthdays and other triumphs.
It is a privilege to live in a warm community, and if it is sometimes difficult to find the time or energy to contribute, then we each know that eventually the effort will seem easier and the energy will return.

New year, new project

Christmas survived, New Year begun. So tradition dictates that now I decide on a new project.

Recently I have started a course in Old English, which is proving really interesting and I am enjoying immensely. But what to do with it after I have finished? Much as I would probably enjoy getting together with people of similar interests, most of the meetings of which I am aware are held in the south or midlands (unsurprisingly). This part of the world was known in the period as Northanhymbre ("North of the Humber") and had a fairly separate development path to the southern half of the country following the migration of various Germanic people to this island. The geography of the country also made it difficult to unify it in the way that was achieved by various kings of Wessex or Mercia or Kent, although there were times when Northern kings played their part on a larger stage.

The spread of Christianity in the region also was at odds with the southern part of the country. Augustine arrived in Canterbury from Pope Gregory to convert the heathens; meanwhile Irish monks were working in the north, with St Aidan leading much of the missionary effort. This resulted in the disputes about the calculation of Easter, which provided a useful metaphor of the differences between the two traditions, and was only resolved in a synod at Whitby in 663, where Hilda was abbess.

However, it is important to put the period into context. The Roman occupation ended in the 5th century and the Old English period ended in 1066 after a period of about 600 years. In the north, the Vikings had a greater influence than in the south and many Old English references have been lost (although those that have survived have been incredibly important eg Bede's writings).

So Old English churches are rare, and those with stone foundations rarer, and those in the north rarer still(I believe). So it is with great interest that I look at our very own St Lawrence's church with Saxon stone foundations. And it occurs to me I want to know more about the life of people around this village in the period pre-dating the Domesday Book.

So that is what I shall try to find out more about.