Saturday Nice . . .

 

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It rained tonight, a warm fine summer rain

Making long streaks across my window pane,

And in the dark I heard the rustling leaves,

The water running in the wooden eaves,

I smelt he fragrant earth all dripping wet;

Saw the drops shine like glistening pools of sweat.

I almost thought that I could hear the sound

Of tiny thankful roots below the ground,

The eager drinking up of leaf and stem

As the warm moisture drifted down to them.

The drenched sweet flowers folded dim and tight,

Giving their sweet fragrance to the night.

And even in my sleep I seemed to feel

The quiet power of rain to bless and heal,

The peace of Nature working out her plan

Setting at naught the hurried ways of man.

For growth is slow, yet to my heart it brings

The mystery of all created things.

~Edna Jacques, Rain . . . At Night

Beside Still Waters, 1952

It did rain through the night and it is raining now. My weather app only says three words when you look at it. "Rainy Days Ahead." We need the rain.

I love to lay in bed at night and listen to the rain. The sound is very comforting and peaceful. I is nice to be tucked up all warm and dry inside, listening to it fall.  I love the smell of the pavement after a rain when the sun comes out. The smell of ozone mingled with sunshine. The world feels all fresh and clean, and it is. For the moment anyways.

As I read Edna's words, I could picture the earth drinking in the damp and garden roots bidding their thanks for a much-needed quenching of thirst.  It was simply beautiful.  

 

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Before I moved to the U.K. my youngest son was told it was not a place he would ever want to go. That it rained too much there, and that the food was awful.  And indeed, my first year there it did rain almost every single day.  (I never found the food awful.) The BBC kept calling it the wettest year on record and it was indeed very wet. (They do love to label these things.) There was flooding and all sorts.  If it wasn't pouring down, it was misting down. That is the year I learned that people do not melt in the rain. Without a car we got wet whenever we went out. The umbrella became our fashion accessory of choice.  Over there I learned that you always carried a brolly with you even if the sun was wildly shining.  The weather had a habit of changing quickly and frequently.

I loved it. I loved the U.K., and I loved its weather. The rain is a part of the reason it is so lush and so green.  They only very rarely have what is called "American rain."  Rain which pours down heavily in bucket loads and torrents.  Torrential rain.  Mostly it just rains. Soft. Gentle. Quite tolerable. You can easily go out and about in it. It's not much of a hardship.

But heavy rain. Not many wander about. They sit inside and listen to it pelt against the rooves and windowpanes and remark upon its ferocity.  That is the one thing about weather and having it . . .  there is always something to talk about.

 

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One thing about the rain however . . .  it makes you appreciate the sunshine even more.  On sunny days everyone was out and about.  Clothes lines groaned beneath the weight of laundry. Not many had dryers over there. I never had a clothes dryer the whole time I lived there. Most days we hung our laundry out on the line and on days when it rained on end, we had an indoor wooden clothes dryer and hung things over doors or over radiators to dry. It is not an uncommon sight to see a radiator hung with socks in varying sizes and various levels of dryness.   And bedding, the bedding always got hung over the bedroom doors. It was the only spot that was large enough to hold them. I learned to love rough towels. Brisk and invigorating.

But when the sun shone. It was beautiful.  I always said that there was nothing more beautiful than England on a sunny day. Bright blue skies and even if the temperatures were crisp, it was just lovely. I do miss living there in many ways.  I suppose it is only natural. I lived a third of my life there and it has a firm grip on my heart. But it cannot compete with the joy of living closer my family. That beats all.

 

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One thing that I noticed when I moved over there to the U.K. was the abundance of sheep. They are a nation of sheep and shepherds. Sheep were everywhere, and often, in the deep countryside, they are left to wander.  I remember my first trip up to the Horseshoe Pass.  They were on the road, beside the road, peppering the hillside.  Everywhere.  And they were very curious as well.  I can remember walking up a hillside, and at first trying very gingerly not to step on any calling cards. It was everywhere.  After a time, I gave up because it was impossible.  It did not smell, to be honest, and was not a problem. And the sound of their gentle bleating . . .  calming and so peaceful. The shepherd knows his sheep from the other shepherd's sheep.  Each has either a dot of color on their backs or a tag on the ear. Easily recognizable.

I loved to watch the sheep dog trials on the television.  A great competition where sheep dogs and their masters are put through their paces with a number of tasks. Mostly with whistles and short words shouted out.  The dog knows by the sound of each which direction to go in, when to slouch, etc. It is fascinating to watch.

 

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It is wonderful to watch the gardens here coming alive and things beginning to grow. At my sister's the other day I could see her beans coming up. She grows lovely runner beans.  She has tomatoes planted also and I think they have put in some chives this year as well.

My father always kept chives.  He grew them when we lived in Gimli and brought them to Nova Scotia with us when we moved there.  He then moved them to here in Middleton when we moved into the house across the road and then when we moved back up to Greenwood, they went with him there.  They were beautiful chives. He had someone make him a huge concrete planter to keep them in. They were his pride and joy.  He would love it when we would make him a grilled cheese and bologna sandwich if we put a spike of chive in the middle.

I am quite sure that when he and mom moved out of Greenwood and into their house in Nictaux the chives went with them.  I do not know what happened to them after that. They were well travelled chives though.

I had some chives in the back of this place, but they are gone now. The gardener must have pulled them when she was cleaning everything up last year. 

I love chives. A sprinkle of them on any salad or dish is like a little taste of sunshine and heaven to me. They brighten things up immeasurably. I know I could be alone in this way of thinking.

 

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A young friend of mine on FB posted a sweet picture of her two girls with their fully grown geese the other day.  What had started as tiny chicks were now huge and different colors. It was quite cute to see them trying to cuddle what had once been balls of fluffy in their hands. That is the thing with chicks. They don't stay chicks for long. 

This is a girl that I had in Young Women (an organization in the church for girls ages 12 to 18) in the U.K. when I was a Young Women's leader. She left to go to America to be a nanny after she finished school and ended up getting married to an American, and now has these two beautiful little girls. She also bakes sour dough and sells it at a market on Saturdays. Loads and loads of sourdough bread. It always sells out. I am not surprised as it looks lovely. 

This is a picture of some of it cooling in her kitchen ready to package up. I assume she must bake every day and freeze it to take to the market at the weekend.  It looks lovely and she has flavors like jalapeno cheese, cinnamon swirl, everything bagel, etc. She works really hard, and it shows.  I love to see someone succeed at doing something they love doing.  They say if you do what you love for work, then you never work a day in your life.  She also does bagels. Her bread is much in demand.

 

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It's very quiet in here this morning. All I can hear is the tapping of my keyboard as I type and Nutmeg's soft snores emanating from underneath one of the flounces that hang around the legs of the chairs at the table. That is his preferred spot for sleeping off and on during the day. His very own Cat Cave. Sometimes you can see a tail sticking out, or two paws, but at the moment there is no telltale sign that he is under there save the sound of his soft snuffles. 

When I think back to when I first moved back to Canada almost five years ago now, I was so sad and broken. I wondered if I would ever be happy again. The thoughts of that seemed to be very far away and unimaginable.  But here I am sitting here typing to you, in my own wee little house, soft cat snuffles singing to me, the smell of my scented candle permeating the air (coffee house), and I am totally at peace and happy. Truly happy.  Living on my own for the first time in my life.  Living my best life. Oh sure, it's not perfect and there are a few things that I wish were different, but isn't that the way of life?  I have found my joy and little spot of heaven here on earth. God has been very good to me.

A thought to carry with you . . . 

.° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

 *.˛.° ˛°Go forth
and be fabulous!
~Unknown .° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

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Great advice!

In the kitchen today 2 1/2 Minute Jam Sponge Pudding. Dessert on the table in 2 1/2 minutes and delicious as well?  Yes! This is simply fabulous!

I am not sure what I will get up to today. I hope to go to the grocery store for a few bits. We will see what happens. Whatever you get up to I hope your day and weekend are pretty wonderful. Don't forget!

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And I do too!