.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Honesty, known for it’s translucent, paperlike seed discs in autumntime and it’s enchanting pink flowers in the spring.
It is said that it’s presence in gardens reflects the integrity of the gardener.
It likes to grow on banksides, in gardens and on meadow fringes.
I’ve one in my bonnet.
Bees are in trouble, with massive declines in their populations. We are losing hives, mainly in agriculature, but also wild hives too.
If you don’t want a rant, don’t read on:
The Burdocks are now transforming into hedgerow giants. They’ve been raising their heads since March and seemingly growing a few inches every day.
This weighty book was given in Tunbridge Wells (Royal).
At first it was unwanted, because we always judge books by their approximate mass and size.
But the back cover blurb revealed it was written with the inspiration from the song “Tom of Bedlam”, a pre-Shakespearian English song which we have just learned.
So the book fitted into our plot, and came along.
This journal is a twisting ride through a mind’s madness, its self-aware out-of-placeness, it’s miraculous inability and rigourous intention to not be at ease. Albion Moonlight is a character who refuses to be anything other than his own most difficult self, he finds his zenith and his nadir, and any truth he uncovers he ruthlessly destroys by his curious and meticulous mind.
Reading this book is like a dose of bluebell root. It is mildly narcotic, and manufactures (uncovers?) a space in the brain that does not feel as though it should be there.
This book does not help promote restful sleep, even as part of a balanced intake. No, this is not easy-reading; it is a challenge to the percieved heart of things, a javelin in the mouth of easy rationalizing.
In small snippets, this book is amazing. But to trapise through it, is hard going, a bitter digestion. Its fairest blessing came with the turning of the last page, when it was all over.
Like the end of a fever, one can look up again, and see that this world and Albion’s are not seamlessly entwined. There is relief.
Read on for quotes:
Avlyana has a big loaf of fresh bread, and 3 friends with her, Suna, Bill and Ted.
This happy group have walked all day, and are now taking a late-afternoon picnic, hearing the birds and looking at the flowers.
Two of the group, Bill and Ted, have carried the bread and the butter, and think the other two, Avlyana and Suna, are less hungry than they are.
Suna has paid for half the cost of the bread, and Ted has paid for all the butter.
But then Avlyana makes a mistake while cutting up the loaf, and cuts it into 7 pieces instead of 8. Everyone wanted two bits each, and they are a bit disappointed not to be getting what they hoped for.
So who in the group now gets less bread, and why?
Did you know that milking cows naturally grow horns?
So where did all the horns go? Who decided that this natural expression of cow-ishness was wrong, and needed to be remedied?
Why do we only find milk cows with horns at farms like Plaw Hatch, near Forest Row?
(more…)
Plaw Hatch farm is a place where farming still stands for something more than ‘yield’. Food is not something to be ripped from the animals and soil, the result of a bloody war of attrition and siege. Farming is not what happens when an unfair treaty is imposed on nature. All these metaphors are false. May we forget them.
Plaw Hatch farm offers a simpler, kinder alternative to these modern stories of ‘how-farming-must-be’. And if they have managed it, so can others…
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
This tasty nibble grows in walls and moist banksides. Good in sandwiches.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
With purple/pink little flowers, this plant covers the ground in hedgerows and meadows. The leaves smell mint like. It likes loamy and heavy clay soil.
