The world from my window

And with Advent comes Christmas skies. You couldn't wish for a better sight to greet you in the morning. This morning, the trees were on fire in a purple haze. Up on the hill, the trees are clad in warm lichen as they sway in the cold wind. It may be cold outside but, oh, isn't it gorgeous? Welcome to nature's temple. It's glorious up here. That's about it. Love Maddie x

It's the longest day today, the summer solstice, and I'm in a field of wheat  making my way up towards one of my favourite places. I never wear headphones on my walks because I enjoy listening to the natural sounds around me: the song of the skylark, the wind in the hedge, a tractor starting up on a nearby farm, a collie dog barking and a mole rustling at my feet. And then I hear, in the distance, the train going up to Crewkerne and then on to London and I think to myself, I'm so glad I'm out here in the wide open countryside, with just the dog for company. Give me land, lots of land, under starry skies. Or Dorset blue ones in this case. And then Julianna Barwick's wonderfully evocative, choral loops just enter into my ears, as if by magic. The grass has been cut for hay so we can walk down to The Wishing Tree without getting wet to way past our knees. The dog and I march along the striped carpet underfoot, which is not unlike something I'v...

Well, the good news is that the lump on Arty's head is nothing to worry about. However, tests show she has major problems with her immune system. The future doesn't look bright for her, although we might be able to keep it at bay with the correct medication. These are difficult times. I love my girl and I want what's best for her but I don't want her to be in pain. Some days she's fine, other times she isn't. This morning, though, you wouldn't know there was anything wrong with her. It was only the second time she'd been allowed off the lead following last week's operation. Yesterday, she ran through the field to her favourite patch of badger poo. And she just rolled, rolled and rolled in it. It took two washes to get it off. I can still smell it. This morning we walked to our favourite field, and the grass has just been cut. We made our way down to  the middle to say hello  to the ash tree.  And then Arty found something dead in the cu...

It's England's national day and the St George's Cross is flying high on the church flagpole. Across the road, the brewery has just picked up a load of empty beer barrels from the pub and stocked up its cellar with full ones. In the fields, there are cuckoo flowers. Great drifts of them. The naked ash tree is silhouetted against a bright blue sky and the old shepherd and his dog on my late father's weather vane trudge ever onwards. In the village hall where Mr Grigg and I had our wedding reception many moons ago, they're clearing up the remains of the cider festival. The golden nectar of my grandparents' days, when they made cider from their own orchards and no additives were involved, is now quite rightly enjoying a resurgence. Thomas Hardy loved it, as you can gather in this extract from Great Things : Sweet cyder is a great thing,      A great thing to me, Spinning down to Weymouth town      By Ridgway thirstily, And ma...

There seem to be an overkill of ravens croaking high above the fields in this part of Dorset right now. Has anyone checked the Tower of London lately, to see if the ravens are still there? The story goes that if the Tower’s ravens are lost or fly away, the Crown will fall and Britain with it. Whereas I used to hear the ravens’ call only up on Bluebell Hill, they’re now lower down, closer to the village although flying high, solitary, in the sky on their way to somewhere. Their call is so distinctive. Unmistakable. Swifts have returned to the village square, nesting under the eaves of a house down the road, undisturbed by building work going on. To see these birds swooping in and out, well, they’re a joy to behold. It’s great to have them back, even just a few of them. It makes a change from the blessed jackdaws, although I suppose everyone has to live somewhere. But preferably not as close to me as this lot have been of late. The swifts seem to have such fun and they’re so ...

Up on the hill, Mr Loggins and his wife, Darling, take a step back and admire their achievement. From the ruins of the Love Shack, where two years ago I blogged about Mr Loggins and his 'chimbley' and 'windle' (he is from Bridport, remember) and parthenon gable, something rather beautiful has sprung up  in its place. It took its time, this wooden house on the hill, but they should be very pleased with themselves. It's beautiful. And a fantastic view from all directions. And you, too, can enjoy it because they'll be opening up soon for B&B guests. (Although if you fancy tapping into the energy of the village ley lines, you should think about booking into Mr and Mrs Champagne-Charlie's, our next door neighbours). Last night, up at the Brand New Love Shack, after we had supped on sausage casserole and mash followed by old fashioned English trifle and Mr Grigg's rhubarb crumble, Pelly Sheepwash, Mrs Bubble Champagne-Charlie and I made our way hom...

We have a small band of kids in this village who are growing up to a be a complete pain in the arse. One of them snapped off a plum tree that was just about to flower. Destroying a tree, a living thing, is bad enough, but this tree was planted in memory of one of our own, who did loads for the local community. It's no wonder some people would quite gladly take the culprits round the back of the church and give them a damn good thrashing But violence isn't the answer. We have to shame them, make them realise that messing on their own doorstep is not very clever. Every once in a while this kind of thing happens, a particular child with parents who don't care very much or are completely blind to the thug their child is growing into. And then all the kids get blamed, they all get a bad name. So what to do in this situation? A notice has been put on the green to inform people what has happened and how sad it has made people feel. But in the grand scheme of things, it's not a...