Allotment lunacy, daren’t scatter
blue slug pellets at will,
or randomly around.
This hallowed ground
our plot this spot, still
is home to our resident frog, it matters
that his place isn’t poisoned by me.
Our site, space to others, ladybirds feeding
on brassicas, and my weeding
between bean flowers see apis mellifera.
Take care to not disturb that bee.
My Plot’s organic, nothing mechanic
nor toxic. To me
my allotment is hypnotic.
My place ‘to be.’
Sunday walk, five mile through fields. Today they were all full of ewes, each field with two rams with colour coded straddles strapped to their breasts, to ensure which had done their business with the ewes; all of which looked a bit complacent and unimpressed. So did the rams I have to say. Most were laid prone, asleep on the grass. None of the ewes evidenced a colour code on their rears, which, in human employment terms, would be a bit challenging – sacking comes to mind.
Well – let’s give the Rams a chance here. After all the ewes DO have to show a BIT of interest don’t they, and IF they haven’t come into season – god Forbid, the rams haven’t a chance in hell to do their business. Though – let’s face it – they’ll be the ones blamed if there aren’t any lambs about next year. They’ll be next year’s chops – for the chop that is.
So, Beth was on her lead a lot, through ALL the fields up to the woodlands. Released here to her woodland world. This, her total ecstasy, a new world of sun rays, a world glistening with the wetness of leaves and grass, flowers, ground wet from the rainfall of last night, hers to spring through in total joy, following fresh and new smells.
We feel her joy and wonder as she races around the woodland chasing aromas we don’t feel. But, this is so lovely. such a place to be.
How I feel at the moment. At last I accept ‘Biddy’ status, having looked up Cumbrian slang – and yes, ‘ biddy’ is an old woman. So – I have to accept I am old.
I don’t feel old, despite looking after my gorgeous grandchildren aged 6 and 9yrs, and welcoming my neighbour’s 9 year-old niece into my home and listening to her confident view of the world, where she corrected her Aunt on a number of counts. [Her Aunt is a Staff nurse at an A&E section in a very busy hospital] – I now feel that after so many years of life on earth, I’ve learned nothing. In my favour, nor has her aunt. But, that’s OK. Life is a learning process whatever age you are. That much I’ve learned.
Today’s happiness has been to be walking, running, throwing balls over the Strays, over the fields, and through the woods of Harrogate and the Crimple Valley with my dog, Beth. What more can life, ‘to be’ be.
so, my new website, when it has been sorted, will be as the Scribbling Giddy Biddy – because, after so many years of life on earth, this is what I want to be, – a persona that makes me laugh. Laughter is the greatest relief of stress, and the greatest and joyful act. My life with Jim and Beth is full of laughter, – what more can I want in life. What more can anyone want.
Our life is simple, growing our own fruit and veg on our allotment, inviting insects in through wild flowers and a moorland patch, walking miles each day with our Springer SpanielXBorder Collie, Beth, and following folk music, [mainly Scottish – though Gordie MacKeenan from St Rupert Islands, Canada, was brilliant, and Runrig – Oh! to miss their Final Mile – we did go to Manchester to hear them.
In the middle of harvesting from the allotment – for autumn and winter. Busy time of year. Life is the most beautiful experience.
Looking into this seriously after reading ‘The Indie Author Mindset’ by Adam Croft, which advises how changing the way you look at publishing can determine the degree of success. Interesting perspective, and, the author talks a lot of sense.
So – time to take the leap.
at Oatlands Rec. Harrogate.
Tonight walking Beth on her 9 o’clock, last walk of the day, our circuit of the Rec was filling with vehicles pulling large caravans. Jim’s total excitement when he saw a ‘Do’nuts’ sign, Beth’s excitement that NOW life begins, so many people to fall at their feet and be adored. The next few days could be interesting at 7am when we walk Beth, and 9 pm, for her last walk of the day. Gone will be the lads who sit at the only available bench like old men, smoking, whatever they smoke, but it smells a bit like cannabis [as it was called in my day] – though I don’t know what it smells like – other than the familiar smell that hung over Glastonbury the year I drove there with my gorgeous daughter, years ago. Beth falls at their feet, inhaling whatever they are smoking, before returning home to her last biscuit of the day, Chamomile, which settles and comforts her.
Tonight the young lads with their cannabis smoke weren’t there. Heck. Will Beth sleep? She has eaten her Chamomile biscuit, and is now flat out, asleep in her bed.
Tomorrow morning holds total excitement on the Rec. Artistes arriving through the night, performers practising their routines, and Beth, loving every minute, falling at their feet, persuading them to ‘only’ tickle her tummy. What more can a dog want, she looks lovingly up into their eyes. Who wouldn’t, Who couldn’t?
She sleeps the dreams of dogs with her toys next to her.