Musings in May
I feel as though every time I come to write on here I am in the midst of another emotional shift, perhaps that is when I do my best writing. There’s a good chance you’d disagree with that, but still you humour me and I am grateful to you. I’ve just dropped the children off at their new school for a taster day. Freshly pressed uniforms, shiny shoes, I forgot to brush their teeth but the excitement this morning was palpable and I was bound to forget something.
They went from a noisy buzz of anticipation, chatting about the birds we saw along the way and spotting lambs in the field above school to a very sudden hush. We stood outside the gates, perched on the stone wall that lines the river running adjacent to the old school house all feeling, and probably looking, a little bit wobbly. We shuffled in our shoes, clamped hands tightly, smiled and said polite good mornings with feigned confidence. First impressions matter on the school run, although here it feels less pressured. One Mummy approaches, ‘You must be the new mummy. I’m Stella. My daughter is in year 3 too and she was positively vibrating with excitement when she saw your little girl this morning. Welcome.’ Stella you don’t know how many butterflies you settled with that single considerate, warm and kindly sentence. I immediately felt better, and I don’t doubt the children did too as I loosened the grip on their tiny little purple fingers.
Inca went and sat in her classroom next to Hope, Stella’s little girl as it happens, so I feel she’s in good hands. Atlas went to visit the newly hatched chicks in his classroom and sat down to write some numbers. One little boy asked if he’d like to sit next to him and another blonde mop haired little munchkin asked if he wanted to sit on the green table with him today. Everyone was welcoming, everyone was calm and everyone was kind.
I’ve plotted out an area down by the stream that I want to re-wild and give to nature. We’ve been enjoying the latest David Attenborough series about British gardens, the children are livid that he might threaten retirement in this his one hundredth year. What will we do with our Sunday evenings now David? Anyhow, I’ve sectioned off an area for the future bee hive, mown a narrow path through our meadow grass, sown cow parsley, wild fennels seeds and some good pollinators and sourced a few apple trees to line the path down to the stream and pond. When we get ducks they will live down there too, over the bridge in their own little patch of worms and ‘midgets’.
The chickens are in the red shed with me today, tapping at my clogs and my skirt. I’ll throw a handful of mash out for them in a minute and they’ll run behind me like rapid little raptors as if though it’s their first meal in a month. It’s not. I feed them Jacobs crackers, no less, as a treat every time I step out of the caravan. Porridge is a little more adventurous with her palette, she’ll lap up the leftover muesli and milk I sprinkle out on the lawn, dive into the ‘squishy’ raspberries Inca launches from the back door…Marmalade less so. She’s a mash girl.