Resting after a morning of digging potatoes
Ok, so she was chasing crows while I dealt with the spuds
Monday, 28 October 2013
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Sombre tints
Every life has dark tracts and long stretches of sombre tint, and no representation is true to fact which dips its pencil only in light, and flings no shadows on the canvas.
~ Alexander MacLaren
Friday, 25 October 2013
A wanderer’s prayer
I have a vast playlist that I put onto random, so I never know what type of music will come up next while I’m working. There’s nothing like a random upbeat song to perk you up when you’d normally click on a sad song or the penny-drop moment when an inspirational song plays and gives you food for thought you weren’t aiming for. Just as I was coming in to have some lunch, this song came up. It’s in Afrikaans, so I’ve written out the lyrics (hopefully correctly!) and translated them to the best of my ability, keeping in mind that poetry doesn’t always lend itself to translation.
I want to dedicate this to my dearest friend and fellow ‘swerwer’, Felicity. It would have been your birthday today. Amanda Strydom reminds me so much of you. You were there alongside me for much of that path I was on and knew my dragons. I miss you.
Pelgrimsgebed by Amanda Strydom
| vader god, u ken my naam alle pelgrims keer weer huis toe moeder god u ken my waan alle pelgrims keer weer huis toe alle pelgrims keer weer huis toe | father god, you know my name my inner self and my outward stance my big talk and my little grief my clinging to all that fades you know my fears and my hopes the path i walk barefoot this path you prepared long ago you smooth this path for me all pilgrims head home again each wanderer returns home i’m still lost on the great path looking for your boarding house mother god you know my delusions my ego and my standing tall the dragons that i stay and fight you always show me the way again you blessed me with your light this light i spread to everyone you know what my future holds i have nothing, you make me rich all pilgrims head home again each wanderer returns home i’m still lost on the great path looking for your boarding house all pilgrims head home again each wanderer returns home i’m still lost on the great path looking for your boarding house |
Tuesday, 22 October 2013
Well, stone the crows!
Wish I had photos of the crows in the field, but they’re not terribly sociable
unless they’re laughing at me from the treetops…
so a photo of the damage to the potatoes will have to do.
It’s not for nothing that I’ve had the song, “Three black crows” by Blackmore’s Night going through my head all morning.
I was headed out to the sheds when I saw a field of black where the potato harvest was waiting. I have to say, I love crows. I love when they sit in the trees and craw at me as I go past, as though they’re sharing a really funny joke. As pretty as the sight is, that does not mean I like seeing them all over the grain or potatoes. Crows like sharing. They’ll dig up the potatoes close to the surface, peck randomly at the potato, then, in their generosity, leave the remains of the potato for us. I’ve tried to tell them that their notion of generosity isn’t working, but to no avail.
I was going to put out stakes with ribbons of plastic into the fields and, with that in mind, I was scouting through the sheds. In my hunt, I found the recycling bin… Beer Cans! So we have stakes, a bit of twine and beer cans. I reckon that makes this the most kitsch potato field around!
Recycling at its best!
Monday, 21 October 2013
Why
Is that really a light at the end of the tunnel I see?
Why is it that I can come up with a bucket-load of ideas for everyone else, but can't put two words together on a page? I look around and friends are prepping for NaNoWriMo and I know they'll do brilliantly. Here's me, the wordless one. It seems I've lost myself somewhere along the line or is it that that part of me never really existed. Oh! Pah! Who am I trying to fool? I know I have the ability to write at least reasonably well. So where's it gone and, more to the point, why the heck did it run off in the first place? Who gave it permission to go?
There was a time when I would churn out 3 or more blogs a day, often interspersed with creative writing and even art. Me? Create? Did I really? Even the most elementary of creativity seems to escape me now.
Forget wordy blogs. The idea of coming up with 140 characters for something like Twitter is even beyond me... or a line or two for a status update on the likes of Facebook. Pulling teeth would be easier. Friends ask for updates, but I have absolutely no idea what to say or how to say it!
What if I were to just write mindless drivel until the so-called 'muse' returns? Now there's a way to get rid of the last few loyal readers! Do you know just how tempting it is to repost earlier blogs? There are new readers who've never seen them.
Or perhaps I should just write... It's a bit like running, after all. If you don't actually don your trainers, step outside and start putting one foot in front of the other, you'll continue to veg on the couch... right? So, apologies in advance for any waffle that may follow. Hopefully a few gems will emerge from the ashes of my creativity.
Thursday, 10 October 2013
Still waters
See how calm the surface of the water is? That was me once... and then... *throws a stone into the water* the water ripples and churns. That's what I became.
If we sit here long enough, it will go back to being still again. It will go back to being calm.
But the stone is still under there. It's now part of the lake. It might look as it did before, but it's forever changed.
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