For those of us in the northern hemisphere this will be our longest day, though as some bright spark is bound to point out, days are always 24 hours long. In my garden we should have over sixteen hours of daylight and rewilding will be at its peak. To celebrate the solstice our guest blogger Florascribe allowed me to share a few snippets from her new podcast.
‘When I look out of my window I feel I am living in the middle of a field, though my neighbours may not feel so joyful.
While they are busy jet washing their brick paving and vacuuming their artificial lawn, I put pots and tubs everywhere to hide the weeds, or rather the plants that identify themselves as wild flowers.
What is that irritating buzzing while I’m trying to enjoy my breakfast in the garden? Oh yes, it’s the bees I’ve been attracting to the garden. My wildflower meadow now has a solitary cornflower.
I managed to photograph this special rose which only lasts one day before its petals fall off.
Rewilding your gates is an excellent idea if they won’t close properly.
Dandelions thrive if you don’t mow your lawn, in fact judging by my neighbours’ front gardens, they thrive even if you do mow your lawn. Dandelions have lots of medicinal qualities and there is only one downside…
When the sun goes in their radiant beauty disappears…
All sorts of flowers might appear in your wild garden, but Do Not proudly share your pictures on your local Facebook pages, just in case you have grown a prohibited invader that is about to rampage through the neighbourhood.’
My thanks to Florascribe and our thoughts go out to her family who have just reported her missing, believed to be lost in long grass.
I was pottering in the front garden on Sunday, or rather digging, tugging, planting, weeding, sweating… but it was nice to be out in the sunshine chatting, with all the neighbours also out. I should say the neighbours were going out, coming back, going out again while I went nowhere. But there was still time to chat on matters of importance; which bin is going out this evening, shall I paint your side of the fence? There was a bit of drama when next door sent a text to ask me to go round and check on her daughter who wasn’t answering her phone.
The day was further enlivened when strangers started appearing and some of them were strange. A weird chap had leaflets in his hands.
‘A vote for us is a vote for change. Jerry is a local man born and bred. He will make sure enough social housing is built, while at the same time protecting all our green spaces.’
Among the bees and blooms I had forgotten we were having a general election, that we were all doomed whoever was in power.
A couple turned up.
‘We’re sure you are aware how much Terrence has done for this town in his sixteen years as your representative.’
‘But he hasn’t done anything to save the planet…’
‘Well nice to speak to you, can we count on your vote on the fourth of July?’
‘Good afternoon, are you fed up with the other parties not keeping their promises and lying?’
‘Have you got any positive policies on the environment…’
‘Yes, in this leaflet you can see us digging a pond at the primary school.’
Along the road there next appeared a strange sight, a flowing green and rainbow cloak, a tall person being led by a guide dog. I couldn’t tell whether he needed the dog because he was blind, or because he had a bucket on his head. It was a bit difficult to hear what he was saying, but the dog seemed to understand.
‘Are you from the Monster Raving Looney Party?’
‘No, that’s the other chap. I’m an independent, Count Bucket Head. Have you decided who to vote for?’
‘No, I just don’t know who to believe.’
‘Well you can count on me, I know what people want because I am a person. My manifesto is in the pamphlet, made entirely from recycled paper, recycled by me with no chemicals used.’
’Yes I can see you have steered clear of the whole glossy leaflet concept.’
I started reading with growing interest.
‘Voting rights for assistance dogs?’
‘Are they not more intelligent than the average voter?’
‘Yes…’
Our pot holed pavements to be made safe with cushionfall laid on all footpaths.
Homes left vacant for more than two weeks to be requisitioned by the local council.
All bonuses to be rescinded and put in a new contingency fund.
‘Whose bonuses?’
‘The bonuses of anyone who gets a bonus.’
I browsed further, there was a lot to read.
‘All sounds good to me, you can count on my vote.’
Isn’t it always the way, you don’t remember you were reincarnated until you die again. Each time I have been caught out. Assuring myself and others that there is NOTHING beyond, once you’re dead you’re dead. Telling everyone that ghosts do not exist, whatever Danny Robins seeks out in ‘Uncanny’. Exclaiming confidently that there is no such thing as reincarnation, thank goodness; what are the chances of landing a worse life than you had? If you look at the world you will guess that ninety nine per cent of humans are not having a good life.
Now it all came back to me, every life I’ve lived before. Once again I was in the debriefing room, waiting for the uncomfortable probing into how I had handled my latest life. All around me were strangers, busier than usual, all the people who had been killed alongside me. That was the only memory that was hazy.
No familiar faces this time. When I say faces I mean we were still wearing our earthly appearance, to be replaced soon with just our inner selves. Well, it had been a good life, shorter than I expected, but I had fitted a lot in. Most of the others were new souls, stands to reason when you think of the population explosion. I had to chuckle, that chap in total denial calling for the doctor, probably thinks he’s hallucinating in intensive care.
In terms of human history I’m quite new myself. My first life came to an abrupt end fighting for Henry V. But I haven’t always been English, turned up in all parts of the world. Pity I never remembered all the languages I have spoken.
‘Hey mate, the sooner you come to terms with what’s happened the easier it will be. You have been killed. Not actually dead, just waiting to be reincarnated.’
‘What rubbish, I’m just waiting for my wife to visit, they must have phoned her by now.’
‘Yes, they would have phoned to tell her about the plane crash, if she hadn’t already heard it on the news.’
It was all coming back to me now, no wonder it was so busy here…
‘Mathew Frobisher, Frobisher?’
That’s me, they always use your most recent name.
‘So did you enjoy your latest life?’
‘Yes thanks, wonderful. It didn’t sound promising, but my physical body inherited brains and good looks. Makes you wonder how much DNA has to do with it. Do souls have an equivalent?’
‘You are a long way from learning about that, a very long way from understanding the higher realms.’
‘But I’m doing well, I’ve lived lots of good lives.’
‘I’m afraid it appears you learned nothing from your previous good lives. In this latest one you have contributed nothing to society, treated your loved ones abominably…’
‘You should have let me be a woman again. Last time you promised I would be reunited with my beloved husband.’
‘You were, that was the wonderful wife you so casually dumped.’
‘I can explain… ‘
No I couldn’t really, but I hadn’t been that bad had I?
‘What about all the happy passengers I flew round the world, reuniting them with their families, making their holiday dreams come true. I was an excellent airline pilot.’
‘You were to start with, but your dissolute life style caught up with you, hiding your drug habit resulted in you killing 387 passengers on your last flight. You must start again in the lower realms, you are going to be born in the Gaza Strip. We’re ready for you now, no point in you hanging around here.’
You may think Southbourne-on-Sea a fairly benign place, no bears or lions and no murders most weeks, but danger still lurks everywhere.
You can easily fall in when you take your discarded garments to the recycling bin…
Or trip and fall into an open grave.
Mown down by a three year old or ninety three year old on their scooters or any age on E-Scooters ?
Attacked by a pack of Woolly XS dogs…
Then there is the unexpected threat from nature in spring… the other day I was walking down the road and by unfortunate coincidence passed by at the exact moment a crow was chasing other birds away from attacking a bird in the gutter; it’s baby probably, though there is no CCTV evidence. It presumed I was part of the attack and dive bombed my head twice, drawing blood, though not enough to cause a visible drama. There were no human witnesses, no photo opportunities for Facebook, one of the rare occasions when I wasn’t dodging other pedestrians with phones in their hands.
I did think of reporting this on local social media, but knowing the thousands of comments, arguments and blame that wild birds and grounded baby birds usually evoke, I did not. Looking up on the internet it seems attacks are not uncommon if humans are too close to nesting crows. Though of course it could be the start of birds taking over the world… Scarier is the fact that crows are very intelligent and remember individual humans, so perhaps I can never walk down that regular route again.
All crows in this blog are played by actors. The Corvid Community would like to point out that they never attack humans and all allegations are totally unfounded.
Sorry missed your message earlier, what a day, has Poppy recovered?
Book Worms
Yup, done the library survey, haven’t read the book yet, might be late Friday, blood test.
Anne last seen today 15.33
That’s a relief, no stitches then? What sort was the other dog?
Cousin Chat
Oh what a wonderful place, pity you only had three hours ashore. Not surprised you got lost with 3,500 on board. So did you find out how he died? Sounds like a scene from one of your novels.
Cousin Chat
Natural causes, never mind, probably be another SD before your seven weeks are up. Bit of a waste getting the helicopter out to the Antarctic.
Family Forum
If I suddenly drop dead I promised Linda the plant in the dining room. The individual lemon cheesecakes in the fridge were on special offer, in case you look in the fridge and think I’m greedy.
Family Forum
No, I’m feeling fine, just testing to see if I get any response. Going to live to a hundred to annoy you all. But just in case there’s a new felt pen under the fridge and brand new secateurs in the garden, really annoyed to lose those. List of lost items getting quite long, treasure hunt for you all when I’m gone.
Anne last seen today 16.43
It cost that much? Good thing you had insurance. Would never have imagined a Pomeranian could cause so much damage. Which reminds me, I was round next door and she had spotted a big mouse in the back garden, worried Tilly would catch it… at that very moment Tilly emerged from the flower bed triumphantly shaking her head with the dead mouse clamped in her delicate jaws! Now she’s upset her miniature dachshund is a murderer!
Polly last seen today 16.53
Don’t worry too much, perhaps it would be better if you didn’t look at your fitwatchthingy.
Polly last seen today 17.05
What should your resting heart rate be?
Lizzie last seen today 17.23
Oh no, did you call 111? Where’s Tom?
Lizzie last seen today 17.25
I forgot he was away, I’m sure you’ll manage fine. I had to cope with four of you when Dad was away.
Jack last seen today 17.27
Okay, Facetime on Sunday.
Polly last seen today 17.53
What a catastrophe, Pyrex does shatter in a thousand pieces. Have you got any spare dinners in the freezer?
Polly on line 17.59
Not surprised your heart rate has gone up. Bare feet? Oh dear, my mother used to tell this story about getting a sliver of glass in her foot, then years later her finger swelled up and the splinter popped out! Or was it the other way round, anyway, it didn’t do her any harm.
Jack last seen today 18.53
Don’t forget we’re six hours ahead now its BST.
Magic Pen 19.00
What was the homework?
Magic Pen 19.01
You don’t remember either Jill
Magic Pen 19.03
Won’t you, that’s a pity. Don’t worry, everybody has stents put in these days.
Sally last seen today 19.10
Well done, can’t wait to see the pictures, great way to celebrate your seventieth and you really made it to the top, with Ron’s ashes!
Family Forum 19.30
Big news, your uncle has booked his holiday.
Family Forum 19.46
No he’s staying in a hotel than goodness. Yes we are ALL going to meet up with him. Yes I do remember he never bought you as much as an ice cream, his mind was on higher things.
Family Forum 19.50
Must be thirty years, no I’m sure he hasn’t been thrown out of the monastery, perhaps it’s his health, don’t suppose health care is good on his remote Tibetan mountain.
Magic Pen 20.08
Thanks Dave ‘Imagine a What’sAp conversation’ … How on earth am I going to write that?
Didn’t get into the Chelsea Flower show again this year? Your hydrangea not quite ready? Never mind, just have your own show at home. No garden is too small or too untidy to join in.
Show gardeners spend all year and vast amounts of money to recreate that shabby corner of your garden where last year’s plants are trying to regenerate.
The Garden of Good Intentions
Let nature take over and who doesn’t love to be welcomed home by their pet dandelions?
Put pots everywhere and never mind the weeds, some of them will turn out to be flowers.
You can never have too many pots and tubs, or can you?
No Mow May
No need to do any gardening, just call it your woodland corner. How tall will grass grow if the cats and foxes don’t flatten it?
Answer: Grass will reach for the skies, the more obstacles, the taller it will grow.
Sean sat staring at the blank screen. This week’s challenge for the Poison Pen Writers was to write a story without meaning. Now he was regretting being the one to suggest it. There had been much philosophical discussion at last week’s meeting, could there ever be a story with no meaning at all?
He could write a story about himself; as far as he could tell, his life had no meaning, but that would be a very dull story.
Poison Pen Writers was a cutting edge group that met in a crumbling old hall the council were trying to demolish. They had been expelled from the library before Sean’s time when Jago had forgotten to take his medication. Sean could well imagine that some members could be easily misunderstood, most of them were rather odd, but they were all very interesting and amusing. Sean was the only boring one and he took a vicarious pleasure from their chaotic and adventurous lives, past and present.
The screen was still empty as his mind wandered over the past year with the group. He forced himself to type.
John woke up to another day, at least he assumed it was another day as he was in his bed and sunlight streamed through the curtains.
As he dipped his toast into the soft fried egg, it reminded him of nothing at all.
On the bus to work he looked at the other passengers, they did not look at him.
As he walked into the large office building he heard a voice call ‘Hey John’ but it was a woman hailing someone else called John.
At his desk he logged on to the computer.
As he logged off the computer he wondered where the day had gone.
‘What are you doing this evening?’ asked a colleague.
‘Nothing’ he replied.
‘Nor me.’
On the way home he looked out of the bus window, but it was raining hard so he couldn’t see anything. He looked at his phone, it was Tuesday, so he would stop off at the fish and chip shop.
As he walked into Harry’s Plaice Harry greeted him. ‘Evening, usual?’
‘Yup.’
‘Good day at work?’
‘Same as usual.’
That night John got into bed, another day over.
Sean glanced through what he had written, then added the title Meaningless. Hopefully it was, he pressed Print.
Sam was looking forward to a peaceful Friday evening after a busy week at the lab. The house was quiet, Jill was bound to be in the garden as it was her day off and the weather fine.
The back door was open and Jill jumped up from a flower bed and rushed up to the patio to greet him.
‘What’s the excitement, have you found a rare butterfly?’
‘Mother’s been!’
Sam was taken aback. His mother-in-law had died three weeks ago, peacefully, in her 98th year. He thought Jill was coping well.
‘Jill, what do you mean?’
‘I found a white feather.’
‘You surely didn’t believe all that stuff your mother used to talk about?’
‘You didn’t believe, I kept an open mind. Mum said she would send a sign if she could.’
‘A feather left by some moth eaten pigeon…’
‘A perfect pure white feather floated down just as I was tidying round that shrub Mother gave us. At least let me show you.’
Jill moved across to the kitchen door, reached in for the lop sided jug her mother had made at U3A pottery class and pulled out a very large snowy white feather.
‘Okay, not a pigeon but a handsome swan. Did you see any flying overhead?’
‘No, we’re miles from any river.’
‘Well, all sorts of things get blown in the wind. If she wanted to send a message why not something useful or tangible.’
‘I imagine its not easy being dead, especially if you’re new at it. Besides, there must be rules, otherwise we would all be inundated with messages from the other side.’
‘Jill, we don’t get messages from the dead because they are no more. It’s the Twenty First Century, we’ve grown out of all that stuff.’
‘You scientists don’t know everything, I felt so peaceful out there in the garden, knowing Mother was happy.’
‘That’s your serotonin kicking in. A sunny day in the garden always makes you happy and you were also thinking about your mother. I’m a physicalist what you see is what there is, that’s it. Your mother is still with you, but in your memories.’
‘We can both see this feather, how do you explain that?’
‘Your guardian angel flew over, ha, ha, dropped in to help with the weeding.’
‘Why don’t you test its DNA in your lab?’
‘I will, might even contribute to our current bird studies. Right, I’m going up to check my emails before dinner.’
Sam looked out of his office window at the patchwork of little back gardens below. He told himself he was appreciating the colourful display Jill had created in their back garden, not looking for swans or angels. He noticed something new in next door’s garden, a large colourful playhouse. The new young couple had only just moved in and already Jill had discovered they were expecting their first baby, a bit early to be buying expensive Wendy houses… then he noticed movement on the overgrown lawn. Chickens, so that must be a modern state of the art hen house, hopefully fox proof. Shouldn’t be any trouble unless there was a cockerel to wake them up. At that moment there was a fluttering amongst the drab brown and speckled hens as a proud rooster strutted out. A dashing snow white rooster with a scarlet cockscomb. Sam dashed downstairs to tell Jill the mystery was solved.
Jill was excited to see the new livestock, but held the long straight flat feather aloft triumphantly.
‘This did not come from a rooster, magnificent as his curling tail feathers are.’
Sam arrived at the lab early on Monday morning; frivolous use of the facilities was frowned upon and he did not fancy telling the others he was checking for angel DNA. But the quicker he could identify the feather as belonging to a swan or an albino peacock the better.
The results made no sense, the feather was apparently freshly shed, clean and undamaged so the results could not be corrupted. The DNA looked like none he had ever seen before, certainly not belonging to any bird. If anything it was closer to homo sapiens, yet different, not to mention the fact that there were forty six pairs of chromosomes. He had already started from scratch again and achieved exactly the same results. Far more study would be needed to venture any theory as to what sort of creature this feather came from. He could be holding unique scientific information, but how could he tell his colleagues, what should he tell Jill?
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 