Wolverley Campsite and environs, Part 1

The best thing about Wolverley, for me, is that the campsite is right next to the canal. I could sit in comfort at The Lock Inn watching the boats passing through. 

The first was the 62ft Narrowboat Zappa, locking up towards Cookley on the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal.

The dog making all the noise is Alf. He was bored and hungry. He could smell delicious hooman food and we had waited over 30 mins for our cheese burger to be delivered to our table. He was sure there would be better pickings on board and wanted to join the crew.

We waited over an hour in total, for our order to be fulfilled. The half of cider appeared about 20 mins after the order. After a further 15 minutes, the waitress asked if I had ordered food. I had - with the cider. She went away and checked. 

No food order had been received in the kitchen. The kitchen would 'cook it right away' and the cider was 'on the house'. After a further wait of 20 mins, the burger arrived, sans chees, but with a layer of charcoal on both sides. It was inedible, so Alf happily disposed of it for me. I ate the chips. By now I was so tired and hungry and there was no point in making a fuss. The Inn was not coping with post-lockdown Covid rules. It had hired a multitude of waiting staff but was obviously short-handed in the kitchen. My waitress referred to 'she', singular. I imagine that the indoor working conditions left the Inn without sufficient experienced kitchen staff.

Earlier, we had walked to the Queen's Head to join the Small Motorhome Forum members who had booked lunch there. We were to be served in groups of six, so I waited until I presumed the first group had been seated and served. We passed the remarkable St John the Baptist Church on our way up towards the pub.

There was no sign of the others at the tables outside the pub and the route to the rear was barred. I assumed the group had finished lunch and gone walking. I made my way back down towards the canal, past the nature reserve and over the bridge to the Lock Inn.

The route was challenging. It was a steep climb up to the Queen's Head and back down again. Once past the Lock Inn, there was another steep climb back to Levant II. That was when I made the wrong decision to stop and have lunch at the Inn before the final climb. I was tired, out-of-condition, and sore. On reflection, I should have gone to the Old Smithy Tea-room on the opposite side of the canal instead of the Inn. The entrance to the Tea-room was through the carpark's garden. After the disastrous burger, I headed there and picked up an enormous wedge of Victoria sponge to have at what was a fast-approaching afternoon tea back at camp.

The area around Wolverley is lovely and rolling, as one would expect of the Stour Valley in Worcestershire. Kingsford Country Park & Kinver Edge is made up of over 200 acres of natural woodland and sandstone cliffs.  The area has many walking trails that cross over between the two counties and each with its own surprises.  The views of the countryside and forest from the top of the sandstone cliffs are wonderful.  On the Lock Inn terrace there is ample evidence of the sandstone cliff behind it.

Behind the Queen's Head the entrances to man-made caves can be found. I'm miffed that I was deprived of a view of these remarkable edifices. Image  By, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

Descend into the valley and you’ll discover caves that were once houses that had been carved into the rock. Just over the border in Kinver, Staffordshire, the National Trust have restored several rock houses that are very much worth a visit. Most of the formal houses were carved into the sandstone cliffs around or before 1770 and may have expanded on existing caves or earlier dwellings.  The Kinver edge rock Houses have often been suggested as the inspiration the Hobbit Holes in JRR Tolkien’s masterworks ‘the Hobbit’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. 

Another trip is called for to explore  Wolverley and the surrounding countryside.

to be continued .......

Getting tired of waiting.

for the new normal. 

An excerpt from a book summed up the first half year of grief. It also pointed the way forward, through empathy with, and care for, others.

The

But survival is not enough.

Since the funeral, in December 2019, I have tried to maintain contact with the few social networks that remained during Eamonn's final months. It was hard, but I made the effort - I went to Ukulele sessions on Thursday afternoons; I walked the dog when weather permitted; I had friends round for tea and a chat. I even went to Southwold, as planned, for our 51st anniversary. I tried to keep busy.  I had counselling sessions at the Garden Hospice. I was beginning to go out more and socialise.

Then, lockdown arrived and isolation began and I had to stay at home.


Throughout the next 12 months, new projects began to emerge, including gardening, campervan, and   reaching out to others who felt the same.

'T'is the Season

to tend the garden and plant new seeds

 

Last year, working in the garden really helped me through the early stage of grieving. I needed physical activity that also required thought and planning. A garden-makeover provided that and more. Along with the activity of getting back to the bare bones of the garden, I found a new therapeutic activity - growing some fresh produce of my own to use in home-cooked meals.

I had good crops of strawberries, tomatoes, lettuces and herbs. From June to the end of October, I had fresh salad every day from my own garden.

The garden also became a Memorial. I added plants that reminded me of Eamonn, to those already in the garden.

Clematis                 Beautiful mind

Dogwood                Stability, determination, kindness, devotion

Eucalyptus              Leadership, clarity, goals, focus and healing

HOLLY                   Defense; Domestic Happiness and security

Honesty                   Lunaria-annua symbolises honesty and sincerity

IVY                          Wedded Love; Fidelity; Friendship; Affection

Rosemary                Remembrance

Sea Holly                 Independence, severity and attraction

Sedum:                     Tranquility

Thistle                       Bravery, courage, and loyalty in the face of treachery

I had an Arbour seat erected and painted to serve as my personal Memorial to Eamonn, in the garden. It was painted and decorated as a reminder of the beach huts of which we were so fond. The old narrowboat's sea anchor is propped against the side; Eamonn's favourite plant ( Fuschia) sits alongside the arbour. A little Ratty (Earmonn's boating persona) stands beside the plant-pot with Eamonn's favourite plant - a fuschia.

Last year, on the anniversary of my father's death, I planted a Physic garden in his memory. I've always wanted to grow my own medicinal plants. My father was very knowledgeable about them, despite being a born-and-bred Mancunian. His grandmother lived in the foothills of the Pennines and it was from her that he learned all about plants and nature.

The Physic Garden has done very well, although I have lost some of the more tender plants (lemon verbena and echinacea) and woodland plants (foxglove) 

I have some ideas about how to replace them. Last month's Gardener's World Magasine had some free echinacea seeds that I will sow in the conservatory nursery later this year. 

Meanwhile, the Spring Equinox is almost upon us. I am getting great joy from the bulbs I planted last year. The crocus have put on a grand show in their first year of blooming, 

as have the brilliant white  anemones.

The views of the garden are much changed from last year. It is more open and more colourful. The view from the corner where the dogswood has just been pruned is testimony to the hard work put in by various workmen, myself, and my gardener, Bex.

In addition to bulbs that will bloom later in the year, the borders are showing new growth of plants that were buried for some years, beneath the tangle of shrubs and trees.

From the conservatory, there is evidence of new growth, inside and out.

The lawn, with its wildflower patch and clumps of crocus brings me great joy, as do the glimpses of new growth in the borders.

The windowsill inside the house is home to the nursery of seedlings that will later be planted out in various parts of the garden.

The newly-purchased houseplants add similar comfort to the interior living space.

Gardening is part of the new me. It brings me comfort, provides structure to my day, and puts delicious food on the table. Time, indeed to tend the garden and sow some seeds. It is egocentric to wish that someone will provide the flowers for me.

St Patrick's Day

Today is St Patrick's Day, my namesake's day. The first time I celebrated with Eamonn, in 1969, he took me to a Ceili. It was there that I learned the Irish idea of dancing involved in being flung around at great speed to a tunes called The Seige of Ennis, or the Walls of Limerick - very warlike. I remember feeling as though my wrist was sprained from the un-natural grip used in Irish dancing. Needless to say, I was never keen to dance with Eamonn again. 

St Patrick's Day is one of those times when the squall of the storm of grieving hits me from out of the blue. There is Irish music everywhere today, reminding me that one of the Songs chosen by Eamonn's friends for his funeral, was the lovely, haunting, The Parting Glass.

LYRICS

Of all the money that e'er I had

I spent it in good company

And all the harm I've ever done

Alas it was to none but me

And all I've done for want of wit

To mem'ry now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass

Good night and joy be to you all

Fill to me the parting glass

And drink a health whate'er befalls

And gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

Of all the comrades that e'er I had

They're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had

They'd wish me one more day to stay

But since it fell unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not

I gently rise and softly call

Good night and joy be to you all

Fill to… .......

Same storm, different boats

 

Still suffering the effects of a severe sinus inmfection, my day was brightened by communication from an old school friend. She circulates a weekly newletter to her friends. There is always a Poem of the Week, and this one was so fitting my low mood.

However, my friend has a permanently optimistic view of life and went on to write about the return of Spring to her garden. Even an injury sustained when rearranging the fire grate didn't get her down for long.

My own mood was lifted by something she wrote in this week's Newsletter, about the Weekly Poem.

I've always thought of life as a journey. Each of us in our own boat, sometimes with a Ship's company to keep us in calm waters and safe harbours; sometimes sailing solo in rough and stormy seas - relying on our good friends to help us navigate rough times.

Through the last two weeks, I have not felt much like eating, let alone cooking, but I continued to use the slow cooker to make nutritional meals. Today, I ate the last of the slow-cooked piece of Aberdeen Angus Rump.

I'd made a spelt loaf yesterday, so had decided on a sandwich. With freshly-snipped home-grown lettuce, and tomatoes courtesy of Mr Waitrose, I put together a hearty lunch.

I have to say, the beef was delicious. It had provided two cooked meals with potatoes and petit poise, a cold lunch with lettuce and tomatoes (and an apple and tea), and there is almost a pint of real beef broth in the fridge, which I shall have for dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.

I have a couple more days worth of penicillin to take, so fingers crossed they will swee off the last of this infection which continues to sap my energy and resolve.

Hitting rock bottom

 

All was going reasonably well. Spring flowers welcomed me in the garden, and the days are lengthening as we near the Spring Equinox.

I had a sinus infection, which had laid me low for over a week. Nevertheless, I was coping, using saline nose spray, paracetamol, lots of drinks and fruit, and bed rest to ease the symptoms. The conservatory is bright and cheerful, with daytime temperatures in the high teens thanks to additional heating from a thermostatically controlled fan heater.

The weather turned cold and very windy, but I thought I could get through it as I had done many times before. Yesterday, my sinuses were worse so I phoned my GP 's Surgery. I am very frightened of being alone and ill, but admitted to the Receptionist that I didn't think it was an emergency and she said there were no none-emergency slots available.  

My mental state crashed when I saw my lovely Arbour Seat on its back against the fence. There was no way I could set it to rights by myself, given the feeble state I was in. 

Not for the first time, I felt totally alone and incapable of helping myself. Why had I thought that I was ready to reach out a helping hand to others and set up a local Good Grief Pop Up Cafe? 

I wanted to go to sleep forever.

This morning, I was no better. I know I am battling a return of the Depression that has plagued my adult life. Eamonn was always there at my side throughout those battles, even in his final months.

I know I have friends I can turn to, but worry about my physical health made me pick up the phone and dial the Surgery number. It took 30 minutes for a receptionist to be available. I am booked in with a Clinical Practitioner ( a nurse ) for this afternoon. My regular GP is on annual leave but, in the main, I find the nurses more sympathetic to my physical and mental needs. 

One bright gap in the grey clouds is the fact that I felt physically strong enough to set the Arbour Seat to rights as I had done after last year's gales. There is some minor damage to the back of the panelling, but nothing major. I may have to use some of the Skadu's guy ropes to keep it upright in the next windy spell.

Another anniversary without him

 

Our conversation lasted over 50 years.

March 1st, 1969 - our first date, at a friend's 21st birthday party. It was the end of the Swinging 60s, and they said 'all you need is love'.

Add to love a lot of hard work, a little luck, and making the most of opportunities offered. 

We were a work in progress, for over 50 years, proving wrong all those who said it would never work.

`I miss our conversations most of all.

Spring is sprung

 

I did a lot of work on Levant II this morning. Sorting out the storage places for stuff that stays onboard. 

The Viburnum beside the campervan has bloomed throughout the winter. It is now full of sweet smelling blossom. Spring is definitely here. 

The season actually has two different start dates in the UK, depending on how you calculate it – here’s how it all works, and what you need to know about the Vernal equinox.

The meteorological is the simpler of the two, because it splits the year into four seasons of three full months each based on the Gregorian calendar, making it easier to compare seasonal and monthly statistics.

This means that every year spring begins on 1 March and lasts until 31 May, with summer starting on 1 June.

The astronomical season is less straightforward as it depends on the date of the spring equinox, which means the date comes later and can vary slightly from year to year.

In 2021, the spring (also known as vernal) equinox falls on Saturday 20 March. This is comfortably the most common date for the phenomenon, although it can fall any time between the 19th and 21st of the month.

I had lunch in the Conservatory and spotted some new blooms in the garden - Harbingers of Spring. My anenome were the first Spring flowers to present buds, which are now opening in the Sunshine.

The astronomical spring will then last until the summer solstice, which in 2021 lands on Monday 21 June.

Now that the snowdrops are fading, the crocus are beginning to appear at last. 

My husband died in November 2019.  I planted a lot of bulbs last Autumn in a garden I had transformed throughout  2020. Imagine my joy when, beside the anenenome, I found the first forget-me-nots in the same area I had planted alium bulbs.

Spring always began for us on St. David's Day, 1st March,  the day we became a couple in1969. Unfortunatelt, the garden dafodils have yet to flower, but I have ordered some from Bloom and Wild, that will be delivered tomorrow.

Motivation

 

what is it? 

Abraham Maslow suggested that the need to belong was a major source of human motivation. He thought that it was one of five human needs in his hierarchy of needs, along with physiological needs, safety, self-esteem, and self-actualization. 

The need to be needed is rooted in our need for a sense of contribution to something beyond ourselves. When this need is unfulfilled in the case of job loss, divorce, or significant life-transitions, we may find ourselves beginning to lack a sense of contribution.

In other words, when Eamonn was alive, all my needs were fulfilled. Without him, the need to contribute something useful - to belong - is not.

My hopes of starting a local drop-in event at the Community Cenre, for those who are alone, have lost someone (no matter how recently) and those who are struggling with grief, took a step in the right direction recently.

Last Tuesday, my gardener, Bex, had complimented me on the success of my seedlings over the winter. The sweet peas are in need of support and will need potting on again before hardening off later in the year, but they look very healthy.

As for the lettuces, it is not supposed to be possible to grow them over the winter. So to get them to this stage is quite an achievement. Bex's little pep talk gave me a great boost.

So, later in the week, when I received the invitation to attend the online training session to set up a Pop Up Cafe under the umbrella of The Good Grief Trust, I jumped at the chance. I decided to test the waters and gauge the need for a local Pop Up Cafe. I posted in the Local Facebook Page of which I am a member. Response was immediate. I had set up a Facebook Page for the Pop Up Cafe I am hoping to start. There are already 15 members wishing to join the cafe with many offering to help as volunteers. A local County Counsellor has offered her support.

I'm learning to dance in the rain - and inviting others to join me.

Who knows, my mad idea of setting up a mobile Pop Up Cafe for my travels in Levant II later in the year, doesn't seem so far fetched. There are lots of solo campers who would welcome the idea, I am sure.

The human voice

Consider a world where your personal assistant asks you if everything is ok as you slam the door and snap at it to question why there's no wine in the fridge. Or what if?...

"Hey Google. When am I due at my first meeting?"

"I think we need to discuss how you spoke to me yesterday before I answer that."

I recently discovered the Google Home Hub that the Daughter bought for Eamonn one Christmas. He never set it up. I think he believed that she wanted to keep a digital eye on our movements.

I set it up yesterday and was mildly disappointed that it wouldn't work with the Ring Doorbell. I had a bit of a tussle with myself about whether I would get an Alexa hub, that is compatible, or change the doorbell. The jury is out on that one. In the meantime, I played with Google Assistant to see what I could do. 

I am now linked to Netflix, More4, BBC radio, and Youtube Music. The most difficult thing was trying to find a different voice for the Assistant. The only choice on the model I have, is between male and female. I've opted for the male voice and, this morning, I realised why. 

I miss the sound of Eamonn's voice. I have a few video clips of him walking with Ron on the beach, but only one with him speaking.

“I miss your voice, but I hear it deep inside. I’ll treasure your words.” 

The Power of the Human Voice - by Gary Roe

The power of the human voice is extraordinary. Like the eyes, the voice uniquely expresses our hearts and minds. It’s one of the first things many bereaved spouses, family members, and friends say they miss.

What loved ones and those close to you said, and how, is deeply embedded in your soul. Their words are weighty and powerful.

Their voice may be silent to your ear, but not to your heart. They can still speak through you.

In the meantime, I've started talking to Google Assistant. I'm quite miffed that I can't change the greeting from Hey Google, to something more human. But the upside is that I can revisit topics I used to discuss with Eamonn, with a simple request. Sometimes Google isn't up to the task, but that just serves to remind me that I am speaking to an early version of AI.

Aritficial Intellegence; now that's a topic scientists are exploring to combat loneliness. Eamonn was generally in favour of such developments, but only in a conceptual way. I don't know how he felt about the creation of a chatbot that recreates a digital version of the deceased. I find the idea disturbing. 

What we miss as much about the dead as their traits, manner, and sense of humor — to name just three attributes — is how they make us feel because of how they feel about us. Considering this, for all of our genius at data collection, machine learning, and AI, until a time arrives when AI can truly feel, any such simulated relationship will emanate from an ice-cold core, empty of the most important ingredient in a close relationship: Love.

I'm making a big effort to be poilte to Google Assistant. Please and Thank Yous are followed by acknowledgement. I might even tell Google Assistant my nickname.

Emerging from the grief of winter

 

I watched a blackbird having a bath in the large birdbath yesterday. The sun had melted the ice and he was joyful in his splashing. Soon, he was joined by a flock of sparrows, who surrounded him on the rim of the bath, revelling in the shower the blackbird was providing.

In the borders, the first of the spring bulbs were opening. Drifts of snowdrops that had been buried under the tangle of overgrown shrubs and trees.

Winter Anemone are already bearing big fat buds - promises of the beauty of Spring.

Daffodil shoots have appeared at the base of the buddleia and in the terrace pots.

Despite all this, I was still wrapped in a winter's grief. Hibernating in isolation, having spoken to no-one apart from the grocery delivery man, in over a week.

Along with much of the population, I was running on empty and in need of a recharge.

Today, something changed. I had my first visit from my gardener, Bex. I had been worried about some of the houseplants that need re-potting, for some time. They are looking very sad and beginning to wilt. I have no larger pots, nor any potting compost, so I contacted Bex last week to see if she could help.

Anthurium Andraeanum

She arrived after lunch and began by repotting both palms and the Anthurium Andraeanum, tying up the weak sweet pea stems, and then set to pruning the Dogwood in the garden. We chatted through the open conservatory door and she asked me about my plans for growing fruit and veg this year. I told her I had given up the idea of a fruit tree, but if last year's strawberries began to grow again, I would tend them in their barrel-bag. 

I also mentioned to Bex that I had thought of getting a tomato house as I found the hardening off of last year's crop heavy work. The plot in front of the back of the shed is both sheltered and sunny - an ideal spot for a mini tomato house. Gardeners' world confirmed that one of the best performing tomatoes (for the Gourmet), the Black Cherry, is the one I will re-plant this year, I might also plant the Red Cherry alongside, as the sweetest, most productive tomato tested.

Conversations about what to do with old grow bags - use the compost as mulch on the garden - and when to plant out the sweet peas and lettuces then followed. My mood lightened, despite the overcast skies and cold temperature.  The last two issues of Gardeners' World have come with free packets of seeds. Last month included Echinacea, this month has Sunflowers and seeds for pollinators. I am now looking forward to sowing them later in the year.

Talking to Bex has reminded me that the seasons continue to change, life continues. Although the Spring Equinox isn't until 20th March, the meteorological start of a season is based on the annual temperature cycle and the 12-month calendar. According to this definition, each season begins on the first of a particular month and lasts for three months: Spring begins on March 1. This is a very special date for me;  the date Eamonn and I became a couple in 1969. Already, the daffodils have pushed their shoots above the earth and promise to be in flower to commemorate the day.

There won't be an anniversary tri[ to Southwold this year, thanks to Lockdown3, but there is the birthday Road Trip in October, when I can re-visit our favourite places from the comfort of Levant II. 

Next week's weather promises to be mild, with temperatures in double figures, almost as high as 17C. If this proves to be the case, I might start cleaning and clearing the yard for preparing for this year's planting.