In relation to poverty; someone said to me recently. If you were setting out to clear a garden of weeds, it really doesn't matter where you start or how much you can do - just do!
I don't regard myself as a gardener but I am a willing labourer.
Short stories, snippets, thoughts and musings. Memories - emotional and factual. A bit of a dreamer - What if?
Sunday, 6 October 2013
Saturday, 21 September 2013
Tickling Fish
Wandering
and wondering has always been a pastime greatly enjoyed; you never know what
you are going to come across or even imagine. Each walk was an adventure with
many possibilities; I could be a warrior, hunter or explorer, just as the fancy
took me. Every tree was different, with shape and character all of its own,
blown by wind and weather.
A
frequent walk would be as far as low buildings, and the wood just beyond;
Granny’s farm, now owned by my uncle and his family. This was the place where
my Mum was born and I spent many a holiday with my cousins. There was always
something to do: collect eggs, take the milk cans on, potato picking, hay
timing and fastening in the hens. You might imagine it was all work, not a bit;
rummaging among the old stuff stored up in the stable chamber, jumping off
bails of straw and making dens in the wood.
We
always knew there were trout in the beck, but I can’t remember the first time we
realised they were big enough to catch and eat. Imagining ourselves as Robinson
Crusoe, we would plan how to catch this wild tasty delight (we didn't consider
the preparation at this stage). A rod and a float seemed quite impractical in
such a narrow stream; a net might be a plan.
Sunday
lunch followed the church service, but straight after the service was also a ritual,
as men folk would gather over the road and to the left. The women would be just
outside the gate and we kids would be over the road to the right. There was a
progression for us young lads, as we increased in years we would move closer to
the men; conversation moving from games to farm work, joinery and such like.
Family was wider than just a name, for it stretched out within a group of names,
associated with each family. Groups extended to neighbours and shared work
relationships, a community network spanning distance and time; a sense of
belonging, and fitting in to the way of things. It was one such Sunday morning,
one of the older men suggested we tickle the fish with our hands and hook it
onto the bank side; we wondered if he was pulling our legs. My uncle was a man
to be believed and he verified the art, saying that tickling hypnotised the
fish so you could grab it.
This
new found skill had to be put to the test, so all seven of us set out down the
beck that Sunday afternoon. Our eyes were glued to the water; we had seen fish
here before. Talking was reduced to a whisper and it felt like we were walking
on tip toes. “There”, said Chris, “there’s one”. I had never heard silence like
it, apart from the rippling stream as I approached the edge. I rolled up my sleeves
and laid flat, face down. The water was so cold as I moved my hands slowly
toward the undercut bank; my heart skipped two beats as I touched the fish.
Wiggling my fingers in a tickling motion, the fish seemed quite content; I
smiled and nodded my head to the others. At that moment there was a flash and
he was gone, the disappointing sigh from those stood around said it all.
We
walked for a few hundred yards or more and came upon a likely spot, the bend in
the stream had created an overhanging edge and there was the biggest fish we had
seen. Chris was straight in; my fingers were twitching, imagining what he was
feeling. A moment later, Chris jerked and it was as if half the stream had come
out with the fish, we all got showered; but where was the fish? It had to be
here among the grass but was nowhere to be seen. Then Bernie, the youngest of
the group, frozen to the spot said “it’s down me wellie”, the fish was head
first down his wellie, flapping its tail fin against his leg. There was a deed
to be done with a stone that was carried out without a word; the procession
back to the farm recounted the excitement over and over again, even the one
that got away.
There
are no fish in these becks today and the stream is barely a trickle, but the
skills and how we learned them, became a template for much more than just
tickling fish. Remembering the old ways, and how often things that seem
impossible, turn out to be great fun.
Saturday, 14 September 2013
The old man's song
The old man climbed long and hard with all his strength
till he reached the top, encouraged by those below; unable to hold on to the
sheer edges. He shouted out all that he could see, but the crowd below could
not hear. He began to sing loud and clear, his voice carried on the wind. He
sang of clear air and fields of green, trees, fruit and berries of plenty, and cool
streams of quenching water. Those below took up stone from the ground, and
fashioning tools began to hew foot holes into the steep face; soon every one of
them, were free from the darkness.
Loud discontent
as they saw, all was not as the old man had sung; very little fruit, no berries
but good soil and water. The crowd were about to turn on the singer when a
young boy said; “if he had not sang that song; we would still be in darkness”.
Tuesday, 30 July 2013
A Quiet Listen
To achieve great things, begin by doing nothing.
From nothing comes everything and everything amounts to nothing.
Take time to discover you, then everyone becomes familiar.
Notice the things around you and you will see your next step.
Step into the quiet, and wait just long enough; to hear the small voice of clarity,
refreshing, like a mountain stream.
Practice makes perfect, so my father taught me; but also to be satisfied with what I have.
To forgive myself is to forgive others, so my freedom rests with me.
Note to morning office: Create some quite this day.
From nothing comes everything and everything amounts to nothing.
Take time to discover you, then everyone becomes familiar.
Notice the things around you and you will see your next step.
Step into the quiet, and wait just long enough; to hear the small voice of clarity,
refreshing, like a mountain stream.
Practice makes perfect, so my father taught me; but also to be satisfied with what I have.
To forgive myself is to forgive others, so my freedom rests with me.
Note to morning office: Create some quite this day.
Sunday, 5 May 2013
The original King
How many times we must have copied and shared this track - as recorded live with Alan Andrews. The King is among us and his glory shall be seen; as we learn to touch each other. ...
The King
Written by Alan Andrews and shared among many, this wonderful song was re-worked by Andy & Lynn who worked with Zion Community. Choreography by Andy Raine and friends, this has been danced all over the world from streets to Churches. Very emotional just listening to it again.
Tuesday, 23 April 2013
Andromeda galaxy
If it were dark I would take you outside and with the aid of
some optics, show you the heavens. Stars, Nebulae and galaxies spread out to
infinity, light displaying energy from the beginning of time, reaching us here
and now. Andromeda galaxy is about two and a half million light years away and
as we look at it, we are looking back to the age of the dinosaurs. Andromeda was
formed out of the collision of two smaller galaxies between 5 and 9 billion
years ago. These scales of measurement are often outside our natural thinking
and take some understanding.
In the beginning was God and nothing had its being without
Him, God in the brightness and God in the darkness; Gods presence in all
things. We focus and see easily the brightest of these stars and in the density
of the galaxies we see form and movement; God in the immense and God in the
smallest of detail. To see into deep space, it is necessary to have the darkest
of skies.
We see things in black and white, left or right, right or
wrong. Our evolution has been a sequence of choices, one way or another. Our
opinions and behaviour is decided by these choices, one way or another. Our
human need is for direction, we create a structure for how things will be; this
will suit some, but not all. Differences cause friction when they could produce
harmony, an orchestra consists of many instruments, musicians, a composer and a
conductor; a symphony could be likened to a galaxy. Many of these structures
exist; cultural, political and religious.
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