Dear Readers, I am back in Dorset for a few days for my Dad’s Memorial Service in MIlborne St Andrew. He died in March 2020 but apart from a brief visit for his interment a year ago, I haven’t been back. And so, today, I am almost overwhelmed with memories. Every shop, every restaurant, reminds me of when I was visiting every few weeks while Mum and Dad were in the nursing home. The walks through the fields were taken at Christmas, when Dad was still alive. I turn to the natural world to take me out of myself, to remind me that life goes on and that every thing is both beautiful and temporary. In fact, maybe the beauty comes from the transitory nature of things.
But first, I am delighted to see these two moggies asleep in one of the windows on the High Street.
And then, look at these sunflowers!
And I love these woodpigeons, up to their shoulders in meadow grass.
And there is a Himalayan Honeysuckle down by the old machinery that used to flood the meadows.
I am pleased to see that there are sheep out on the field.
And I didn’t even realise that I’d seen a heron as well until I got home and uploaded this photo.
There is some lords and ladies….
and the harts tongue fern looks glossy and somehow primeval.
I believe that this might be our old friend wild angelica, though I have to say that it hasn’t done as well as the one in my garden.
And then I was distracted by the snails…
The field that was pasture last year is now full of sweetcorn, though the magnificent oak trees don’t seem to mind.
So by now I’m starting to feel a little less distressed. On I go along the bridle path.
I am passed by three runners – apparently there’s a charity road race on on Saturday in aid of MacMillan Cancer nurses. But once they’ve passed, silence reigns. I spot a new plant – this is red bartsia, which is apparently partially parasitic on grass and has its very own bee species. I sense a Wednesday Weed coming on….
And then there is a single patch of rosebay willowherb which is abuzz with common carder bees – these little ginger critters are amongst the last bumblebees on the wing.
And how about this henbit deadnettle, another new plant for me (though very common). The whole plant seems to be exploding with enthusiasm.
And then I turn for home, and pause by the sheep because something catches my eye.
The swallows are circling and diving, catching the insects that the sheep have disturbed, fuelling up for their long flight back to Africa. And it might sound strange, but it makes me weep because the year is turning, and the swallows are going home, and maybe Mum and Dad have gone home too, but they’ve left me behind. Grieving can be so lonely, and that’s why grieving collectively is so important, and why I sense that I’ll feel better once we’ve gathered to say goodbye to Dad properly.
Bon voyage, swallows. Travel well, until the world turns.again.