Fallen jewels

I've just heard that one of my friends has died. It was expected; she has been very ill for a while, but that doesn't lessen the blow. I've known her for well over twenty years. We actually didn't see each other that often, didn't socialise as such, but that doesn't matter. She was a true, trusted and wise friend whom I loved a lot. It was a hard-won friendship, in many ways. Intensely private, she didn't give her trust easily and our bond was worked out over a long time. It was a bond, for both of us. We didn't just 'chat' when we met, we really talked. She was a woman of taste: creative, artistic, a gardener, sculptor and ceramicist. She was a wonderful champion of my photography and encouraged me to pursue that. I'm very glad to have known her and her loss will leave a huge hole for me (though, of course, an even bigger one for her husband and three daughters, whose pain I can barely imagine). 

I'm sure I shall go through many emotions in the next few weeks. I can already feel the anger. The disease that killed her was the same cruel disease that took my mother too, although my friend was much younger than my mum. At this stage in life, I suppose we have to come to terms with our friendship group gradually diminishing but that doesn't make it easier or less painful. 

I took this photo today, before I heard the news, and yet it seems perhaps a fitting tribute. The fallen leaves still shine, so much like jewels. I'm sure she would have appreciated that. May she rest in peace. 

Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.  

                                                Robert Frost

Autumn musings

'It was a beautiful, bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it.'   

Diana Gabaldon

'How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.'  
John Burroughs

We've had quite a few of those beautiful, bright, blue sky autumn days and they do lift one's spirits. For most of us in the UK, spirits are badly in need of lifting, what with the mess the government is in, the lack of true leadership or even common-sense, the energy crisis, the cost of living crisis, the effects of Brexit, the war in Ukraine, the climate change crisis - to mention just a few things, in no particular order. I can't ever recall a time, even when things have seemed 'bad' before, that things nationally and internationally have been in quite such a storm. (Nearly said s***storm and that's what I mean!) Nevertheless, I'm enormously grateful to be where I am, at this stage of life, with everything that I really need and knowing too that my family are as resilient as they can be to weather these storms. I alternate between feeling angry, sad, ashamed, worried... But no amount of worry makes any difference; there's little most of us 'ordinary people' can do apart from what many of us always do, which is to take responsibility for our own lives; vote sensibly when we get chance! ; notice, care and try to support others where we can and nurture ourselves with food, sleep, exercise and whatever calms one's own particular soul. 

As is obvious from my blogs, my own main 'calming' comes from nature. Just being out in the fresh air, walking and enjoying the rhythmic movement of my own body, noticing all the small things - the birds, trees and other aspects of nature's bounty; the colours; the light and how it affects the scene; the sounds; the scents - all those are gifts. Sometimes I'm able to capture some of those gifts in a photo and then I can share a little of what I experienced with others. If I can write an uplifting blog post or share a beautiful picture, I know that there are a few people, perhaps less able to get out themselves, for whom that picture and those few words might provide interest, a spark of reminiscence or a little hint of pleasure in an otherwise quiet day. That in itself is worth celebrating, I guess, though that is not why I take photos and write my blogs, which is entirely a matter of self-interest and self care. It makes me feel better, brings me joy, provides a focus (if you'll excuse the pun). Similarly there are many who bring me joy, in the same way, through their blogs, their writing or their art and photography. 

Each of our seasons (and I'm glad to live in a country that does have definable seasons) has its own merits. Personally my favourite time of year is spring, when warmth creeps in, light rises, soft greens unfurl, flowers and blossom appear - bluebells and cherry blossom being particular treats for me. Spring also seems full of new beginnings, fresh starts, new energy. My whole being starts to uncurl in step with nature. I wake from sleep, stretch, feel energised. 

Then, I suppose, autumn would be my second favourite time of year, though somehow I feel I never quite make the most of it. It has echoes of a new school year (even so very many years since I started one!) It's a bit of a blank page, rather intimidating somehow. The lifestyle magazines are full of warm colours - reds, oranges, russets and browns - none of which are 'my' colours. There are cosy throws, mulled wine, candles, a sense of closing in, snuggling down. Hygge is the trendy word: a mood of cosiness and 'comfortable conviviality', with feelings of wellness and contentment. Bearing in mind that many of my autumns start (as this one has done) with a not-very-healthy dose of a heavy cold (blame children and grandchildren going back to school!) and it doesn't somehow help me to find that mood. Nor does the fading of the light, our long northern nights. 

I'm not a huge follower of astrology, I have to say, but my star sign is an air sign, whereas autumn always seems to be about earth and fire. (Even in that photo at the top, I thrill as much to the blue sky as the russet leaves.) So the season never seems to be a good fit for me. It does, however, lend itself to musings. As Nietzsche said: 

'Notice that autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.' 

For me there is some grief in there, a sense of things slipping away. It's not called 'Fall' for nothing. Yes, I know things in nature often have to die before they are reborn; I know all about there being times and seasons for everything and I respect that, yet I still feel sad. I still feel like cutting myself off from the world, even the conviviality that others can create. I want to hibernate. It feels cold, not cosy. I wonder what autumn and winter must have been like for my ancestors who were farmers, out in all weathers, breaking the ice on the water trough so their stock could drink. I wonder how my coal miner forebears could bear the monotony of going to work in the dark, working all day in the dark and then going home in the dark, to sleep in the dark. Must have needed a lot of forbearance. 

Things change; new generations reinterpret things in new ways and yet often have to learn again many of 'the old ways' in order truly to survive and thrive. 

'And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves...' 
Virginia Woolf

'Another fall, another turned page...' 

Wallace Stegner

Cathedrals of industry

I took this double-exposure image on a recent visit to an exhibition in the roof space at Salts Mill. The vast spaces up there always inspire me as much as whatever event I've gone to see. The roof trusses remind me of the arches in cathedrals. This one, made of wood and iron, was leaking a rust stain down the stone wall. I've overlaid it with a rather battered and random piece of metal gridwork I found, screwed to the wall and fashioned as though it were small shelves or a rack, though for what purpose I have no idea.  

It got me thinking that, in their own way, our northern textile mills, these relics of the Industrial Revolution, were truly 'the cathedrals of industry'. I'm glad that some, like Salts Mill, are able to be preserved and appreciated for their scale and the quality of the work that went into the buildings themselves, not to mention the craftmanship of the machinery (like spinning machines and looms) that filled them - and the fine fabrics they ultimately produced in large quantities.

'And no bobbins and spindles and shuttles are left

Where weavers once tended the warp and the weft

To fettle to fabric with fine-spun thin threads

But axes have fallen and silenced the sheds.'       C Richard Miles

'A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.'   Antoine de Saint-Exupery

(For 'rock pile', please read 'textile mill'.) 

'I went and looked at one of these great cathedrals one day, and I was blown away by it. From there I became interested in how cathedrals were built, and from there I became interested in the society that built the medieval cathedral. It occurred to me at some point that the story of the building of a cathedral could be a great popular novel.'    Ken Follett

The story of the building of Sir Titus Salt's great mill and his village of Saltaire is told many times in many books - though I don't know of a novel yet. And what a story it is; what a legacy he left us!

'Beauty is not generic, bland, and clinical. It isn't all things to all people. The Cathedral of Notre Dame in its endlessly intricate detail was beautiful. Modern office buildings are not.'   Michael J. Knowles

One of the aspects of Salts Mill that continually blows my mind is the elaborate detail that adorns it. The Victorians were never interested in utilitarian architecture. These buildings were statements about their founders, in a way that our bland modern office blocks are not. 

'For me, the reason why people go to a mountaintop or go to the edge of the ocean is to look at something larger than themselves. That feeling of awe, of going to a cathedral, it's all about feeling lost in something bigger than oneself. To me, that's the definition of spectacle.'  Diane Paulus

'But the first step inside, and a silent gasp -

it's bigger inside than outside...

and the sound of your steps soars to the high

indescribably glorious roof like a

small bird looking for an escape....

and you feel an intruder into the space of history

waiting for you to find your place.'   Michael Shepherd

Broody!

My Facebook feed throws up all sorts of enticing things (as well as stuff that I would never be interested in - and some things where I can't even begin to imagine what they are!) Today it excelled, with a whole piece about a company closing down and getting rid of its stock of Waldorf dolls. Now, I'm sad that so many small businesses seem to be closing (and don't get me going on a political rant!) But all these dolls needing homes.... 😢 Aww. I almost ordered up the whole lot! 

I have to confess I'm a sucker for dolls and always have been. I still have two or three, that belonged either to me or to my daughter. I have of course, as an involved gran, supplied a number of dolls to both my granddaughters at various times, one of which happened to be a Waldorf doll. (They have minimal features and natural materials and are supposed to be designed so that a child can project their imagination onto them.)  Perhaps strangely, the girls never really seemed to 'take' to dolls for very long. The cuddly toys that have had lasting impact for them have always been of an animal kind - dogs, cats, even monkeys and sloths have been carted around until their fabric has worn thin. Even my daughter favoured a large stuffed Eeyore character that one of my friends made for her when she was born. I think it is still just about 'alive and kicking' in their house somewhere. 

So, no more dolls, though I was truly tempted by these adorable munchkins. (That little moppet in the blue hat, with the rabbit... 😍😍😍)

Out of the mouths of babes

When I was in my early twenties, I went to dinner at some friend's house and we ate from a delightful assortment of mismatched blue and white china. I thought it was really cool and decided that 'one day' I'd have the same. Given that we'd just been gifted a matching service of fine china as a wedding present, needless to say, I never even started a collection. Nevertheless the dream persisted in the back of my mind. Fast forward nearly fifty years to when I retired... I was idly reviewing my 'life goals' (as you do!), and I was reminded that this dream still wasn't a reality, though in the scheme of things it seemed eminently achievable. So I went off to Boundary Mills, which has a wonderful department chock full of all makes of china. I bought myself a small selection of Spode 'Blue Italian' plates and mugs and some blue and white bowls and plates from other manufacturers. Since then, I've added a few more pieces, including a rather lovely Japanese bowl. So, at last, my little private dream has come true, at least when I'm dining alone. (There isn't enough to spread around several guests.) In some small way, it gives me a great deal of pleasure. 

Or at least, it did.... My granddaughters came to visit and, now they are fairly well grown, they have graduated from the IKEA plastic dishes and plates that they used to use. So they were given food on a couple of my Spode plates. Having polished off her meal, my eldest grandgirl was studying the picture on the plate. Suddenly, she exclaimed, with horror in her voice: 'There is a picture of a man beating a woman!' Could this be true? How had I not seen this? On close inspection of the pattern, I can see exactly what she means. I had, I suppose, assumed (inasmuch as I'd ever really thought about it) that the couple were chasing the cattle or whatever the animals are that appear to have strayed into the water. Now she has put the domestic abuse scenario into my head, I can't really shake the notion off. It would be a lie to say this has completely spoiled my little, personal, long-held dream but it certainly gave it a knock!