Where we went: Lansallos, Lerryn, Lanreath, Pelynt. Not all of which have found their way into this month’s posts, but they’ll turn up eventually
I left Cornwall for: the Brighton marathon. And I learned how to open train doors on the Great Western line
I’ve been walking: around the local roads, to Lansallos Cove and in Ethy Wood. Still getting to know our immediate neighbourhood
In the house: we’ve unpacked the lounge, dining room, kitchen, bedroom and bathrooms. None are finished but all are homely and comfortable. And B has made huge strides with setting up the barn and the garage – both important spaces for storage; resolved the problems with smoking stoves and smelly loos; started getting quotes for work required
In the garden: I’ve pruned the buddleia and the dogwood, and planted snowdrops and Mme Alfred
Bird highlights from the balcony: buzzards, egrets, swallows
We’ve been watching: Master Chef and a re-run of series 1 of Outlander. Easy – and in the case of Outlander – sumptuous viewing
I’ve finished reading: Norah Webster by Colm Toibin; The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte
I’m currently reading: A Year of Marvellous Ways by Sarah Winman; Timeless Simplicity by John Lane; Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens; Anne of Ingleside by Lucy M Montgomery. I’ve never been one for reading one book at a time
I’ve been writing: emails, letters, Footnotes from Fowey, The View from Here (now renamed) and not enough of the Madworthys or The Story Bear
I’ve been studying: On Futurelearn: Literature and Mental Health; What is a Mind? Plus a little more Italian on Duolingo, and on Memrise: a brush up on famous authors and their works; European capitals and English counties. And I’ve learned quite a bit about creating a blog
- We are here – in Cornwall – and we live here. We are not on holiday. I have to remind myself of this quite often
- I started this blog, which was quite scary. A baby step towards thinking of myself as a writer
- Lansallos Cove
- Lerryn and Ethy Wood
So, farewell, April!
In 2016, a momentous month in our lives. Our roots are settling fast in this Cornish soil; our hearts already tethered to this quirky house and this wildly romantic place.
I didn’t have to look far for a poem that sung to me of this year’s April. I’d not heard of James Hearst – but clearly he’d experienced a mercurial English April….
Then I learn that he’s an American who hails from the Midwest. Can an April in Iowa and an April in Cornwall really share so much?
Once again I am reminded: the world is a very small, and a very beautiful place. However the many and varied faces of the Earth may appear, at soul level all is One.
This I saw on an April day:
Warm rain spilt from a sun-lined cloud,
A sky-flung wave of gold at evening,
And a cock pheasant treading a dusty path
Shy and proud.
And this I found in an April field:
A new white calf in the sun at noon,
A flash of blue in a cool moss bank,
And tips of tulips promising flowers
To a blue-winged loon.
And this I tried to understand
As I scrubbed the rust from my brightening plow:
The movement of seed in furrowed earth,
And a blackbird whistling sweet and clear
From a green-sprayed bough.
James Hurst (1900 – 1983)