Autumn

This is the first autumn in a few years that feels right. More recently, autumn seems to have consisted of several weeks of rain and wind, followed by the discovery that all the leaves have disappeared overnight. This year, though, I'm beginning to feel hopeful. Perhaps we're going to get a decent autumn after all.

• The trees. The first signs of colour are appearing in the hedgerows and woodland. I'm keeping an eye on our beeches and other deciduous trees, hoping that the leaves will have time to turn properly before the next storm comes.Still disappointed that I still haven't found a rhus typhina like the one I had in our other house. The local garden centre did have some but they were about 8ft tall. I want a bushy one.

• The garden. There is still plenty going on despite the shortening days. The Michaelmas daisies are putting on a splendid show, and there are flowers that seem determined to carry on until the first hard frost. At this time of year I am inclined to leave things alone rather than rush about tidying everything up.

• The weather. There's been rain but fine, dry days too. Enough dry weather to get out and enjoy it. Of course, living in County Antrim, one learns not to make too many plans on the strength of a promising forecast.

• The wildlife. The birds are coming back but not as many as other years. The sparrowhawks were hard on them and we never did see the collared doves again. Tree sparrows are scarce too. My friend who works for the RSPB tells me that 2026 has not been a good year for tree sparrows. She has also advised us to rethink bird feeders.

• The simple joys of the season. Autumn light. Coming indoors after a walk, lighting the fire, making soups and stews. Some good shows back on the telly.

And so I am keeping my fingers crossed for a few more weeks of Autumn weather. I don't expect every day to be glorious, and I certainly don't expect the leaves to stay on the trees indefinitely. But a little sunshine, some decent autumn colour and a chance to enjoy it before the winter sets in would be  welcome indeed.

Perhaps I'm asking too much. We'll see.

Drumkeeran

Who could have imagined back then that our cheaply processed and terribly disappointing photographs could, more than half a century later, be brought back to their full digital glory? There may have been plenty of photographs of the young brother, but hardly any of the beloved red dog. And while the photographer delights in her restored memories, her pleasure is tempered by prophecies of doom and the coming end of the world. How fleeting is happiness.

Six Years Since I Crashed Out of the Treehouse

This morning Bert asked,

How long is it now since you crashed through the treehouse?

I told him I couldn't remember exactly but I'd look it up.

So I did. It was just over six years ago. I told him. He said,

You must have been some weight back then.

The cheek of him!

I said,

It was nothing to do with my weight. It was because of your rotten trapdoor.

Everything not good always turns out to be Bert's fault.

He said,

Six years ago. You'd have been the same age as I am now.

I said,

True. And you know you'd not survive a fall like that.

He agreed. Anyway - here's a post I wrote a few days after my fall.

Blackbird Again

This is Mr Blackbird earlier this evening singing as loud as he could to drown out the Dreen Road traffic. This picture was taken from ground level. He is sitting at the very top of a very tall and dying ash tree.

Four days now since I fell out of the treehouse and there is something to add. Two feet, for the drop was twelve-foot, rather than ten.

Every day I'm a little less sore than I was the day before, and yet...

On Day One I was super-hyped on adrenalin and glad to be aliveness. The pain was almost a joy to me because I had survived the fall with no serious injury.

Day Two was more of the same but with less pain.

On Day Three my left breast was really sore. As always, I went to That Place. Then Bert noticed that there were a lot of butterflies in the garden. Mostly Small Tortoiseshells and a couple of Red Admirals. I grabbed my camera.

I spent a happy half hour taking pictures. And afterwards, the breast pain had completely eased. Not cancer then, just boob whiplash.

Today, Day Four. Just one sore area, somewhere under my left shoulder-blade. It was really annoying, much less bearable than Day One's multiple pains. I succumbed to pain relief even though it was against medical advice.

I have been thinking about the fall and have figured out why I got off so lightly. My legs must have got caught up in the trap door cover so than when I landed on the ground I only impacted my shoulders and upper back. My head, lower back and limbs were entirely unhurt apart from abrasions and a big bruise on my right arm where it caught one of the wooden struts holding up the platform. The strut broke, my arm did not. Zoe said I'm as hard as nails. I hope she's right.

Today I took some pictures of our flycatchers. Himself sitting on the sumach outside my window.

 
Herself sitting on their second clutch of eggs. They are a busy pair.

I might go out now to see if I can catch a glimpse of the long-eared owl babies that are hopping around the big trees at the back of the sheds. That is the second pair of long-eared owls that have nested here this year. One pair in the middle of the wood and another pair nearer the house. The young ones kick up quite a racket after dark.

The Camp

 When Martha and Evie were younger, their dad built a camp in the wood. He went to a lot of trouble with it, as the pictures show, and back then they used it a lot. But children grow up, and their own comfortable bedrooms are often more appealing than roughing it in the woods. Even though there would always be s’mores.

The camp still gets used, though. Some of our friends with young children spend the occasional night in the woods, and although Martha and Evie never go there now, we do have a regular pair who camp out at least twice a month. That would be Ben and Sara.

Those two love the camp. You would never think that they have their own comfortable home a couple of miles from here. They love listening to the birds and whatever other creatures might be about. I'm sure badgers and foxes must pass them by during the night. 

It hasn’t always been occupied by such wholesome campers. There were the 'hallions'. These guys were friends of Bert and Ben’s dad, and they used the camp on a couple of occasions. Dave was not pleased, for he felt the site had been disrespected. There might have been a broken beer bottle. Or two.

Our dogs love Sara and Ben’s camping nights best and will go out with them to help set up camp. Often, Bert will have to go and collect them around 10 or 11 pm, as we worry that they might, Jess especially, get disorientated in the dark.

It’s not just that they love Ben and Sara; they love campfire cooking too. For there are always sausages.

Jess has been a bit of a worry lately. At almost 14, she has been losing weight and becoming increasingly fussy about food, despite several visits to the vet and our efforts to tempt her with different things. So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened last night.

She was discovered stealing the camper's chicken, carefully opening a packet of three, selecting one and wolfing it down raw.

No need for me to worry about her calorie intake last night. The old rascal is clearly taking matters into her own paws.

Yet I’ve never spent a night in the woods. I can’t imagine I’d be as comfortable there as I am in my own cosy bed, and the number of times I need to get up for a pee during the night would make it somewhat impractical. But I’m pleased that others enjoy it, and glad that it’s there for them. And whenever I see the camp being used and enjoyed, I remember that it’s all because of Dave that we have it.

And sometimes, in the morning,  Jess returns to the camp to see if there are any forgotten sausages. If not, she curls up in the tent for another sleep. Photo courtesy of Ben.

Hello, Goodbye

 

I’m aware that it’s been a while since I last posted to Nelly’s Garden. My excuse? I’ve said hello to the Norfolk branch of my family, then, six days later, goodbye. That goodbye was followed, a couple of hours later, by a hello to Vancouver Brother, who stayed for four nights before I had to say goodbye to him this morning. Then it was hello to my Ballymena family for half a day, followed by goodbye some six hours later.

Which leaves Nellybert all alone with the cats and dogs…

Oh! I forgot about the hens. I said hello to two new hens - the first fowl I’ve had for several years.

So, it’s been a rather busy few weeks of family hellos and goodbyes.

Saying hello. Their first evening in County Antrim. They are back in Norfolk now. I hope to get over there myself early next year.

Their mother and I managed a day to ouselves at the Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann in Belfast . She worked the pint and I took the picture. We had the best time. Roll on 2027.

The brother and Zoe on Waterfoot Beach. I was sad to say goodbye to him this morning. He’s in London this evening with London Sister and Ganching, together to mark the first anniversary of Jonny’s death.

And as Vancouver Brother lost his partner at the beginning of July, there will be a lot of love and some sadness as they gather together tonight.

So many hellos and goodbyes in such a short space of time. Cherish your darlings.

Birthday Memories

Our mother was born 100 years ago today. Here are seven photographs of her with each of her seven children. I think they show how much she enjoyed spending time with us - just as much as we enjoyed being with her.

 Martha Byrne, 28th July, 1926 to 27th April, 2011

Trefor to Broughton: The Journey

 The Long Way to Broughton

The final part of our trip took us to the tiny village of Broughton, close to Monknash Beach. It made for a long drive as we had decided to take the scenic inland route.

Our way took us past Dolgellau and we both felt a little pang, for we’d enjoyed our time there. As we headed towards Betws-y-Coed, the scenery became increasingly dramatic, with mountains rising above deep green valleys and grey stone villages.

A Stop in Betws-y-Coed

Our first coffee stop was Betws-y-Coed. My first impression was of a picturesque, wooded village, and a very tricky parking meter in the car park beside St Mary’s Church, where some fellow travellers came to our rescue.

We found a coffee shop right beside the historic railway station and, as we sat sipping our coffee and looking out over the platform, I thought how much my train-mad grandson would have enjoyed being there. I also got chatting to a woman from Perth, Australia, who helped me with the pronunciation of Betws-y-Coed.

Edith the Rhino, the bottle-top sculpture at Betws-y-Coed railway station. She was created by environmental artist Jacha Potgieter as a recycling/conservation project.

Rhayader

We’d previously passed through Rhayader on our journey to Dolgellau, but my sister thought it might be worth a stop on our journey to Broughton. And so it was.

It is an attractive market town in the heart of mid-Wales, standing where the rivers Wye and Elan meet. Surrounded by the Cambrian Mountains, the countryside is very popular with tourists who enjoy outdoor pursuits, and the town’s shops reflect this.

Rhayader is famous for its red kites and there is a feeding station just outside the town. But we didn’t go there, having observed our fair share of red kites in Dolgellau.

We had a bite to eat in the Old Swan Tea Rooms, situated at a crossroads, and watched articulated lorries laden with timber negotiate the corners, an impressive, if slightly frightening, sight. We had already noticed a lot of these huge lorries on the roads around Rhayader and soon discovered why: we were travelling through one of the main forestry areas of Wales. It explained both the plantations we had been seeing and the seemingly endless procession of timber trucks.

Rhayader turned out to be an interesting little town and we spent some time wandering around its shops. There were several selling antiques, vintage pieces and all sorts of things that invited a good look. A shop in West Street was memorable, partly because of the delightful young person looking after it, who was friendly, slightly quirky and extremely helpful. My sister bought some Welsh pottery and I came away with a couple of old Penguin paperbacks.

On West Street, Rhayader 

Back to the car, it was time to continue our journey. By this time I was more than a little weary, and so was the driver. We’d covered a lot of Wales in one day and had experienced some beautiful scenery, which continued to change as we travelled back towards the coast. When my sister finally parked the car outside our last port of call, not a wheel would turn again until we left for Cardiff Airport on Saturday morning. In Broughton, we walked everywhere.

And that part of our trip surely deserves a post of its own.