Pond Dipping....

I have been increasingly determined to clean our wildlife pond, the weed has taken over and several of our pond plants are now Amazonian, plus grass from the bank and several years of leaf fall has begun to clog the water. There is nothing better than looking into a pond to watch the wildlife but lately we've seen diddly-squat!

Though I'm feeling a bit low with a cold, the weather is fantastic and so I decided today was the day. Hubbie was more interested in lighting a fire in the garden to burn away last spring's apple tree's prunings to help me so I duly donned the thigh length waders, snapped on some yellow marigolds and my zippy mac and walked, [John Wayne like,] towards the water. One sexy lady! Not!

The sproglets weren't that interested in me, preferring dad's adventure with fire and incendiary liquids rather than my slippy, smelly task.

I stood on the edge noting that the rain had filled the pond to the brim and eyed the dark water suspiciously.

'Are you sure you've been right into the middle of the pond with these waders on?' I shouted to Hubbie.

'Yes, in the summer remember?'

I couldn't really.

I started in the shallow pond, the place where the frogs and toads choose to lay their spawn. Gathering great handfuls of grass, leaf and weed I placed my harvest on the bank, hoping that disturbed creatures would crawl back into the water later. The pond gained a bit more depth and I, satisfied with my progress, moved on to the abyss, the bigger kidney shaped pond.

I first toured the edge again tearing away lengths of grass and armfuls of weed.

'Don't forget to pick up the waterlily so we can re-pot it,' called Hubbie.

'Will do' I said. This was going well. I felt very Monty-Donish.

It was tricky to see the lily, its rotting foliage was a couple of feet down towards the centre of the pond but I made my way gingerly towards it.

Ponds are slippy. [Not something of a surprise to you Dear Reader I'm sure.] I let out a sad, girly shriek as I realised my legs weren't as long as I'd like them to be.

The feeling of waders filling with sulphurous pond water is not one I'm going to forget any time soon and I was so heartened to see my delightful family on the bank as they charged over to laugh, check if I was drowning support me from the bank.

I carried on regardless, as I am a hero, though my movements were much slower as my legs felt like they'd each eaten a traditional British 3kg Christmas cake. With help from the sproglets on the bank (after they'd finally stopped giggling,) I manoeuvred a metre square island of reed grass to the side of the pond however, even with the help of Hubbie, we couldn't pull it out. In spring when the grass is less mushy to drive on, we'll put a tow rope around it and use the Discovery to yank it out.

All-in-all the job was completed well. The worst part of the task was trying to get back out of the pond and then having to lie on my back on the grass with my legs straight up, draining the fluids from my boots into my pants. At this exact moment a delivery van came to a halt on the drive; an online shopping delivery. The driver looked frightened, we didn't explain and he left very quickly. I'm glad he did leave, as the family insisted I strip on the doorstep before sending me for a shower. Apparently I didn't smell very nice. Fussy, fussy, fussy.

What's next? Bring it onnnnnnnn!

SOME DAYS LATER: Shush!! [whisper].......... I've just confessed to the Hubby that I've killed yet another mobile phone. This one was in my jeans pocket (i.e close to my pants) during the wader waterfall experience..... Dead mobile phone now resides in a jar filled with rice. Knickers! I'm banned from phone-owning.... will never get my hands on a bloody iPhone now! Bum!

4am

I woke at silly o'clock today. I could have just laid there, warm and toasty, but my brain was awake too, listing things I could do quietly with the couple of hours before the household awoke: Read, make cheese scones ('oh, not enough cheese,') rewrite the white board diary in the kitchen, bake with the surplus eggs..... Write.

Downstairs the cats were surprised by me, they blinked in the light, stretching and rubbing up against me hoping it was time for an early breakfast. I busied myself trying to light the log burner, the only source of heat in the kitchen.

After several attempts at the fire I had to admit defeat. I just didn't have enough kindling. I listened and noted that the storms of yesterday had passed by so, donning my new, [well, hand-me-down, Jules Wellibobs donated by a lovely friend,] I firmly tied my dressing gown hitched up my thermals and went out gently into that good, dark night.

There was a stillness to the land, a pre-dawn calm. Even rooster, locked in his box, was quiet, most likely asleep. The stars littered the sky and the distant glow of the city, maybe 50 miles away, burnished the horizon.

It's not far to the log shed, out the front door and up the drive towards the stables. Pink was the first to hear me as she lay in the field over the hedge. I noted her soft needy tone. Alerted to my presence Snowy and Moon, bleated hellos too. I could picture them bedded down in the grass;. big sheep now, not the tiny lambs I raised by bottle.

'Morning girls' I whispered and they bleated again but I could tell they were still in their same positions, they knew it wasn't yet time to get up.

In the wood shed I shone my torch and selected a good box of kindling, prepared by hubby in early Autumn.

*

And now I'm by the crackling fire, talking to you. Tabby, the bigger cat has a cold and has crawled up to my lap for extra warmth. He sneezes occasionally and nips me on the hand as I type, just to remind me that he's here.

It's 5.10.

Last night the 10yo finished reading my children's book Nancy, Peggy and Susan. First Freedom. [Available at Amazon for Kindle Lulu for ebook download and Barnes and Nobel for Nook.] She'd asked me to read her the last chapter which was a privilege. There's a little twist in the ending and I'd wondered if it was obvious. It wasn't. As I began to build up to the secret she stopped me and excitedly described what she thought was going to happen. As I revealed the plot she squealed and demanded I hand over my Kindle, determined to read for herself. She was convinced I was making up words rather than reading them. She had been wrong and the twist had caught her out. It was exactly the reaction I was hoping for when I wrote the story some four years ago. Priceless. A moment I'll treasure.

Well I'm off to make tea and begin the process of re-reading my long abandoned novel.... a fictional version of The Archers at The Larches with the temporary title of The Perrys at The Berries. I think I put it aside in order to learn more about the land, animals and me as a writer, but now I suddenly feel compelled to finish.

Have a good day, I think I shall.

Larchingham Palace....

Well, this morning the smell has abated. (If you're unsure of what I am talking about, take a peek at yesterday's post, I'm too annoyed to repeat the story...) I presume the reason for the smell dilution is because we live in a sizeable, draughty house where the sash windows are just about to fall out. This creates a weather system inside the house and allows troublesome odors to dissipate quickly. No need for fancy air fresheners here! Humph!

Last night, after the smokehouse cleared and I escorted, out of the doors and windows, every bit of heat from the house that we'd accumulated since early November, I began to worry about the hubby: (You can never worry enough really. As an aside, all the people I know who worry a lot are slim...... I am fat!) Anyhoo, the snow was getting pretty bad and he'd borrowed my sledge car for the day, leaving us with Dizzy.

The stink from the damp fire was still revolting so I stomped out into the black and white and returned with my wheelbarrow. (I love my wheelbarrow.... roll on Spring.) With Kevlar fire gloves I weight-lifted the entire wrought-iron log basket, still smoking, into the wheelbarrow and raced it out the front door and out into Home Field. The offending logs and coal are now a part of the prep for next year's Bonfire Night Party.

*

Hubby finally made it home. Shaking, he said hello and immediately fixed himself a drink. Bad journey home; it's the last 10 miles that really scuppers us.

He was so traumatised he didn't even register the smoke damage, except to tell me that that particular chimney doesn't have a cowl. The chimney was probably blocked with snow and ice.

After a bath I almost smelled human. I sat with hubby in the kitchen, the children safely tucked up in beds and bedrooms that smelled like lapsang souchong tea,.... but I was warm by the log burner (that doesn't smoke) and I was very comfy too, till my arse, 'scuse the French, fell through the ancient new thrones fireside chairs we've treated ourselves to as a Wedding Anniversary present. Anyhow, it appears that one of the struts holding the springs in place had pinged off. Hubby - mender of the universe - soon had it fixed and my bottom was soon safely on my rightful throne....... just the one cheese scone with a slice of cold ham and a glass of wine beside me. See I'm cutting back already.

So, this morning we just smell vaguely like we live on a charcoal farm..... Delightful.

[If you receive this post as an email, click on the BLUE blog post title to go through to my blog site. Thank you for subscribing. Lou.]

Not Good. Bad end to a good day.

We had a great day today, sledging, art and craft, I even claimed back the playroom. It looked beautiful. Oh yes, good day. The snow really started to fall too, it looked wonderful.

The playroom looked so good I thought I'd evict the kids from the kitchen where their school desks have moved to; complete with glue, Plasticine, sellotape, paper, scissors, everything arty, plus Lego.....and then there's the glitter.... .... shudder!! I wanted my kitchen back..... to be kitchen-y.

I called Hubby;

'Come home now, the snow's really bad' I pleaded.

'I will leave soon, but I've got to finish this meeting,' he said. 'But my battery's almost out on my phone so I'm switching off now in case I need it desperately later.'

I lit the open fire for the sproglets in the playroom, using up a shake of the old coal from the derelict cottage, I stuck a Santa movie on the 'video machine' .... yes they really DO still exist and settled the kiddies down on the big old sofa.

Soon the smoke started and started and started and billowed and plumed and engulfed the room then the hall and then the hallway.

It was so bad I googled how to put out a wood fire before finally chucking a huge bucket of water on it.

The house smells awful. I want to cry and I can't even contact Hubby.

My throat is raw but the babies are fine I tucked them in the kitchen while the inferno stank my house out.

Sometimes life sucks.