We might not have had much real summer weather this year, and my own season began to turn with the celebration of Lammas and the beginning of the grain harvest a month ago, but last Saturday, meteorological summer certainly went out on a high! Perfect clear blue skies, hot golden sunshine and the mountains, still purple with the last of the flowering heather, covered in a fair-weather haze. When the British Isles enjoys such weather, you can’t get much better than that.
To celebrate, we bundled our two ancient Labrador dogs into the back of the car and grabbed our swimming things and set off for our nearest local beach at Dinas Dinlle.
The dogs, sisters from the same litter, are now approaching their fourteenth winter. Stella, who suffered a stroke last autumn, managed to topple off the edge of the raised concrete path to the beach, but still made it down to the edge of the sea where she simply sat in the whispering wavelets as they almost imperceptibly rolled in over the warm golden sand. Our other dog, Melangell, got herself further out into the water and attempted a semi doggy-paddle with her front legs whenever she felt the water lift her off the seabed, whilst her back legs sort of did their own thing as they stumbled behind her.
Melly enjoying the sun, mistress of all she surveys
In their younger days, both these animals were strong and enthusiastic swimmers. A little of my heart broke to witness their physical deterioration and difficulties, and then I berated myself for being so negative. At least they were on the beach and in the water and still enjoying themselves.
Stella takes a breather
Perhaps my reflections were a touch anthropomorphic as I also hobbled out into deeper water feeling unsteady and vulnerable. But the water was simply divine! The sea was so incredibly calm and clear… and warm. One of the marvellous things about this particular beach is that at whatever stage the tide may be at, there is a sandy-bottomed stretch of at least fifty metres which never gets deeper than chest height – perfect for even younger children to try out their swimming skills. I plodded about in waist-deep water to exercise and strengthen my painful knees, and then bobbed about blissfully, feeling totally at one with the elements and seasonal turning of the tide… – how different from the rough weather of recent weeks and doubtless the coming storms of autumn!
Nor did I just sense the rhythms of the Earth on this glorious day, but also my connection to every corner of that Earth. Once, when I was much younger and standing on a dockside, it suddenly struck me that the water in front of me was connected to the water which comprised every other ocean and surrounded every other continent on the planet. In almost being able to touch that water, I felt that I could almost touch and connect to every other place too – that it was all within reach and all personal to me. That sensation has never left me… one of community, connection and closeness.
Later, we all stretched out in the sunshine to dry off and catch our breath, and simply appreciate this wonderful day… and be thankful for what we all had in this hour… this minute. Away went the sadness of regret for youth and health, for other seasons and summers now long gone. It was replaced by deep gratitude for these few precious moments, sitting comfortably and enjoyably together on a perfect afternoon in a stunning location besides a benign and beautiful sea. Truly a memory to cherish in the winter days to come.
A work of art? Yes. Now don’t laugh! I know it’s a ball of wool… in fact, a very large, colourful ball of wool. And I know that we are still in the middle of summer… but all these colours and shades speak to me of autumn – of brisk morning walks amongst trees ablaze with colour, of falling leaves, seer grasses, ripe fruits, of smoking bonfires, pastures of russet bracken, gentle mists and soft rain-filled afternoons with toasted crumpets by the fire and so on.
This is a big celebratory weekend for my family. The house is warm with all the candles, lanterns and illuminated pumpkins; decorated with photos and mementos of past family members and fragrant with spices from baking the baking of ‘soul cakes’. The Ancestor Tree stands on the table in the hall. Two cauldrons adorn the hearth, reminiscent of Ceridwen’s mighty Cauldron’s of Regeneration. A glow of connection and coming together permeates the whole house and a frisson of excitement tingles through the air.
It is an extremely grey, wet, stormy afternoon in deepest autumn. With a second ‘lockdown’ just begun, the road outside is totally deserted. I have just popped into the dining room to look something up in one of my recipe books and am sat in a chair by an cold,empty, ash-filled grate. We do not light the fires in all the rooms every day and are gradually changing over to enclosed log burners anyway, but it seems a very chilly and sad prospect.
Out until twilight this evening in Beddgelert forest, gathering the abundance of the woodland for a workshop I am leading this coming Sunday afternoon. It is part of the ‘Vibrant Vegan’ retreat at Trigonos and I am busily assembling baskets and baskets of acorns, beech and alder masts, hazel nuts, heather, berries and foliage to provide the twenty-two participants with enough living potential to make autumnal door wreaths, broaches, table decorations and – lastly – cute little fir cone gnomes.
