What's Another Year?

Journey's End 2012 -
try to keep within the speed limit!

It's the night before the page is turned and lifted on the 2013 calendar. The year we called 2012 is done and dusted, and while it can be a drag to dwell on what is passed - it's good to reflect on the highs and lows, and the lessons learned along the way. Maybe even the lessons ignored that we - inevitably - will face again once we are better able to take them on board. 

The year started fairly quiet for the folk of Holly cottage. The day job always kicks into extra high gear in early January and the delights of budgets and five year plans always seem to crush any pleasures save for the thrill of a lie in at the weekend, a bit of digging in the garden in winter sunshine and maybe even a trip to the cinema. I took the plunge last January and signed myself up for a creative writing course under the tutelage of Adam Wyeth - a poet based in West Cork and part of the Creative writing Ink initiative set up by Olive O'Brien. It was a great way to spend the dark winter nights - lots of weekly assignments and critique of my own writings. Plenty of lessons learned there and plenty to make the winter nights more meaningful that switching the tv on - highly recommended even you are only half interested in writing. It definitely revealed some of the cliches and pitfalls of writing creatively and thereby failing miserably. 

By March we had almost everything planted in the Holly Cottage garden - early spuds were in and onion sets were in the ground. Beans were sprouted and getting ready for the outdoors. By Easter time we had carrots, parsnips, beetroot, peas, beans, salads and seedlings in the greenhouse for tomato, cucumber, broccoli and brussels sprouts. It was all going great and we even had a week of summer in April. That was until the rain fell. From once it started to fall - it seems to me that time stood still in the garden from April to July - nothing seemed to advance or grow - except for the thriving slug population of course. It was a difficult summer, especially after three not so good ones before it. Worrying trend indeed. 

Picnic Basket's solo outing -
2012 Fungarvan

We managed to make the most of the one very sunny weekend in May - the jeep was loaded and we set off for the bright lights of Dungarvan (also christened Fungarvan after our antics there) in County Waterford. Dog was abandoned to minders so it was a puppy free and adult only weekend. Nice. This part of the country has so much to offer. We hadn't enough time to eat in every restaurant but those we did manage - Merry's and the Indian Ocean restaurant were absolutely superb and we are planning a return to the acclaimed Tannery as soon as the sun pokes it's head out the clouds and we rebuild the travel budget ;) It has a magic all of it's own - very different from the wilds of the west and calmer, yet no less seductive in its own way. We will be back ;)

In June it rained, rained and rained some more. Even in Sweden ;) Getting off the plane in Stockholm for a bit of a work thing I had dressed for sun and long lit Swedish midsummer nights - only to be met by the coldest weather recorded in a Stockholm summer. Hmm. Noticing a trend? When I got back to Ireland it was more of the same. A few days in June in the university city of Bangor (Wales) and a short day in August in Giessen in Germany proved a bit better, but not much. All over Europe and the planet Earth there were unsettling weather trends - the like not experienced before for the time of year and very unexpected. This causes problems. A wider trend then than just for poor ol' wet and soggy Ire-Land. 

Sunset on the Telford Bridge
June in Bangor Wales

And so the summer passed. I do recall that hat and gloves were required while walking the bogs in Mayo in August. And I do remember not being able to wear anything but wellies on our muddy walks through Charleville Castle woods. It was pretty miserable but we made it through - just about. Lots of Irish farmers were to the pin of their collars trying to get crops in those few good days in September and plenty was left in the field to rot. It's sad to watch crops abandoned to the wet and the mud. Something we may have to start planning for in the coming years though as the wet weather in summer seems to be showing every sign of becoming a long term trend. 

We did manage to get some sun on our toes though - remember swimming with the turtles? And all the lovely days and evenings spent hanging with the cousins watching the sunset in Barbados? If I close my eyes and concentrate I am back in Bathsheba treading my toes in the restless Atlantic foam. Home from home indeed. 

That led us to the autumn and lots of kicking of leaves in the autumn clad wood. A trip to Austria was the tonic for a yogini in need of refreshing her teaching skills; and then a December of music recording to flex the creative forces and divert the gaze from the dark and cold outside was another seasonal tonic.    

September in the Nephin Valley Mayo - Nice ;)

Sometimes I wonder how we manage to pack so much into the year - but we all do it. Look back on your own year and a whole gallery of faces and places, conversations - inner and outer - flash by. Sometimes the memory is to the fore - etched forever on the brain, like a tattoo that forms from the strength and intensity of that experience. Like watching the sunrise over the cliffs in Dungarvan that May Sunday morning or the sight of the city lights as I flew (Aerlingus of course - my superpowers not that well developed yet) over Britain in the darkness of November. Things that stay with us, that change us, that mould us. A phrase from an article, a funny picture on Facebook or an inspiring quote from Kahlil Gibran. All contributing to our own evolution. One thing's for sure we are not the same as we were when we started the journey last January 1st. 

And what for 2013? Plenty of hope, plenty of courage and plenty of gratitude for this precious life,  for what has past and what is sure to come. 

Happy New Year !

By the way - check out the youtube clip of Johnny Logan singing What's Another Year - it's a classic! Skip the first minute commentary though...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vccwzuttIQY

Christmas at Mornington (and a Holly Cottage Christmas Rose)

Quick - the Holly Cottage greenhouse is falling down!

The drama of the longest night is over, and it is the turn of Christmas to take the spotlight. Chicken Licken and Henny Penny might have been waiting for the sky to fall down, but nothing of the sort happened. Did anyone think it would? 

Here in the Holly Cottage a few things went bump alright - mostly in the night ;) The winds of Saturday night managed to take the greenhouse half down - a pitiful sight for a sunny Sunday morning. It was fixed with a few plastic ties and a bit of strategic propping - should get us through this week when there ought to be little or no cares and worries. And then the rains of the last few nights have seeped through the broken roof tile and the underlay to create a beautiful brown, foreboding damp spot on the hall ceiling - visible only this morning but hinted at for the last few weeks. Ho Hum. Dear Santa - please  send a builder and a roof fixing technician to make our Christmas dry and warm and make sure the roof doesn't fall in. Too big a job for the busy toy-giving man methinks. Let's just think positively and hope for the best...

And so yesterday, after a bit of emergency DIY on the greenhouse I headed over for the annual (and not be missed) excursion to see Katy O'Hara and the folk of Mornington House for a bit of a Christmas do. I was left to my own devices as the love of my life was stuck to the Mac keyboard mixing and adding bits to the next song to be posted on Reverberation/catherinewilkie. But not to worry, I would only have to eat and drink enough for the both of us in his absence ;)

Mornington House - home from home

I first met up with the fabulous Miss Katy O'Hara whilst working for a summer in Cape May, New Jersey over 15 years ago. There was eleven of us Irish living in a very small three bedroomed bungalow on Union St in Cape May. I slept on the floor most of the time, and even though there were many moments when friendships were tested, one or two of the girls I met that summer will be friends forever. And so, almost every Christmas for the past near 20 years, I have been heading to Katy's house in Mornington for a bit of a Christmas do - ranging from a few leftovers sandwiches on a sedate Stephen's Day to full blown New Year's Eve Black Tie Ball. It's definitely one of the best places that I know of for a party and the welcome from Warwick and Anne makes it feel like I am one of the prodigal children coming home licking my wounds after a long year on the battlefield of life. To be greeted with love and kindness and usually a full plate and glass to celebrate my return. Oh so nice.

Once inside the door of Mornington you are literally transported back in time, back about a hundred years at least - the wood panelled entrance hall, the fire-lit warmth of the 1896 drawing room and the magnificent dining room that rings with the laughter of the many candlelit dinners and glasses of wine shared there. Warwick and Anne managed to feed 40+ guests aged from 3 to 93, and keep everyone  cheerful on that sunny Sunday afternoon. Warwick was hardly without a bottle or a pot of tea in his hand to pour for man, woman or child, (plus one dog and small kitten) while Anne was overseeing the smooth running of the show. Katy and Pat - the next generation - managed to row in from the shadows making sure the 40 or so of us that rambled in from the four corners of Ireland were kept cosy for the afternoon.

Anne is Number 1 cook (follow her lovely blog http://morningtonhouse.wordpress.com) although Warwick's experience is to be also sought after. Three types of curry - ranging from creamy, fruity and spicy - nothing too hot, and all the trimmings - raita, chutney, yogurt, fruit, naan, and popadoms freshly cooked. Followed by lashings of trifle, chocolate log, meringues, apple pie and my indulgence - the annual mince pie. Now, I am not a fan of those dreadful thrown together mince pies - especially the mass produced variety - but after my own mother's, Anne O'Hara's comes in as a close second. Feeding frenzy over, and seconds had - we bathed in the warmth of the Mornington embrace.

The children chased the kitten around the drawing room, Ned the dog sniffed every trouser leg and shoe going, the donkeys - Holly and Molly - basked in the rare winter sunshine outside and the rest of us in Mornington shared the stories of the year passed and the hopes for year future. Days like that in Mornington remind me that often times friends become family, and family is of course what Christmas is all about.

Not to be trifled with ;)

And so for everyone who shares this blog - friends, family and friends not yet made - enjoy Christmas for what it is. A chance to stop and share a mince pie, or a drink with an old friend. Enjoy making new ones. And be thankful and grateful that we made it round this way again. It didn't quite work out like that for Chicken Licken and Henny Penny, but they did forget to live in the present and were too freaked out worrying about future. For the future will come despite all hesitancy and trepidation, and it will pass. No doubt. 

One last thing - I wanted to share our garden surprise with you - a rogue rose that appeared in the garden this week in the midst of an overgrown mess down the back corner. A thing of great beauty in otherwise darkened surroundings - our Christmas rose. A Happy and Peaceful Christmas to all from the Holly Cottage gang. Enjoy it wherever you are.

Our Christmas Rose

Making Music in the Dark

"Ah yes, guitars a bit higher methinks..."

The last week has gone by in a bit of a blur - maybe it's the barely lit days; the fact that the glorious sun struggles to lift itself above the trees to brighten the Holly Cottage garden; or maybe it is just the time of year when all days seem to be building to the crescendo of holidays and time off work and an end of year breather to unwind and stay by the fire for at least three days in a row without having to drive somewhere. 

Sunday was a glorious day here - the one day in weeks where after a late breakfast I chose to linger in the garden and get a few jobs done. You know - the kind of day when the wellies are on and you're in no rush to retreat to the warmth of the fire because the sun is actually doing its job - warming your face and hands, and making otherwise-dreary winterscape golden. I took to pulling frost ridden spinach out, digging more sweet parsnips and the last of the sadly overdone turnips, and weeding out the few stray dandelions and young buttercup scourges that seeded themselves over the summer. I dug out the scraggy, slug-haven chives that originated two years ago from Cappaduff farm - we have loads more new plants - chips o' the old chive -  to replace that collapsing mess. I'm sure it's a good idea to replace old herb plants for new from time to time, but we'll stick with the hardy and generous thyme and rosemary plants for another season...oregano will more than likely be replaced in the spring. In terms of our limited space and general organisation we are faced with the reality that you really can't grow herbs and strawberries in one bed - especially when the strawberry runners are so enthusiastic and eager as to overgrow everything - rhubarb included. Some slight rearranging required there for the spring. 

Sunset at 4pm in midlands Ireland

On the inside - we've started to work on the green tomato chutney, having finished the last of the tomato chilli jam (see previous posts for details). Having just finished a block of gouda with the green tomato deliciousness - seriously, don't  pass up on an opportunity to make your own form of relish or chutney. It's one of the most rewarding things - along with the strawberry rhubarb jam - that brings the taste of summer to the winter table and helps in the good fight against the effects of winter darkness.

That said, it's hard to find any space these days on the Holly Cottage kitchen table. It seems to - nay, it has - been converted into a makeshift recording studio - not complaining! Both of us have been writing songs for years, and really most of those have been sitting wasting away in the corners of our minds for years if not decades. And so, this winter the aim is to get at least one song recorded and uploaded a week. The going is good this week - we have two of Craig's done and working on a second one of mine as I write - some spanish guitar playing in my ear going into the truly useful and easy to work GarageBand (more like kitchen band when you think about it).

It's great. Great to finally release these children into the cyber world for the amusement and hopefully pleasure of anyone who has time to listen. I always felt a bit weird about recording my own songs - always felt a bit like why would anyone bother to listen - always a bit shy about showing them off to the world - obstacles of the mind really. But, I don't think like that now. Any thought, any creative idea should be pursued. If it stays with you for a while, if it grows into something bigger, if it keeps growing - follow your instinct. Pursue that thought. For if in its creation and its fruition, that sound or expression of you, resonates with the rest of the world - even a small part - then its job is done and it is free.

http://www.reverbnation.com/catherinewilkie

http://www.reverbnation.com/craigwilkie

Finally - check out Holly's christmas time hair do...

"Did someone think this was a good idea?"

Making the Most of Darker Days

Winter sunset - blurring the boundaries between light and dark 

We wake in the dark here now, and we come home in the dark. The light creeps in slowly from the east from about 7.30am - not fully bright until after 8am - at which the time the car engine has been started and the slow winter ritual of teasing ice off car windows and mirrors begins. This morning-ritual ice-melting phase is pushed along with generous helpings of warm water from the Holly Cottage kitchen tap - steam rising as melting ice on car windows meets warm water meets cold air of December morning. And we shiver as we wait in the cold car for the windows to clear. Holly sits in the boot of the jeep wondering why there is no movement - c'mon let's go to the bog! - and I try to console myself in the knowledge that in 10mins we will at least have started the journey to work. However long it may take. It's the same story all the way up and down the street. Busy working class folk trying to get there on time, children wishing the snow would fall so school might be cancelled, and then me and the Holly dog sitting, waiting, car engine ticking over...waiting, waiting....watching intricate patterns of melting ice disappear as the sun too begins to rise over the roof tops of midlands Ireland.  

BRRRRR ;)

The cars crawl along the roads these mornings, ours crawls too. Too many skids and near misses, as well as several hits have taught me to be patient and respect the lethal power of ice and cold. And really - what can't wait for the cold claw of nature to thaw and release? Sure - there's the antsy boss or the cranky teacher, but you know what? There are forces stronger than them that must be obeyed.

And what waits for us? What promise of light before us? Truth told, another two weeks of this relentless dominating darkness and cold. Less than two weeks really. For by that time, on the holy day of December 21st, the tilt of our planetary home starts to reverse in our favour - sorry about that southern hemisphere ;) - and the light comes back. It is the winter solstice - the longest night or the shortest day, call it what you will.  In a moment of madness - nay, near insanity - I once climbed Knocknarea in County Sligo on a dark and foggy morning of December 21st. How I made it to the top unscathed, I'm not so sure - it's a slippy and rough climb at the best time of the year.  I guess I thought I might greet the sunrise on this pivotal day - welcome back the sun and all - and that might mean something more than just another day. But the fog took the hope of magical sunrise and killed it ;) 

Us enlightened folk of the 21st century know the story of planetary motion well of course and for most of us the winter solstice probably passes by un-noticed, un-significant. But in days long ago, one might never be so sure that it - the friendly warming sun that allows life on Earth - would return. More than 4,000 years ago the people of Newgrange in Ireland followed the path of the sun and moon more closely and the return and lengthening of the light from that day in cold December marked the gift to live another year, to sow and reap crops and revel in their harvest. 

And so too for us in the Holly Cottage garden. There is little in the depressed vegetable patch now save the cold-defiant celery and spinach, and the Brussels sprouts to be picked for Christmas dinners. The garlic must go in the ground soon - before the shortest day - so there is some real urgency to complete that task. But that is really it, for now. I generally use this time to sit back and reflect. To watch the light fade on another year, like the fading credits at film's end. To think about the good, the bad and the ugly; the relishing of beetroot; the relentless rhubarb; the unfortunate blight afflicted spuds; the astronomical bounty of strawberries....and the hours spent doing forward bends on endless rows of weeds. All the other stuff too of course - the trials and tribulations of work, the global travels - the general ups and downs, and sidewards bends and twists of being human.  

Morning sun - winter in Lough Boora

And so, you will understand now when I write that this week was tough for us lovers of the light. Next week will be tougher, most likely the toughest. But after that - from Friday week - the light will return and we will sigh relief and yell bring it on for another year. In the meantime for these short few days left ahead, we wait...and we wait...with patience and some surprisingly resilient philosophical endurance. Must be all that standing on one's head ;)

By the way - look out for some new music coming your way through the Holly Cottage production company. As a taster - check out this link - more on a rainy theme, something we get plenty of in Ireland...

http://www.reverbnation.com/craigwilkie/song/15426978-god-damn-rain?utm_campaign=opengraph&utm_content=song&utm_medium=link&utm_source=facebook

More to come.

Going Back to (Yoga) School

Seeing the mountains for the trees

It’s been five years since I trained to be a yoga teacher. Five years of living, loving, and getting on with the rich and challenging path that my life has taken. But no yoga teaching, not yet ;) Plenty of personal practice but I never had the time to give to a class – too busy with the day job, meeting the love of my life, traveling the world and tending to the needs of a tiny cocker spaniel and her Holly Cottage garden. It’s time to change that, time to add teaching to the mix and give something back (by the way - the more I say I'm going to, the more I'll have to do it!).

As the car approached the Sivananda ashram at the foothills of the Austrian Alps, waves of delight and joy washed over as my eyes reminded my brain of those mountains that had become friend to me during the month long TTC.  Time kicked in reverse as the car pulled up to the door and the events of the last five years melted away from me like the snows that melt away from the mountains that surround the ashram each spring.  I was back at the beginning, again.

Of course the underlying reason for my return was purely academic - to refresh my teaching skills and get ready to start teaching when I got home to Ireland. But something deeper was happening, and would continue to happen during my week there. The magic of the mountains, the magic of the ashram, that healing and nourishment, that feeling of coming home – that retreat from regular living, and the promise of pure uninterrupted yogic living for at least seven days...interesting ;)

Some of the teachers from the TTC (Teacher Training Course) were still there. Their voices were the same but their encouragement was stronger – breathe into it. In that week, I became a noble Scorpion and a determined Locust – something that five years of home practice could never achieve.  

And I remembered the very first time I walked into a yoga class on a dark winter night in the west of Ireland ten years ago - those first introductions to spinal twists and backward bends and the peace that comes with steady pose and concentration.

And I remembered the firm and gentle encouragement of my very first yoga teacher.

Yoga has given me inner strength I didn’t know I had until I was tested, and really tested again. And yet I know that I am so near the beginning.  Some mornings as I head into the world, I am filled with excitement of the prospect of a new day – what it will bring and where it will end.  For at the end of everyday and every experience, we are changed and we are new. And so everyday we begin again, somewhat different yet always new.

And so I am ready to begin, again ;) Student come teacher, come student again. 

http://www.sivananda.at/en/index.html

Winter Thoughts (and a beetroot chocolate cake!)

Leaves undone

It's official. Winter is truly, deeply and darkly upon us. The darkness is winning over the light, and the light - when it comes - is filtered only through a thick blanket of cloudy grey and eerie frosty mists that may or may not lift on any given day. But the sun is always there - we see it every now and then - strong and giving and golden and welcome. A reminder of what has been and what will come again. It's just that the other side of the world is feeling it's loving more. For some months now the tilt of the Earth and the seasonal change in day length will halt further growth and we must wait until spring time to get digging in the garden. The beech trees that had clung to last summer's leaves are now delivered into stark winter nakedness. How can that feel? Only the ivy, the holly and the yew hang on to their glossy dark green leaves in defiance of winter. 

I spent the last week in Austria where winter has an edge on our dark and damp Irish version. In Austria the snow was just about to land. The Austrian alps were already covered but lower hills and ski slopes waited keenly for the promise of their winter white blanket. The experience of winter there is more white and bright than grey and damp. As I write here at the kitchen table in Holly Cottage, my eyes are drawn to the cold grey rain outside our sheltering windows that has been falling through the night. And I draw the blanket closer about me as if to shield me from its cold creep, and keep my own inner fire bright, un-dampened, protected.

Holly guarding the beetroot

It's not easy, this kind of winter. But it's what we have been given. It stops us in our tracks. It demands slow down. Stop digging. Think about when and where you need to drive. Rest. Time for looking outwards is reduced to daily walks on frosty paths or muddy fields. Or a run in the dark of an early morning. Doors are only opened for necessary seconds now, saving precious warmth from its escape. Time for looking inwards now. Time for taking the ashes out daily. Time to tend the fire so that it will burn through the short days and cold nights. All through this winter, and this seasonal night. 

But it's not all dark and brooding ;) More time to enjoy the gifts of summer past. This week's gift is dark and sticky, sweet and sating beetroot chocolate cake - yum! I found this recipe  in a Rachel Allen book while waiting on the homeward bound train in Heuston one cold dark evening. It is the perfect fit for the last of the beetroot that really should be a staple in every Irish garden. From relishing it, to roasting and boiling it. It's a gift in itself. 

Made for each other ;)

Take 10oz of raw beetroot and boil for about a half an hour until cooked. Then rub of the skins, chop into pieces and pop into a blender until its finely chopped, smooth. Melt 9oz of chocolate - use the best available. For example Shana Wilkie's ;) www.WilkiesChocolate.ie Cream 9oz of butter, add 11oz of caster sugar and blend until smooth and creamy in texture. Gradually add three beaten eggs, making sure to beat in-between adding the eggs. Then add in the beetroot and the melted chocolate. It might look a bit psychedelic - enjoy it! Then sift and fold in 3oz of flour and 2oz of cocoa. I used a 8inch round tin with a removable base - make sure to line it with parchment paper. Then into the oven at 180 degrees until firm to touch - Rachel says 30-35mins but we left it for a good 50 mins. Allow to cool in the tin before taking it out. 

Winter Path

A word of warning. This cake is absolutely divine. You may feel the need to eat it all in one sitting. But don't ;) Take a decent sized slice and have it with vanilla ice cream - we also tried it with banana and chocolate ice cream easily sourced from Lidl. What a wonderful accompaniment to those winter thoughts.....it can only make them better.

Ten Things I Learned from Holly

Holly sleeping...awww

It's Friday evening. That's always a good thing of course, a bonus. End of the working week and all for us Monday to Friday people. It never shuts the brain off really though, does it? I generally find that it takes a good dinner, good company and the promise of an easy Saturday to really switch over, even if that is after an incessant rant while concocting the Friday night dinner creation.

Tonight however, I am feeling particularly sorry for myself - never a good thing! It's a mixture of the usual stuff - worn out from the intensity of the demands placed on my shoulders by others during the week, trying to protect the interests of the human and non-human colleagues (that'll be the inhabitants of the wetlands and woodlands outside the window ;)) And biggest of all - I am a widow to the job that has the dearest person in the world to me videoing some conference or other in a fancy hotel in Dublin. Sigh.

And so I am home alone with the dog. And as soon as I write these words, I can't but smile :)

Holly was an idea in our minds for about a year before she came to us. We had already bought and moved into Holly Cottage, and she is (imaginatively I know) named for the name of the cottage. For years I had been wanting to have a dog in my life - somedog to accompany me on those long and solitary fieldwork sessions up the backs of mountains and down the banks of rivers. We always had a dog when I was growing up on the farm in Cappaduff. At one stage we had two, but for the most time it was one of a succession of small terriers - Brandy, Jack, Brownie...further imaginative names like those ;) For me the dog had the same value as a brother or sister, and even one of the many cats that passed through my childhood world. My favourite memories from that time are the days and evenings walking the fields with Brownie, hunting rabbits. That's what I called it, but really it was where the rabbit or hare would run one way and Brownie was invariably so confused and excited that he would run in completely the wrong direction. Such fun times! One evening we had a surreal encounter with a lonely, somewhat ghost-like fox...more on that another time. Back to Holly.

Holly is a golden cocker spaniel. We decided two years ago - while in recovery from another long week and a late Friday night that we would finally give in to responsibility, and get a puppy. Classic young couple move - all the rest of it, you can write the book on it. Anyway, after much debate and tooing and frooing on websites, we found Holly and her siblings just an hour's drive away and ready and waiting for a suitable home to bring her to. There was eight or nine puppies in the one litter. OMG. So adorable. So cute. So like you wanted to bring them all home there and then. How to choose? I think that she chose us. She came over and sat on my shoe. Decision made.

Two years later and she is Holly Wilkie - crazy, wild, insatiable, unpredictable and completely loving. Check out the YouTube clips (see below) if you need some convincing! But she is like no other. All this week while spending most of my time with her alone, I have been musing in my head as to 'the top ten things I learned from Holly'....and so hear it goes:

1. Love - Holly has love for everyone. Unprejudiced, unconditional. You will be licked to death if not knocked over in her small - yet powerfully pawed - dog's attempt at hugging you. She absolutely loves everyone. She loves her master the best though ;) When he comes through that door tomorrow, her whole world (and mine) will be back to balance. I'm sure the neighbours hear it from a mile down the road every time, but the yelping, and crying and excited Holly sounds can last for a good 30mins after their reunion. I just wait my turn ;)

Dog Zen ;)

2. Give - As above. The un-adultered joy and love that dog has brought to our lives...for only the promise of love and walks and runs and swims and routine and dog biscuits in return.

Let's go!

3. Forgive - I am generally the one that scolds Holly, and - convinced the cliche runs true - my scolding of her hurts me more than her. While I am wracked with guilt and upset for having to chastise her - usually when she runs out on the road or does something completely life threatening, she just wags her tail and gets over it. She doesn't hold an ounce of it against me. In fact, I think she loves me more for it (probably pushing it a bit there).

4. Yoga - First thing in the morning - you got it ;) Effortless and textbook, they don't call it downward dog for nothing ;)

5. Go Wild - This dog, the bitch with the most beautiful angelic golden framed face - is not afraid to show her wild side! Again, something to learn here. I think we all benefit from unleashing our inner craziness. Better out than in ;) It can be difficult, I know this. But so enjoyable.

6. Enjoy your food - Holly knows when we turn the last bend for home. If it's the evening she knows it's her time, and she will not be calm until she has a bowl of her favourite biscuits before her. And then, after literally savaging the whole bowl in seconds, she has acquired the knack of unleashing the almightiest belching sound you ever heard! again, apologies to the neighbours. And she doesn't apologise ;)

7. Show your inner joy - She couldn't hide it if she tried! She has this tail that I'm sure must be directly linked to the pleasure centre in her brain. The swimming is the most joyous for her, or is it the thrown stick? Of course she can't hide her fear or anxiety either - that's the tell tale hair up like a shot on the back of her neck when an un-leashed other dog approaches.

8. Rest - I've watched her go from crazy and wild to complete and utter immobile relaxation all in the space of 5 mins. Impressive. Not a knot in those muscles to unravel. And when she snores...well, she puts certain people in the shade ;)

9. Live for the moment and Live simply - see all of the above :) Holly doesn't spare a moment for the past or the future, she is totally here and now in the present. Dog transcendental ;)

Throw the stick damn it :)

10. Approach life and love with utter abandon - again, probably one or two of the above combined. But watching her now sprawled out across the couch - head back, four paws in the air and yet ready in an instant to go running or accepting treats - just do it.

And there's more, but that's ten for now and Holly is ready for her run ;)

And here's Holly -

A crazy Holly -
http://youtu.be/xiG1fu9JaEI

A young Holly -
http://youtu.be/43aX5adDKLw

Dog out of Hell -
http://youtu.be/hAV1AAsN8VU

Seeing the Mystic in Falling Leaves

Journey into
the darker half of the year..Samhain

There's something completely magical about this time of the year. Not magical in the Christmas sense when artificial lights are colouring houses and trees. And not magical like springtime when hosts of daffodils bend over footpaths and otherwise dreary motorways. This is mystical magical. This is the time of year when everything that we took for granted - long summer evenings, leaves on trees and things a' growing in the garden - is taken from us. The evenings shorten, the lights come on early, the fire is lit everyday and slowly but surely things that were green and living, giving - start to decay and the boundaries between living and dying are blurred. No wonder it is the time of Hallowe'en and the time for spirits to cross over into the world of the living, reminding us of our own mortality. Us Gaels refer to it as Samhain - the seasonal festival that marks the end of the harvest or growing year and welcomes the darker half of the year until the light returns again in Bealtaine (the start of May). Samhain is essentially a festival for the dead and Bealtaine a festival for the living. Meanwhile, back in 2012 Ireland....

While we shiver and bemoan winter's return, those non-humans living closer to the march of Nature's tune surrender without a peep of discontent. Towering beech trees drop the spring green leaves of summer with a gentle shiver - not however without celebrating their passing with a veritable carnival of colour - the like of which would match the canvases of any Van Gogh or Gauguin kaleidoscope of colour. The trees' palette is mostly orange and rust and yellow and purple and green (reminiscent of The Orb's Little Fluffy Clouds anyone?) and all shades between. Walls of burnt orange tunnelling a long beech lined avenue - well, it's enough to take a gal's breath awake on a cold and bitter November day ;) I like ;)

The last three weekends we have been gifted with bright blue skies and views of the sun that would shame a summer's day in Ireland. The cold would bite the nose off you but layers of wool and soft cottons defy the wicked chill and once wellies are on, it's only a matter of minutes kicking through ankle deep layers of crispy, crinkling leaves before the warmth is back in the heart and defiance of life's hardships back in the soul. The Holly dog loves it, and her nose is well buried where newly fallen leaves meet rotting humus. What she hopes to find under all those layers I can only imagine, but the sense of joy that is conveyed by the constant wagging of golden cocker spaniel tail is testament to the joy of the woods and all that it brings her. She first came to us as a puppy in a late October, and I like to think that this is her true time of the year, and her golden coat blends well with the golden carpet that covers the woodland floor.

This one is a teaser - can you spot the Holly dog?

Other than walking the woods in our spare time, it's been pretty quiet on the Holly Cottage garden front. The first fine sunny day we had we emptied the greenhouse of collapsing tomato and cucumber plants, grow bags and all! Then it was time for washing - sudsy water to rid the plastic of the veneer of algae that had built up over summer. The job was painless and kind of therapeutic in some ways. We were reminded of the sweet cucumbers and the cherry delights that we feasted on since July, but resolve was strengthened to do a better job next year....whatever that will bring. In our autumn clean we did encounter the odd brazen slug who was hoping for a mild winter ride under a frost free ledge. Seriously, is there no end to their slug terror? In other news, all the carrots are up, a few sad turnips are left in the ground, beetroot is all harvested and a bounty of parsnips remain in the ground for the winter oven. Speaking of which...

Tonight's creation is oven baked sausages with roasted onions, potatoes and parsnips - you said it, yum ;) Cut spuds and parsnips into wedges, onions cut head to toe. Drizzle with oil, add a sprinkle of fennel and cumin seeds and some fresh thyme. Into the oven at 200deg for 30mins. Then add your favourite sausages - meat or veggie. Roast for another 20mins, let it sit for a few minutes out of the oven - if you can - and then enjoy immensely ;) It's a recipe from the captain of the River Cottage ship, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall....oh so tasty.  Check out the following link, and enjoy!
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2012/feb/24/sausage-recipes-hugh-fearnley-whittingstall

River Cottage pic..the Holly Cottage pic wasn't taken quick enough ;)

Reef thinking - tales from Madagascar

Also published in Elephant Journal November 12 2012
http://www.elephantjournal.com/2012/11/reef-thinking-tales-from-madagascar-catherine-wilkie/

For my 30th birthday I booked myself a flight to Madagascar. Too long spent on the bogs and otherwise solid Irish ground. It wasn't for the lemurs I was going, but if I did see one I wasn't going to complain. It was for the coral reefs. 

I flew out from Dublin on a cold December day and landed in a hot and steamy Tulear in the south west of the country. From there, united with a dozen or so other volunteers who had decided to give up a cosy Christmas in the  UK (I was the only Paddy), we travelled for 22 hours in the back of an army truck over the dirt-tracks of Madagascar's outback to get to our base in Andavadoka.

Pirogues moored - Malagasy fishing boats

For six weeks I lived in a beach shack with no door - if there had been a door I'm sure we wouldn't have bothered to close it. We had electricity for a couple of hours every evening. There was no internet, no phone. We got messages transmitted once a week from family by satellite phone. It was more than the locals had, but they were happier than most folk you'd meet in a busy cyber-ridden street in the developed world. This place was a paradise. It was - is - a beautifully quiet and peaceful, and un-interrupted rural corner of Madagascar. 

The research centre is tagged on to the small fishing village of Andavadoka and run by an award winning charity called Blue Ventures. The base was set up initially by a couple of UK guys who were concerned about the degradation of coral reefs globally. They were equally inspired by the pristine coral reefs off the west coast of Madagascar and the need to preserve these exquisite, vulnerable ecosystems before overfishing and pollution could wreak irreversible damage. 

I spent my first week there learning how to dive - perfect buoyancy was required for the work to be done. Further training was necessary in order to carry out the monitoring work on the reef - we each had to learn over 100 species of reef fish, coral, starfish and other reef dwellers that we would encounter. I thought it would be difficult and it was, but it was like learning the species of the Burren as an undergraduate - once you got your eye in on the varieties and colours, the differences became clear and obvious and each species became a new acquaintance, and a new wonder. 

We would wake at 5.30am and the first dive of the day would be out soon after. The mornings were calm, and I never tired of watching the local fishermen set out early in their pirogues - south bound - for the daily fishing. The wind would carry the boats easily home in the afternoon, and for this reason too most of the diving was done in the morning when the Mozambique Channel was kindest. 

The diving was superb. The silence of that underworld and the absolute beauty of the reefs that were literally just a stone's throw from our base camp perched on Coco Beach, hidden from those on land by tropical blue waters - well, it was deeply humbling and truly inspiring. Angelfish, Butterflyfish, Grouper, Parrotfish, Conger Eels, Starfish, Surgeonfish, Goggle-Eyes, Jacks, Barracuda, Anemonefish...all this life supported by a tiny, teeny life form with the ability to create superstructures of great beauty and mystery - coral. 

Mi casa, zebu casa ;)

Since that precious time spent in Madagascar I have only returned to the coral reef twice - once in Cuba and the last time in Barbados. In both places the beauties were to be seen but there was also the worrying presence of coral skeletons and foreboding algae. 

I got to worrying and found that the trend is not good for the Caribbean coral reef. All those small islands with growing populations means more fishing and more nutrient run-off. The likes of Hurricane Sandy and her sisters aren't kind to coral reefs but natural disasters coupled with overfishing, development projects, soil and nutrient run-off do not make for a bright future. Rising temperatures present another gloomy figure on the scene. In the words of Father Jack - feck. 

Beach clean up time in Andavadoka

We have to support the work of groups like Blue Ventures and we have to do what we can to raise awareness of the degradation of these spectacular ecosystems so that we can preserve their exquisiteness now and into the future. The folk at Blue Ventures work closely with the local community - approaching the problem from social, economic and environmental perspectives. More projects like this and more will be achieved. In the meantime, check out your nearest coral reef....

http://blueventures.org/conservation/

http://blog.blueventures.org/category/madagascar/

http://www.iucn.org/about/work/programmes/marine/marine_our_work/coral_reefs_and_climate_change/

Barbados - swimming with the turtles

Bajan local - peace out man ;)

It was the last day of our two week holiday in Barbados. We had been staying for most of that time in the sleepy fishing village of Shermans to the north west of the island. All said, September is the quietest time of the year for tourism in Barbados – hurricane season and all - and given that we were also in one of the quieter parts of the island, we had the luxury of soft, white sand paradise beaches mostly to ourselves and the odd local. That - coupled with traffic free snorkelling with friendly coral reef fishies and occasional turtles - equals relaxation of the highest order. Nothing prepares you though for when you suddenly see a peaceful turtle resting on a reef bed surrounded by industrious blue surgeons – him just sitting there in that silent water-world taking it all in. 

How to scream when your head’s underwater and how to remain as inconspicuous as possible despite your 2ft long fins, mask, snorkel and wildly waving arms and legs? I tried. I failed ;) He spotted us, and he gave us the most non-phased glance with the deepest, darkest, widest eyes as if to say peace out man, what’s the fuss? And with an effortless, graceful gliding movement of elegant flipper, he was gone into the deeper blue where we couldn’t follow. That was just one of the highlights of our trip. We had set out from damp Ireland, after an even damper summer and our bones were in desperate need of drying out under a cloud free sky. I knew nothing of Barbados other than time there would fulfill that need, and as always - to be prepared for the rest that may come!

You can never get tired of tropical beaches, and Barbados has ample supply. We had our own private beach on our doorstep, just down from the luxurious looking Little Good Harbour resort – Google this place, it looks amazing! But there is Accra to the south, Mullins on the mid-west, The Crane – all the tourist hotspots that are well catered for by the full range of star-rated resorts. But hop in a car, and less than half an hour drive from west coast to east coast and you are in the land of the Atlantic. No swimming here – far too dangerous. But surfer’s paradise and the complete opposite of the calm waters of the eastern shore waits.

Sunrise on the east coast...pure Santosha ;)

For me the east is the best – Bathsheba being the main focal point. Here is the west of Ireland but wearing a warmer, softer cloak. No less powerful, no less addictive and no less humbling, but no harsh breeze and water kinder to toes (less chilling), topped off with warm nights better suited for dining al fresco! We spent two nights here in the Scotland District just north of Bathsheba (www.santoshabarbados.com). Santosha is sanskrit for contentment, and Santosha - the place - is a kind of hideaway where the music is the Atlantic roar – more lioness than lion king roar ;) Great place and great therapy for those who spend (dare I say waste) hours in mindless meeting sessions in the day to day businesses of life.

Snugness - sundown view

Bajan food is great – and we mostly ate at home! We had local staples prepared for us on a regular basis by friends and family - Hyacinth’s fish cakes, flying fish and cou-cou, sweet potato and okra; Gran’s curry with sweet plantain, and peas and rice; Derek’s beer can chicken with breadfruit chips; Larry’s 10 day marinated pork; and Denis’s taste sensational saltfish bulgol – yum! The few times we eat out I had the most amazing pieces of marlin and barracuda, deep fried calamari, and red snapper. Not to mention the local Thursday and Friday night food o de pot in Braddys Bar in Shermans and the local rum shack in Moon Town (pronounced Mooon Town). De pot is generally a big one and it rests on an open flame, the food is all fresh from the sea or local fields and all meeting the highest standards of the Bajan palate.  In the shacks you’re hanging with locals – older men playing dominoes and women taking their chances with karaoke. I’ve seen some clips from Moon Town on YouTube but it ain’t nothing like the real thing baby ;) Stars on a Friday night that were cleaning houses and minding children hours before – all becoming their own Bajan version of Otis, Dolly, Patsy, Elvis…fantastic. All helped along of course by rum and coke, rum punch, rum and coconut water, rum and sprite…rum anyone? Oh yeah, and bottles of 7.5% Guinness – which they love out there – brewed in neighboring Trinidad!

The island of Barbados is surprisingly small, and surprisingly highly populated – keep your eyes open as Richard Branson’s plane drops you in. The west and south is well built up, slowly but surely spreading to the northern reaches. The east remains beautifully calm. We only met the best of people. There’s so much more to Barbados than beaches and resorts - if that’s all you need you’ll be more than satisfied. I would suggest - for a richer experience - get out of the resort and get moving with the locals, and say hello to the turtles for me :)  

We stayed in a beach house called Snugness in Shermans - available to rent. Check it out at:

http://www.bajanservices.com/index.php?RootSection=59&Section=60&PType=R&PID=1274