Time Out

I've been a bit quiet on here lately, not because I haven't wanted to blog and certainly not because I haven't had anything to say (hell would freeze over, hens would grow teeth and rocking horses would produce enough fertiliser for the whole south west before that happened), but rather because I have been on a roller coaster ride of feeling so ill and run down I could barely move one minute and working like a demon to make up for lost time the next.

My dragon fixation seems to have faded and been replaced with heads. Druids, Kings, Knights, Warriors, all have been filling my head and finding a place atop a staff. So far I've chickened out of attempting a female face - you can hide a multitude of sins with a beard- but I think I shall make that my next project. This is all new to me and I'm learning as I go. It has been frustrating at times, and some pieces have gone through several incarnations before a character has emerged that both I and the wood are happy with, but ultimately it has been very rewarding, if challenging, process.

All work and no play makes Jack this druid a dull boy however, so I haven't been entirely confined to either my sick bed or my work room. As Imbolc loomed on the horizon I was struggling to prepare for spring having not really seen or felt much of winter this year. As much as my aching bones enjoy the milder weather we had been experiencing, on a more spiritual level it seemed unnatural to be greeting Bride without having met with the Hag. With that in mind, when out running errands we spied a blanket of white across distant hills, the pull towards the Snow Queen was strong.

I am only a weak willed Druid, married to an even weaker willed witch (seriously, she was bouncing up and down with excitement, squealing 'can we go play in the snow? Can we? Can we, Pleeeease?') so we abandoned our plans, turned around the car and headed towards Dartmoor and the sprinkling of white stuff. I just can't say no to my Lady, not the one I'm married to nor the Lady of the Winter Wilds.

Dartmoor Snow

The peace I always find on the high moor was multiplied ten fold by the hazy sky and the crisp winter moor. The air was bitter cold but it told me I was alive. The wind cut like a knife but carved away all my troubles. The snow chilled me to the bone but cleansed my soul.

Hazy Dartmoor Moods

On the day before Imbolc, winter finally arrived for me.

Winter Sheep

Snow Dusted Moor

Free Will

What is it you want when you petition your Gods? When you light your candle and say your prayers? When you make your offering and listen for a response? What is it you are really asking for?

I imagine the answer to that is different for all of us, even if on the surface we are asking for the same things, be it money, love, health, protection. How many of us have given it much thought? No, I mean REALLY thought?

I'll put my hand up and say I hadn't, not really. I thought I had. I thought I had enough experience to know exactly what I'm doing each time I light a candle on my altar. It would be foolish to do otherwise, right? My prayers are second nature to me now, and I liked that. I could no more start work on something without having lit a candle, blessed my workspace and made my devotions to The Lady, than I could fly to the moon or breathe without air. It was instinctive. A ritual I couldn't imagine ever forgoing. Still can't.

But something happened recently that made me see my devotions with new eyes. When I ask a boon of The Lady am I asking her to take over? Am I relinquishing my self control? Is that really what I expect? What am I actually asking for? I have always said, always believed, that the greatest gifts She gave us are Life and Free Will.

I shouldn't work when I'm tired, I know that, nor should I work when I'm in pain. It's when I make mistakes, it's when I have accidents. I know all this and yet sometimes there is an unknown force which drives me, a need which cannot be ignored. Sometimes the wood calls to me, pesters me and will not let go until I give in and take it in my hand, turning it, feeling it, knowing it. Last Friday was one of those times. I tried to ignore the urge, I really did, but the call was strong.

I began as I always begin. I prayed to The Lady and lit her candle, I cleansed myself and my tools with purifying sage, and I asked for Her blessing on my work, that she may help me work with the spirit of the wood, and I asked for Her protection.

And then I sat down to work and dug a brand new blade into my hand.

Things had been going so well, the piece of twisted willow I was working on was positively singing. The ideas flowed freely and I felt that hope which always accompanies the start of a new piece. I was happy. And then Bam! A tough grain suddenly gave way under the knife and....blood everywhere.

It was careless, it was stupid. It was deep. And it wouldn't stop bleeding. Damn my heart and those blood thinners! And just before I left for the hospital I turned to my altar and said 'I thought you were supposed to be looking after me!' (Before anyone takes offence, I have the greatest respect for Her but she knows me and I'm a straight talker!)

My wife quite rightly pointed out then that maybe she had indeed protected me and that there was no telling what damage I would have done had She left me to my own devices.  Thank you my lovely witch, for those words of wisdom. Harsh but true! The Lady will protect me from from many things, but not from my own stupidity.

The greatest gifts The Lady gave me are life, and the free will to cut myself to ribbons if I choose.

Oh, and just in case you're wondering, the lovely nurse at my local hospital stitched me up a treat and I'm recovering nicely. But shhhh, don't tell my little witch, she might stop the extra TLC.

Giving Something Back

I had an interesting conversation with my ex-wife back in December, a very interesting conversation, and one I never expected to have. You see, she's a cradle Catholic- as are our children- and has always viewed my pagan beliefs to be, well, weird. She just didn't get it, and that was OK; each to his -or her- own, after all. Only now she does get it. Now she's kicking herself for not having seen it earlier. Now she has a deep and profound respect for Mother Earth. I am overjoyed. Not because she said 'You were right, I was wrong' (although that was good too), not because she's become a fully paid up, tree hugging, goddess worshipping member of the pagan community (because she certainly hasn't), but because it has brought her an inner peace, a connection, an understanding, and that is always good to see.

In all the hustle and bustle of pre-Yule, all the visiting family and excitement of new babies, I didn't really have that much time to think about it; it kind of got bundled up with everything else. But something my wife said to me the other day brought it back. I asked her who the candle was for, merrily flickering away in the kitchen, and she looked at me a little surprised and said simply 'I always light it when I cook.'  'Yes, I know, but who is it for?'  It wasn't for anyone specific, she told me, just a more general 'Thanks', to whoever happens to be paying attention. That seemed odd to me. When I light a candle on my altar I know exactly whom I'm lighting it for, and for what reason. I deal in specifics. For my lovely witch however, her kitchen altar is more about generalities. It says thank you for the food we have on our plates, and the hope that our bellies will always be full. It is thanks for the sun that ripens, and the life giving rains. It is thanks to the hearth spirits, and to the Earth, and a nod to whatever spirit it is who keeps pinching the teaspoons or hiding the salt. It takes in everything, and everyone, it needs to. It works for her, so who am I to question it? It takes just a moment of her time but every time she cooks, be it a slice of toast or a roast dinner, a candle burns and a portion of the meal is given, in appreciation of all we have and the light that guides and protects us. 'It's about giving something back,' she said, and is just one of the many things she does each day.

And then it dawned on her that neither one of us had answered my ex-wife when she asked what should she do to give something back? (My fault, once I get talking my mouth runs away with me and no one else gets a look in. I go off on a tangent -just like I'm doing now- and the original topic gets lost). So where was I? Oh yes, I remember. As has happened to so many people before her, my ex, having had that realisation about this land, and how we are connected to it, and what the Earth gives us, came to that ultimate conclusion. I need to give something back! But what?

As a pagan, and a Druid for many years, the answer seems simple to me now. But if I'm honest, back when it was all new, I hadn't got a clue what to do either. We take so much, we are given so much, that we find it hard to think of something suitable, something big enough, to say thank you. A prayer? a candle? An offering? How can that possibly be enough?

But then, one day the truth finally dawns. When the Lady has claimed you for her own you never stop giving back. Every thing you do is in Her honour. You give something back in a million different ways, you do it every day, every month, every year. Small things, big things, simple things, everything.

Some of us do it consciously, in a manner that is obviously 'pagan', some find ways within their more mainstream belief system, others do it without even knowing. Like my in-laws. They aren't pagan, they aren't even particularly religious at all, but they are the Lady's children, they move with Her cycles. They are connected to this Earth, and blissfully unaware, they give something back. The birds in their garden are well fed all year round, their allotment is thoughtfully tended, providing for most of their needs and cutting down dramatically their reliance on the big supermarkets, and all the waste that goes hand in hand with easy, one stop, grocery shopping. They make jams, and pickles, and beer, and wine (on a huge scale! My father-in-law is the King of Home brew), and share this bounty with family, friends and neighbours. They recycle, not just enthusiastically participating in the local scheme of doorstep collections, but anything they find that others have discarded and thoughtlessly dumped is put to good use. They go out of their way to help others, in any way they can. To them this is all just normal, everyday things, but it is still giving something back.



You can plant a forest full of oaks, or a single seed. You can whisper a prayer of thanks on the wind, or shout it to the world. You can feed the birds, or the homeless. You can commune with nature, or with the lonely in your community. You can volunteer in big environmental projects, or just pick up litter while you are out. Plant a tree, sing a song, create a wildlife pond, grow your own veg, rescue battery hens, say a prayer for road kill, take your children for a nature walk, leave the car at home, shop local, support a charity, smile and say 'hello', spread the word.

In short (if I can manage that), it doesn't really matter what you give, or even if you are consciously aware of why you are giving. It doesn't matter how you give, or the size of the offering. What matters is that you give, and give often. Just think, if every one of us were to give back one thing each day, what a difference we could make.

Turning the Pages

The valley in which our little town sits is muted by a veil of misty rain. Everything is hazy and still. The only movement I can see from my window is the swoops and swirls of gulls on the wing. All is silent, all is calm. Tonight will be very different as the streets fill with revellers, all whooping and hollering in drunken song, and the sky will be lit with fireworks in that time honoured need of the human race to mark the passing of the year.

As a pagan, as a Druid, I mark the year as it turns in many ways. Small, yet significant, ways which mark not the end of one long year and the starting of the new, but the highs and lows of the seasons, the hope and the harvest, the sun and the snows, the rains and the four winds and the turning of the tides. I know there is no end of one year, no starting of the new. Nature knows no end, no beginnings, only an ever continuing cycle. A cycle of repetition and change, of life and death and rebirth, but no endings, no beginnings.

And yet the man I am will look back on this last year and will take stock regardless, and start out with new hope, new ideas for the new year. Because I am human and it is our way. We have a need to mark the passage of time, to box up and label the memories, to start a new chapter, to pat ourselves on the back or kick ourselves up the backside- whichever is more appropriate. And hopefully from there we will build on what we have achieved, or learn from our mistakes and move on. 

Happy New Year, may 2012 be full of blessings and may you follow your dreams where ever they may lead you.

Winter Walks and Granddad Grinch

Its fair to say I'm not a huge fan of this particular season. The cold is not a friend to my aching bones and all the Christmas hype and commercialism really gets up my nose. The temptation to dig a big hole in the garden and hide there from December 1st through to January, emerging only for the Solstice, is incredibly strong. And before you cry 'Bah Humbug', I bet you'd join me if you had the chance. Go on, admit it, if you could avoid the endless and shameless consumerism, the family rows, the financial headache and the obscene over-indulgence, you would, wouldn't you?

I do however, have a confession to make. I don't hate it all half as much as I make out. But I have a reputation to keep up. Having long ago donned my scrooge cap, it is expected of me. My wife and daughter dubbed me Granddad Grinch a few years ago, and taught my second grandson to say that long before he understood what it meant. It provided much amusement for them and I was happy to play the part. But still, I think there is a tiny part of all of us that yearns for roaring open fires, roasted chestnuts, and quiet snowfall blanketing the frozen earth (as long as I don't have to go out in it). But shhhh, that's a secret. You can keep a secret, can't you?

We've just come back from a week away visiting family and doing the 'santa run'. With nine children and seven grandchildren between us (number 7 was born during our visit much to my wife's delight) santa was particularly busy this year! I got to meet my youngest granddaughter for the first time and lost my heart. She's beautiful and a real charmer at just seven weeks old. It was great to see everyone, catch up and chew the fat even though the Grinch in me is glad to be home.

While half the planet is getting excited about the imminent arrival of Santa Claus, I've already had everything I could possibly want, a beautiful new Granddaughter, a wonderful wife, and a plentiful supply of wood. Everyone from my in-laws to my ex-wife have been collecting wood for me and my little work room is bursting at the seams. I have tall pieces, short pieces, twisty, curly pieces, strange pieces, amazing pieces and my imagination is working overtime. I have to say a huge thank you to everyone who now spends their time outdoors searching the floor for anything I can use. I can't wait to get going.

The first few days of our visit were spent dashing about trying to get to see everyone, making sure all the presents were delivered, but once 'Santa's' work was done there was time to relax before the long drive home.

I absolutely love this wood my in-laws took us to visit. It is a heavily managed woodland, copiced and cared for by teams of volunteers, yet still maintains a wonderfully tranquil feel.

Full of surprises, we came across a recently cleared section of woodland and discovered this wonderful chair. Needless to say, my wife now wants a couple of them for the garden. I've got a lot of work to be going on with, but I am looking forward to trying something different.

As the sun began to set we came across a wilder section of the wood with a magical feel, every inch alive with creatures of this world and other world, just beyond our sight.

 I hope everyone had a wonderful Solstice, full of light and love and laughter.

Sometimes...

Sometimes we need to take a bit of time out.
Sometimes we need to realign our focus.
Sometimes we need some space.
Sometimes we need reminding we are great.
And sometimes we need to see how small we really are.
Sometimes we need to feel real power.
And sometimes we need to let that power go.
Sometimes we need to put things in perspective.
And there is nothing like the might of the Ocean for doing that.

Another Year Bites The Dust

It was my birthday on Friday.

I don't particularly like birthdays. I don't really understand what all the fuss is about, I'm another year older. So what? I celebrate my mother on my birthday, she was the one who brought me into the world, it is her day not mine. Maybe I feel that way because I lost her all too soon or maybe I feel that way because she truly was a remarkable woman.

My wife however loves birthdays and will always make a fuss of me no matter how much I protest. This year was no exception and she surprised me with a book I've been hankering after for ages. I don't know how she knew, I hadn't told her, but she always has had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly what to do, or say, or buy.

We spent the day out and about, running the usual errands but also having a great time together. We took a trip over to Exeter and spent some time on the moor. It was bitter cold and dark by the time we got there but that didn't matter. We stood in the still, calm magic of that place and gazed with awe at the stars. Away from the lights of the towns and cities, they shine so bright. I know I am truely alive wrapped in a Dartmoor night.

And so I am another year older and as birthday's go, I actually rather enjoyed this one.

Beauty in Extremes

It's not often we have a day out just for the sheer pleasure of doing so, usually there is some kind of plan, some mission, some chore that drags us out of our comfy home and we make a day out of it. We turn the mundane into the magical by way of our attitude. The most basic of shopping trips can be turned into a day out by the addition of a little detour, a flask of coffee and a few sandwiches. But last week we made an exception. We planned a day out just for ourselves, no little jobs, no errands, no shopping, no chores. And it was long overdue.

For a long time now we have been planning to visit  Wistman's Wood on Dartmoor. We'd seen pictures of it, we'd even seen it on T.V but for some reason we had never managed to visit. Last Thursday we changed that.

On the way we stopped off in Tavistock, a lovely market town, and there I lost my heart to a woman of such devastating beauty I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. She took my breath away. Her skin glowed with a milky luminescence and her soft hair tumbled over her shoulders to her rounded breasts. She was demure and sweet and yet the flowers in her hair spoke of a wildness and a passion that stired up my soul and stole my heart.

By the way, did I mention she was a painting? I don't want anyone thinking I'm having adulterous thoughts about any woman but the one I'm married to! My lovely wife was just as smitten with her as I was. To me she was the most perfect representation of the Goddess that I have ever had the honour to behold. She was painted by an artist named Lee Woods and, so I'm told, was painted to suit the stunning gilt frame he found in a flea market. They are indeed a perfect match and having looked at some of his other work on the internet, she was something of a departure from his usual style.

Never before have I been so moved by a piece of art and I felt a physical pain when I had to drag myself away.

But drag myself away I did and we eventually made it up to the moors. We took it slowly, to ease my aching back, knees, hip... and also to allow ourselves the time to simply drink in the wonder of the wild landscape. It was a grey day, but mild and the rain held off much to my relief and my wife's disapointment. I love my insane little Witch but I draw the line at trudging across the moors in a downpour.

 

I often struggle with walking, especially in the damp, but My Goddess it was worth the walk! A more magical, sacred place I have never seen. The calm I felt beneath the stunted oaks was beyond compare. I truely felt a part of the wood, a connection with my brother Druids from ages past. The raw energy of that place seeped into my weary bones and gave me a spring in my step I haven't felt in many a year.

We ate our meal beneath the trees, sheltered from the wind by the mighty strength of a great overhanging boulder and we walked amongst the oaks, marveling at the tenacity of these trees to survive in such a landscape. With great boulders littering the ground like remnants from some long forgotten game of giant marbles, the shapes now blurred by moss and litchens; the trees too wearing great cloaks of green across their trunks and branches. It is a truely etherial place and one that has taught me much, about clinging to life in the face of adversity, about the dependancy of the small on the mighty, about the true beauty of wilderness and hope in the dark.

Am I the ONLY ONE who hates Halloween?

I really don't like Halloween. It grates at me, it gets my back up, it infuriates me. But I'm surrounded by people who think its fun so I swallow what I'm thinking and keep quiet. But this is my blog and what's the point of having it if I can't let rip occaisionally!

I love Samhain. I love everything about it. I like that feeling of the veil thinning, it is comforting to feel my loved ones near. I enjoy giving thanks for the final harvest and thanks too that the weather has allowed us to have a final harvest at all. I like to sit back with a glass of mulled cider and reflect on what has happened over this last year. I put things to bed that I cannot change, and move on having learned from the experience. I protect the things that were good, keeping them close through the dark of winter. I plan what I shall do through the dark time, what I hope to accomplish, what I hope to learn.

Yes, I love Samhain but I bloody hate Halloween.

I know that this will be controversial but I'm not one to shy away from controversy. I see Halloween as something of a p***take of my beliefs. It makes a mockery of the things I hold dear. Plastic skeletons? Glow-in-the-dark skulls? Fancy dress and the my-pumpkin's-bigger-than-next-door's-pumpkin syndrome. Pur-lease! When all is said and done it is yet another PAGAN festival that has been hijacked by Christianity and watered down, fluffed up, stuffed up, and cheapened.

I know most pagan's just join in the party. I know its meant to be fun. But how can it be fun when so much of what we believe is being walked all over, bits pinched here and there, in the name of entertainment. It's just wrong.

I said this to my wife last night but she just said 'I don't have a problem with Halloween'. She makes the distinction between Halloween and Samhain quite easily. Thankfully she doesn't go in for all that pumpkin carving, cobweb hanging nonsense (well, not often anyway) but she's full on O.K with those that do. To me that is just so wrong. We didn't get into a debate about it. We are both firmly entrenched in our views about it and nothing was going to sway either one of us and neither one of us wanted to spoil our Samhain by getting heated but.....

.....I can't be the only one who hates Halloween, can I?

An Experiment!

Remember that back breaking piece of hazel I dragged in from the bottom of the garden a few weeks ago? Well once I'd cut it down I ended up with one lovely staff sized piece and another bent bit that might have made a staff for a hobbit. I could have made a walking stick, but I wasn't in a walking stick mood. Besides, I like a challenge.

So...I had a root through my box of odds and ends. In there I keep all the odd little pieces I don't know what to do with but are too interesting to want to let go. Most are odd shapes and not really usable for a staff but there, lurking at the bottom was a piece of driftwood about a foot and a half long. Hmmmm. Could I do a bit off staff surgery?

Faced with two pieces of wood, neither long enough to do much with on its own, I set about joining the two. I loved the pale colour of the hazel and also the darker colour of the driftwood (its a fruit wood of some sort I think, possibly cherry) and I didn't want to lose either colour by staining. But how was I going to join them with out it looking a bit...well, wrong?

This is what I came up with. And I love it. Varnished, the hazel has a look of ivory about it; and the rich colour of the driftwood glows. The natural beauty of the wood shines through, cracks and all. I like that. I haven't tried to hide the joins, its as honest as it comes. What started out as something of an experiment has turned out better than I could ever have hoped for and I learnt so much in the process...Result!

Just Drifting

Yesterday I went beach combing for the first time in what seems like ages. It was just on a whim really. We were on our way home from doing the shopping. By that I mean my wife was doing the shopping. I'm not allowed in the supermarket. She thinks that's her idea but was in fact the result of careful planning. I didn't have to 'participate' in very many shopping trips before she stamped her foot at my antics and confined me to the car :) Now I get to sit in the car park with a book while she plays dodgems with the trolley and competes in the 'checkout wars'. Besides, it all adds to the magic of her kitchen mysteries if I don't get to see the basic ingredients.

Anyway, we were on our way home when I suddenly decided to take a different turning and go to the beach instead. We couldn't stay long, not with a car full of frozen food, but it was great to walk along the sand again. I've avoided the beach, pretty much, over the summer. I don't like its sanitized, high season feel. But now the holiday makers have mostly headed home, it is peaceful again.

There is nothing like picking my way through the sea weed to make me really appreciate how lucky I am to have all this on my doorstep. Whenever I start to take it all for granted the smell of the sea comes along and clips me around the ear and reminds me that life is good. We didn't have time for a good root around but I still came home with a couple of really interesting pieces. I think they will make fantastic carved tops for staffs, but I'll give them time to dry out properly and then see what they have to say.

Holly Wand

I was lucky enough recently to be given a beautiful piece of wood by my neighbour. My first thought was to create a staff (albeit a little short) from the stunning shaft of, nine years seasoned, holly. But the longer I looked at it, the more I felt it, the more I was sure that was wrong. It didn't want to be a staff.

I feel very strongly about working with the spirit of the wood and this one had very definite ideas about what it wanted! I spent night after night just sitting with the holly, running my hands along its satin smoothness; taking in all the detail of the tight grain and knobbly features and slowly an idea took shape.

When I first said I was going to make a wand my wife looked at me with absolute horror. I had over four feet of beautiful holly and all I was going to do was make a wand! I think she thought I was mad. (Hmmmmm, she'd be right about that. But that aside...) Yet this wasn't going to be any ordinary wand. This piece of holly had something special in mind.

And this is the result.

Holly Wand- Sheathed

I've never made a wand with its own sheath before and it was quite a challenge to hollow out the shaft to take the wand smoothly but I think it was worth the effort.

Holly Wand- unsheathed

The rich colour of the wood has developed through repeated waxing to both protect it and enhance the detail. And it feels wonderful...

Long Way From Home

Every so often Dartmoor calls me. It whispers in my dreams and I cannot ignore the call. And so it was that we found ourselves, in these glorious days of an Indian summer, high up on the moor once more.

I learn so much each time I visit; about the land and about myself. I become so much more simply by breathing in the air, by planting my feet firmly upon the land, by raising my eyes to the skies and by feeling its heart beating in time with my own. Dartmoor, for me, is a deeply spiritual place.

But as much as I love the stillness and the wild, it is a place too for people. Some live in happy harmony with the moor as farmers or artisans, some make their living providing for the many visitors who come to be overwhelmed by its beauty. For others still, the moor must seem a very bleak place viewed from the confines of that dark and brooding institution that is Dartmoor Prison.

H.M Prison Dartmoor

Designed by Daniel Ashe Alexander, Dartmoor Prison was originally built to house French prisoners of war captured during the Napoleonic Wars. Work began in 1806 and took its first inmates in 1809 but by  1812 it was also home to American P.O.W's. When both wars ended in 1815, the prison had outlived its usefulness. It was re-opened as a men's prison in 1850 and is still in use today. During WW1 it was used to house conscientious objectors. It is now a category C prison housing non-violent inmates although for many years was a high security prison and looking at its foreboding walls it is easy to see why.

It is at Dartmoor the charity Storybook Dads is based. Their aim is to 'help imprisoned parents maintain meaningful contact with their children'. By enabling inmate parents to record a story onto C.D it helps to improve literacy and be involved in their child's development. For children finding it difficult living without a parent just to be able to hear their voice whenever they want on a storybook C.D, the trauma, stress and sense of loss is easier to deal with. Such a simple thing and yet it does so much good, for both child and parent.

So when we saw a 'chain gang' collecting money on  their five mile hike across the moor we were more than happy to dig deep in our pockets.  Last year they were able to produce over 2,600 C.D's to make children smile. This year they hope to top 3,000.

But the chain gang weren't the only unusual sightings that day on the moor. I think these Highland Cattle are a long way from home!

Harvest Home



My Equinox

I'm not one for elaborate ritual; it has its place, and there are times when I feel the need for incense and candles and carefully composed prose, but yesterday was not one of those times. Yesterday was a day for quiet reflection, for simply getting out in the fresh air, for feeling the ebb and flow.

I sat on a log, that at high tide is submerged, and pondered the cycles we are all a part of. The tides come and go, the sun rides across the sky, the seasons change. We can either resist and force our way through life struggling against the tides or we can embrace the never ending cycle of change.

Now is the time for reflection, for preparing for for the cold, dark days ahead. It is hard to think of winter when the sun shines, it is hard to let go of summer; but just as my wife busies in her kitchen preserving the hedgerow harvest so I must too. My harvest is the harvest of the soul, the harvest of dreams. Now is the time to take all that is good and pickle it! Its been a tough year at times and the gains have been hard won.  But they have been won.

I had a dream of a quiet life, a druid's life. Simple and honest. Three years ago I took a chance and walked away from the job that was killing me; I said goodbye to a steady income and healthy bank balance. I cut up my credit card and moved 300 miles from everything I knew and understood, and, may the Lady bless her for it, my wife made that leap with me without fear or complaint.

I'm not going to lie, there have been times when I thought it had all been a dreadful mistake. There have been times when I really didn't think I could do it, when everything I tried seemed to come to nothing, but this year has seen the first seeds of our dreams bear fruit.

Now I have to take the good and discard the bad, preserve the things worth saving, nurture them through the dark days ready to plant again. I had a dream of a quiet life, a druids life. Simple and honest.

I had a dream and I'm living it.

The Recycled Collection

Didn't I say I was heading out to the woods? Wasn't I going for long beach combing walks? Shouldn't I have been out gathering over this last week? Mmmmmmm something seems to have gone wrong somewhere!

Or maybe not.

I've learnt over the years, as most of us have, that life doesn't always have the same plans in mind for us as we have for ourselves. Circumstances change and if we have any sense we change with them. Once upon a time I would fight change. I would cling, kicking and screaming, onto my idea of how things should be and after I'd put myself through a lot of stress, hurt and hardship I'd end up doing what I'd been resisting for so long anyway. So now...when plans go awry, when change comes knocking on my door, I hold on tight and enjoy the ride. Something good almost always comes from it.

I may not have had breakfast on the beach but I discovered a take away that makes the most glorious sticky ribs that brought memories flooding back. I didn't get to disappear for days amid the trees gathering wood but I have been gathering, of sorts.

An unexpected little financial boost meant we could sort out all those little things we've been meaning to do for a while, like finally getting a phone that works. That's a novelty!  We've also been on the hunt for many of those little things that make a place home. My wife hates to buy anything new. Why go to a big store to buy the same stuff as everyone else when with a bit of imagination and leg work one can uncover something different, something with character for a fraction of the price and give it a new lease of life?

And so it was that I found myself having to overcome my shopping aversion to visit just about every charity shop, flea market and boot sale in Cornwall....and ohhhh did I find some treasures!

My work room now has quite a plentiful supply of wood but this time it has been rescued from old, unloved bits of furniture and decor. I'm having fun dismantling it all and identifying the beautiful hardwoods hiding under the peeling paint of a tatty chair or table. It has opened up a whole new world of possibilities. I will still be making wands and staffs gathered under my self imposed rules of never cutting wood from a living tree, but now I will also be producing a 'recycled collection'.

I'm not sure where this will take me yet but I'm looking forward to uncovering the inherent beauty in wood that has been hidden or neglected for many years and allow it to breathe again, to know it will be loved again.

I'll post some pictures when I've finished a few pieces; for now I'm taking my time, slowly peeling back the layers to find the life within.