A few weeks back, around New Year we went out late on a very cold, damp morning, walking in a strange linear plantation woods between here and Wool, (about 3 miles from us). It is owned by the Forestry Commission. I say strange because it is a corridor of trees atop a windy hill. There is not much breadth to it, so you have to walk along a straight path, no serpentine meanderings that you find in older more established woodlands.
There is a small car park area and the usual Commission barrier gate with a path at the side for walkers to get into the plantation and walk. It is very secluded, a small single track style road, up a hill, not much traffic. The car park is a tip. Rubbish all over the main parking area and strewn in the bushes, the ditches and around the path area. Mostly plastic bottles, cans, McDonalds wrappers, plastic bags and so on. Made me laugh, McDonalds in the woods?! I mean it is about 10 miles to the nearest Mac 'restaurant'.
So after a long virus and other distractions, I decided on Tuesday this week to go out (another cold morning, but very BRIGHT!) and pick some litter. I felt so revved up about it, enough of sitting and watching and complaining! Action! The full moon this month has been so energising, activating for me. I feel a new sense of drive and focus and feel that I am starting to activate things that have been too long on the back burner.
I wanted to do some voluntary work, so why not litter picking?
Ok it's not sexy or social (lone picking isn't anyway) but it felt so good. Until I had filled the large sack and realised that I needed to find somewhere to dump most of it as the recyclables were beyond cleaning for recycling. Ew. I looked around Wool for a large enough bin, none. So it ended up in our wheelie bin. I have written to a local councillor and the Commission to see if they are aware of the extent of the litter up at the site and whether anyone else is already doing some picking there.
I have subscribed to Ethical Consumer since and am going to return to the woods every 2 weeks or so and do more picking. I feel that I am no longer an observer to a problem, that in itself is rewarding. I wonder what would make a person understand that maybe litter doesn't belong in a woods, unless it is of the leaf variety?
So if you go down to the woods today, I hope you don't see any signs of McDonalds.
Friday, 21 January 2011
Monday, 17 January 2011
Made chicken stock today....
My dad had chickens when he was a boy just pre world war 2. He was obviously really emotionally affected by them as he couldn't bear it when they were killed by a relative for food for the family. (I feel so vague as I do not know who killed the chickens. I am not able to ask my dad such questions as he died in 2000). So when we had chicken sometimes my mum would explain that dad didn't feel like having it or wasn't keen on eating it at a particular mealtime, 'because of when he was a boy'. He loved meat, yet chicken was different. We had chickens when I was a child too, lots of them. Ducks also. We didn't kill them for meat. We enjoyed their eggs and their individual personalities for some years.
I boiled a free range chicken carcass late this morning. For about an hour with herbs. When it was done, I took some time to drain off the herbs, skin and little bony bits and all that fat floating around in the water. It smelt good. It felt good to be doing something SLOW. I was amazed at how much water I used during the process of creating the stock. Particularly for the cleaning of the equipment afterwards! My thoughts were back to the power of water once more and the floods....
I looked out the kitchen window and noticed Flo who is the most vulnerable of our three rescued hens, huddled and asleep standing on one leg. Looking sad. It was raining. I was picking bits of chicken meat off the bones. I looked at the meat and looked at Flo. A very real moment. When I was vegetarian from about the age of 14 to 30 years, I couldn't even begin to contemplate such a gross activity of picking flesh off of bones.
I still wonder at how I do it now, because I am so impressioned by my vegetarian years. All I know is that I needed to start eating some meat occasionally. It is a long story and one which took a lot of thought and adjustment on my part. I choose the meat I eat carefully and with gratitude.
Flo is quite poorly, I am not sure how long she has left. She has problems swallowing which the vet thinks could be to do with a blockage of hardened food. Or it could be a growth. She is quite obviously depressed, the weather has brought her down too. She gets pecked at and picked on by Grace and Pixie.
They have a very strong pecking order.
So now I have some stock. I'm sure my dad would be pleased to know I had made it and remembered him during the process. Despite his feelings on eating chicken, he certainly valued slow food, and in his later years would take such time over preparing and cooking meals.
Our chickens bring us all enjoyment. They help us to be more connected to the garden even on wet, windy or snowy days. I could watch their antics for hours. Being around them and listening to their creative chicken-speak is refreshing. They lift my mood, bring me out of my head and thoughts.
The chicken stock is part of that experience. The rich liquid is chicken medicine. Food for body and soul.
They are a sustaining bridge between us, our hearth and the hedges around the garden.
I boiled a free range chicken carcass late this morning. For about an hour with herbs. When it was done, I took some time to drain off the herbs, skin and little bony bits and all that fat floating around in the water. It smelt good. It felt good to be doing something SLOW. I was amazed at how much water I used during the process of creating the stock. Particularly for the cleaning of the equipment afterwards! My thoughts were back to the power of water once more and the floods....
I looked out the kitchen window and noticed Flo who is the most vulnerable of our three rescued hens, huddled and asleep standing on one leg. Looking sad. It was raining. I was picking bits of chicken meat off the bones. I looked at the meat and looked at Flo. A very real moment. When I was vegetarian from about the age of 14 to 30 years, I couldn't even begin to contemplate such a gross activity of picking flesh off of bones.
I still wonder at how I do it now, because I am so impressioned by my vegetarian years. All I know is that I needed to start eating some meat occasionally. It is a long story and one which took a lot of thought and adjustment on my part. I choose the meat I eat carefully and with gratitude.
Flo is quite poorly, I am not sure how long she has left. She has problems swallowing which the vet thinks could be to do with a blockage of hardened food. Or it could be a growth. She is quite obviously depressed, the weather has brought her down too. She gets pecked at and picked on by Grace and Pixie.
They have a very strong pecking order.
So now I have some stock. I'm sure my dad would be pleased to know I had made it and remembered him during the process. Despite his feelings on eating chicken, he certainly valued slow food, and in his later years would take such time over preparing and cooking meals.
Our chickens bring us all enjoyment. They help us to be more connected to the garden even on wet, windy or snowy days. I could watch their antics for hours. Being around them and listening to their creative chicken-speak is refreshing. They lift my mood, bring me out of my head and thoughts.
The chicken stock is part of that experience. The rich liquid is chicken medicine. Food for body and soul.
They are a sustaining bridge between us, our hearth and the hedges around the garden.
Of drowning and howling
The gale force wind is humming like a giant angry bee outside the kitchen window. For the past 24 hours. I want to know the exact point that this noise originates for no better reason than I might be able to somehow, unrealistically eliminate it. The more I am aware of how it disturbs me, the more it winds me up. I can choose my reaction to it, I remind myself.
The past week has been very grey, very wet. I have had a virus and have been feeling exhausted. I have not had the contact time with the hedgerows that so replenishs me and also enables me to feel creatively expansive and grounded all at the same time. It also helps me to feel more part of my community. My local ecosystem. Which I will describe in another post... ;-)
I feel a hysteria in the winds today. A chaotic dance. I sit still, comfortable and warm in the central heating of our 1940's semi and yet my senses are very stirred up and tuned into the tempest outside. I worry for our chickens - Flo, Pixie and Grace (rescued from the battery farm back in the early Autumn). They are out in this gale, their feathers almost blown from their bodies. They don't go into their shelter, they carry on pecking and mooching.
We are vulnerable like any other animal to the storms and floods and desertification that is so common on our planet. This week I have seen some agonising scenes of people on rooftops of houses awaiting rescue from the floods of Brisbane. The most poignant video clip for me was of a woman in the floods in Brazil, trying to swing to safety on a rope across a flooded road with her little dog underneath her right arm.. She fell from the rope but managed to reach the other side and be lifted to safety, her dog did not. He was swept away. As I watched, I realised I was no longer detached and at a distance from these events. I was participating in them and reaching out through the storms.
Hundreds of people have drowned in the Brazilian floods. I light candles and say words of love to their souls. You are not alone. You will be held in light. You will be dry and safe now. I feel maternal, concerned for their safe transition from earthly bodies into energy or spirit. Whatever happens at death or thereafter, I just feel that sending love and intentions of safety allow me to contribute to a sense of peace.
I hear the grief of the loss of lives in the floods all over the world in these gales outside my house today.
Wind howler tells me of drowning, of families separated, of unexpected successful rescues and of people adapting to a radically changed landscape. Our local landscape provides so much for us, be it aesthetic enjoyment, the natural seasonal changes, an outlet for physical exercise, a means to belong to a community or simply to identify as a location for our home.
For indigenous peoples and people who follow earth spirituality paths, the landscape has spirits and energy that can be communicated with and respected through ritual in particular. I wonder what an aboriginal view of the floods in Brisbane at this time would reveal about the spirits of that area? There are environmental and scientific explanations for the floods which cannot be ignored but I feel that the other stories of the land from the unseen dimensions need to be heard too. For these stories can help to provide a context to the struggle. Maybe not when in the eye of the storm, but in time. For those of us who are not right in the middle of the chaos and destruction, we have the benefit of some space and distance to explore feelings and information and make connections to what is going on.
So now the chickens are safely tucked into their house and the dark has descended on this grey Saturday, my hearth will be lit with damp kindling and I will not complain of the water that hisses as I try to light the fire for I have the luxury of a dry home. I extend this feeling of safety to those uprooted at this time by the waters and winds. May you be safe. Blessed Be.
The past week has been very grey, very wet. I have had a virus and have been feeling exhausted. I have not had the contact time with the hedgerows that so replenishs me and also enables me to feel creatively expansive and grounded all at the same time. It also helps me to feel more part of my community. My local ecosystem. Which I will describe in another post... ;-)
I feel a hysteria in the winds today. A chaotic dance. I sit still, comfortable and warm in the central heating of our 1940's semi and yet my senses are very stirred up and tuned into the tempest outside. I worry for our chickens - Flo, Pixie and Grace (rescued from the battery farm back in the early Autumn). They are out in this gale, their feathers almost blown from their bodies. They don't go into their shelter, they carry on pecking and mooching.
We are vulnerable like any other animal to the storms and floods and desertification that is so common on our planet. This week I have seen some agonising scenes of people on rooftops of houses awaiting rescue from the floods of Brisbane. The most poignant video clip for me was of a woman in the floods in Brazil, trying to swing to safety on a rope across a flooded road with her little dog underneath her right arm.. She fell from the rope but managed to reach the other side and be lifted to safety, her dog did not. He was swept away. As I watched, I realised I was no longer detached and at a distance from these events. I was participating in them and reaching out through the storms.
Hundreds of people have drowned in the Brazilian floods. I light candles and say words of love to their souls. You are not alone. You will be held in light. You will be dry and safe now. I feel maternal, concerned for their safe transition from earthly bodies into energy or spirit. Whatever happens at death or thereafter, I just feel that sending love and intentions of safety allow me to contribute to a sense of peace.
I hear the grief of the loss of lives in the floods all over the world in these gales outside my house today.
Wind howler tells me of drowning, of families separated, of unexpected successful rescues and of people adapting to a radically changed landscape. Our local landscape provides so much for us, be it aesthetic enjoyment, the natural seasonal changes, an outlet for physical exercise, a means to belong to a community or simply to identify as a location for our home.
For indigenous peoples and people who follow earth spirituality paths, the landscape has spirits and energy that can be communicated with and respected through ritual in particular. I wonder what an aboriginal view of the floods in Brisbane at this time would reveal about the spirits of that area? There are environmental and scientific explanations for the floods which cannot be ignored but I feel that the other stories of the land from the unseen dimensions need to be heard too. For these stories can help to provide a context to the struggle. Maybe not when in the eye of the storm, but in time. For those of us who are not right in the middle of the chaos and destruction, we have the benefit of some space and distance to explore feelings and information and make connections to what is going on.
So now the chickens are safely tucked into their house and the dark has descended on this grey Saturday, my hearth will be lit with damp kindling and I will not complain of the water that hisses as I try to light the fire for I have the luxury of a dry home. I extend this feeling of safety to those uprooted at this time by the waters and winds. May you be safe. Blessed Be.
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