Postcard from Norfolk

I am a fan of the humble postcard.

 In this digital age of Facebook updates and Instagram (which I also love !) the postcard seems to me, an altogether different proposition, one that requires a certain sort of mindset and discipline. From the act of selection, to the writing and posting you are the editor in chief of a mini, and, uniquely personal holiday review. Whilst there may be hundreds of identical postcards floating around the postal system, each one is individually crafted. Some may be superficial and perfunctory, some full of longing for left behind lovers, some, wildly descriptive, some full of self congratulation, some covered in illustrations and doodles, some carry special messages in code...all are franked and dated and adorned with a stamp. Oh the possibilities, I love their potential as they arrive on the doormat. First a smile followed by a glance at the image. Then, flicking over, words that have been carefully squeezed onto the available white space...kisses that wrap around the address box. What then? to be tucked onto a mantle or sill, reminding all of your absence. Perhaps to be tucked into a book only to be found many years later by  a different generation or random purchaser at a jumble sale. 

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When we were clearing out and packing up the family home we stumbled over a whole book of postcards...some of them were, in fact, images of long forgotten relatives, mostly black and white, featuring them in extraordinary locations along with images of municipal parks and buildings...fascinating. Every one, for me, contained the first line of a novel, chapters in lives I know little or nothing of...

~~~

Back to Norfolk, first I should say that we stayed in a much loved family cottage belonging to a friend of a friend...

I was so at home, from the moment I stepped over the threshold ~ I was utterly charmed, it felt so familiar and cosy. 

I am smiling as I remember it and all its sweet detail...lets face it, anywhere boasting a dolly tub with artfully positioned feather at the front door...

 

 Norfolk has such big skies ~ 

far more expansive than the ones we are used to up on our windy Wealden Lane. How I love to discover new parts of this green and pleasant land, though I confess to still feeling a tiny bit disloyal to our beloved County of Kernow. The early morning walks I shared with Boodle from the cottage were heavenly...

Our days spent visiting the "Staithes" long walks, swimming in the sea, picnics and dusky sunsets watching boats...oh and crabs, lots of crabs!

We visited Holt, Burnham and Blakeney in search of tasty local produce and were rewarded handsomely...plus we were treated to book sales, antiques and gorgeous streets at every turn...

 I love the texture and patterns of Norfolk...in my mind's eye I saw Angie Lewin prints everywhere...

...Above all else I adored the evenings...

...Raise my hands, paint my spirit gold...

 --x--

I am laughing at my extraordinarily long postcard! Thank you for staying so long, you are too kind!

Late summer pickings

I am mad about flowers! Always have been. Besotted by tiny stars, mosses, grasses, berries, blousy blooms, spears, bulbs, twigs, leaves, acorns, fruits, seed pods. I am mad about pattern! Ditsy florals, large scale florals, block prints, birds, roses, polka. tartan. A dear blog world friend calls me "Sprig", spotting my signature Liberty Lawn habit early on in our acquaintance!

I have long admired the work of Parker Fitzgerald, Amy Merrick and Sarah Ryhanen .Oh! and most recently Erba Floral Studio .

This is my homage, the fruits of home, lovingly picked yesterday in the garden and jumbled into my favourite pewter jugs...

     

 

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We are making hay while the sun shines! Literally ~ The Top field was cut yesterday, smells amazing, sweet and hoppy. I will take some photos when we have finished baling at the end of the week. The late summer light is beautiful and the days are still warm and long enough to sit outside and eat supper under the tree.

 ~~~

 Petsy insisted on wearing this rosette! 

You may recognise it from here. I was lucky enough to attend a workshop with the lovely and very talented Sarah Moore and this was one of the things I made...Keep an eye on Sarah's blog and newsletter for dates of upcoming workshops.

Love "Sprig"

--x--

Droving with birds

...waiting for Bob at the crest of the Lane...from the Home field gate the land rolls gently downhill and finally disappears into the shaggy green lollipops that form the tree line. Then the Weald  takes over, rising like a full tummy, round and green with straw coloured patches where the hay has been cut. Green ric-rac hedges crisscross the faraway hill as it rises...

...Miles away when, suddenly a prickle of electricity, sudden noise...a whoosh overhead, a stream of fast moving air dragging the hairs on my neck upright like a magnetic force. Wings beating in unison, I couldn't hear the drums beating the pace but I felt them. My neck snapping backwards I see them, directly overhead now, an "unkindness" of ravens. Such a rush still pulsing through my body, I stare after them aware of every muscle fibre tingling with exhilaration. As their massed formation passed over it seemed we were connected by some invisible threads. I swear had their number been greater I would have been carried off with them beyond the farthest hill.
And then, the second wave, hundreds more, pulsing past, this time I was prepared and yet somehow even more exhilarated. Once again my entire being responded, connected, somehow to their energy, this is how it must feel to be plugged into the mains. Every hair on my body, electrified.I stood motionless long after they had gone and marveled at the beauty and strange thrill of  those few moments.

image from  here

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...waiting for Bob at the crest of the Lane. 

We are moving some of his sheep today, onto Home field. Bob and Anne live on the Lane directly beneath ours in a lovely peg tiled farmhouse, the kind you imagine with a real cottage garden and lambs grazing in the orchard.

I unlock the gate to Home field and cross it, heading down hill, over the stile and onto Bob's field. Across a tiny wooden bridge that spans the field gully and onto Bob's Lane. Ah there he is! 

Waiting for the girls to drove the sheep up to the farm gate.

We're off! The drove begins...at quite a lick...

here we are turning them onto THE Lane!

 

 Passing our driveway on the right, I realise I haven't shut the gate...oops, a few lambs take the opportunity to head for the garden! A little persuasion from the Boodle does the trick and all were reunited on Home Field where, grazing duties are happily undertaken.

~~~

Those ravens haunt me...their cruel cries draw me out of the kitchen in the evening. Roosting in the trees at the bottom of Home field, the homecoming every evening is loud and I feel compelled to watch them return. 

I wonder at my attraction?

 image source observando

 At  night I am dreaming of  Hans Christian Andersen's Wild Swans. I was mesmerised by this strange story as a child...perhaps I am longing to be carried away...

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And all the while late summer spoils us with golden sunsets

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...and for those brief few moments I would have described them as a "rapture" of ravens...

image Txema Yeste

Love,
 the Raven Girl!
--x--