PhotocatsEyes

Painter in the house... a war zone

Run and look for cover. The house is in a state of total chaos. It started in the morning, when someone called me out of bed. Obviously someone who does not know that my heart is not beating before 10’o clock in the morning. I do get up at eight, but before at least one cup of coffee has gone down, I am not human. Make me do anything at one in the night, but leave me alone in the morning.

I look outside and see Charlie’s van. O, he probably came to make an appointment for our kitchen that needs a repaint.

Nope, that would be too easy. He is here to PAINT...

What, how, who... Nobody told us that he was going to show up today. I skoot around quickly take off photographs and frames from the kitchen walls.
After ten minutes, my kitchen is a war zone...

All is hidden under cover, and since we can only cover up so much, I will be bound to wash all the cupboards and stuff on it...
Not exactly what I had planned for the weekend.

My cats go in a frenzie, trying to hide under the covers, things to sniff, they normally sleep before noon, not today. Too much going on, it all needs inspection.
After a while, they have seen and sniffed it all, and go back to their normal routine.

My Zuki lies in his normal pose on his catpole. A funny cat, sleeping on his back with paws in the air. Never saw a cat sleep like this before we got him.

Sounds come from the kitchen, whistling, yep, I have a happy painter in the house.

Very hands on, the curtains have to come down too. He has all his tools, I don’t have to go scramble in one of Mr Wonderful his seven tool boxes.

I am curious to see the colour. I picked a yellow, I wanted some more color in my kitchen, I get sick of the white cupboards on the egg shell walls. I need color splashes.
But my landlord likes to keep it pastel. So I picked a yellow, as daring as they would let me go.
And in fact, our rent here is so high that if I would want to paint the kitchen in black, they should let me... But OK, compromises need to be made.

Charlie is armed with brushes and poles, I tell him that I don’t want yellow cats, to which he agrees. My cats will stay gray.

The ceiling gets a white cover. Above is the color before painting...

Above is how it looked after. Not a world shocking difference, but it has a little bit more color. Don’t mind the mess on the counter, we have tea and cookies,
and hubby will get lasagna tonight, Mrs Stouffers. Those are the two red boxes.

And to make the chaos complete, I have an appointment with Marian, hairdresser who comes at home.
Since I had no idea that the painter would show up, we have to make the best of it.
A special lady, knows a bit of Dutch. An army brat, grew up with a father in the military. A girl to respect. No messing with her.
We retreat in the living room, and let Charlie do his job.

An eventful day... I think I like to go out and shoot crocusses more, but there are times that real life has to happen...

I am hoping that my new VR lens will be in the post office today, I will know when hubby comes home tonight...
Talk later, after all the painting is done, and my house is back to normal...

50.000 and crocusses...

Unbelievable, we made it to 50.000 readers yesterday. In all the years that I have been blogging, since 2000. I do not mean 50.000 on one day. I am not that important, my reading group is a lot smaller. But I still think it is amazing that so many people followed my life when still working for the newspaper in Belgium. And went on reading after I moved to England to marry Mr Wonderful. Thank you readers, thank you. It is humbling...
And also a bit mind boggling that I kept it up for 9 years, with some gaps in between...

It all started when the Belgian radio found five Belgians who were to blog about their lives, it was not called blogging then, nobody knew what a blog was. But I do remember the vague feeling of utter excitement when I started reading, and a strong regret that I had not known about it. I would have loved to be one of the five, as we started calling them...
Made some good friends out of it, lost some bad friends, which is a good thing in the end...

And nine years later, still blogging. Not about the newspaper anymore, where they did NOT know that happy cows give more milk...
Now I blog about my elfen life in England, and maybe sooner then later about a new life in the States. I am hoping sooner, hubby thinks it is better to stay in England as long as possible... He could be right of course, it does not really matter after all, I can be happy almost everywhere. You have to make your own state of mind, and make it a happy state.
If no longer happy, you can cross a state line to go into another happy state...

Yesterday was another happy day. I went back to the street where my dentist lives, to shoot some more of the spring flowers, as the day before I did not have my good camera...
And noticed that the flowers had curled up during the night. They were closed. But beautiful! It must be said.
I took some of the closed flowers and decided to come back later on the day, hoping they would be fully open. See, nature keeps track of things. The nights can still be freezing in this part of England, so the flowers close to keep their body warmth.

Happy lives in the small things. A tuesday or wednesday where all of a sudden your eye falls on the fresh green. The heart makes a little jump. I start realising that spring is around. Somewhere... I need to look behind corners and in hidden places, maybe call its name:

“Spring??? Are you here? Where are you? I want so see and feel you... come out...”

But Spring does not listen to humans, it only listens to Nature, his ultimate master. It will come out when it feels it is ready.

It’s OK... Every stage after all of the four seasons has an own ritme, a distinct beauty. Ready to be seen and picked up on.
On my way home I see some other colors, real crocusses. Purple with orange hearts.

I do in fact not know the name of the curled up flowers. They are family of the crocus, the same build up, but not quite... They have a different leaf pattern...

Maybe they are some sort of lillies. My knowledge of flowers is too limited to name them all. Does not take away from the magic.
They stand grouped together, bundled up. A splash of tender purples and white.

One of them has an upside down heart on the crown. Made by a small animal who needed a nibble? Or just some funny shaped damage?
Does not matter, the perfect imperfection.

I lay there for a while, trying out different angles and different shots. I never get bored shooting flowers or animals. It’s a little break away from life. No tax problems, no money problems, no people problems, just figuring out how to get the little gems of nature in a good shot.

I go home happy, hoping that some will come out good. Then comes the part where you decide which ones to keep and which ones to toss.
The pastel flowers brighten my screen and my day.

We need spring soon, come on spring, don’t be a baby and get out! We need you...

Spring is a comin...

Slowly, very slowly. After I went to the dentist yesterday I noticed that a glimpse of spring was in the air. It smelled like spring, it felt like spring, a faint bit of sun...
3 Sun rays and we go crazy in damp England. We get all exited... Or shall we say I get all exited. A tiny bit of sun is enough to make me dream.
This was no dream though, I saw flowers in bloom.

Enough to make me mellow and longing for more. As from yesterday, I walk around with my nose to the ground. Not out of depression, nope, I am scouting for more bloom.

The tiny two purple ones are wedged in a ittybitty bit of earth, in between two cement stairs on the way to the dentist entrance.
Mucho color and no demands. All they need is a bit of earth and some sun and morning dew.
I had a good feeling this morning before I left the house. Having my cup of morning coffee seated at my new kitchen table...

Life can be good on a normal week day, with nothing much on the agenda but a dentist visit. I have been brushing so it should not be a problem.
Too bad that single parenthood and dentists in Belgium are not compatible. Moms and kids end up with less then good teeth as the dentist is too expensive, even with health insurance. It happens. When I am having my morning coffee, still in pink robe, my thoughts go here and there. Often they go back to my previous life as I call it.
The days before Mr Wonderful came into my and my kids life, when life was jumping from too small a pay cheque to a next too small a pay cheque. When tooth ache was more then a pain. It meant a further decay of my non existent wealth account. Who often was purple, instead of green, which is the color of a normal bank account, or red, for a slightly negative bank account. Purple is the color purple: chronic shortness of money. Single parents are the most vulnerable group in our society. Way back when I was still living that life, and now, living in England, noticing all those kids with kids.
But we were talking possible spring flings, so what am I nagging about???

On the other side of the road in front of our house, the first crocusses are out. Yellow and bright... Screaming to us that winter soon will be gone.
The circle of life in a rural area. Spring follows winter, winter follows fall, fall follows summer, and summer follows spring. It means that if spring is lurking, soon enough summer will be here, I don’t want to think further. Live in the moment, spring is waiting to burst...

The first tokens have arrived. Over the coming weeks, Harrogate will be covered in purple and white carpets. Zillions of crocusses, on the Stray.
Camera’s need to be shoot ready. No excuse to go to town without any form of visual documenting material. As in point and shoot, or SLR. Or even phone camera...
All is well when snapping is possible. And if health and safety does not jump in. I had to toss that last sentence in as health and safety rule life these days in Britain.
For now, I am more then happy with the few yellow crocusses, their tender hearts open and aimed at the sun. We need bees.

I have defied health and safety by crossing the road, the other side has been reached. I go down, all the way, yes, I want a total frog perspective, in order to do that, I need to lay down on the grass, or moss. The new plants have reached the fresh open air, and have peeped out of the darkness of being underground.

It’s like magic. They know without anyone telling them that up is the way to go. Pushing aside all the leaves and branches and old winterstuff, out they come, year after year, around this time. Beginning of march. Nature has good timing. I used to think that there were special little gnomes underground, who in spring went to wake up all the bulbs, yelling “Rise and shine! Rise and shine!”

For now, crocusses and daffodils are making progress. Crocusses are out 3 inch above ground, daffodils a good 8 inch...

I lay on the grass, with my camera pointed towards the small miracle in front of my eyes. Year after year, an urge ripples through the earth, and tells all bulbs and dormant flowers to start growing. Be fierce, grow your way out and show humans what wonderful colors you have.

The daffs have begun already to mark which part will be leaf and which part will be the blooming head... The latter being slightly bulged out, and more yellow in color.
A true miracle.

Soon enough, the road towards my house will be bordered off with daffodils, in Belgium called Easter lillies. As they are usually around when Easter is approaching.
Funny how all languages have different names for daily things.

So people, keep your noses to the ground to spot new arrivals... I will keep you posted on the little ones across my road.
A daily report would be a bit much, but I will yell in time when the blooms are open! Yihaw... Hurraaah for spring!!!

Tables on blustery days!

A blustery day yesterday. I was supposed to go up to Stean, to pick up a table. A nice one. A friend moved down south and had a table to spare, all I had to do was go and pick it up. It had been a while since I was up in Stean, close to Middlesmoor and the cemetery with a view.
It struck me again how beautiful the area is around Gouthwaithe. The reservoir had firm foam heads, a sign that the wind was blowing fiercely.
Originally it was agreed that Cornflake and me were going to get the table with her little red jeep. But on second thought, I decided to put the table on top of PT, and bring it home that way.

It was nice to get to the house again, and be welcomed by Tikka, the Somali cat, still looking for a home for her. She is a people cat, and a swell hunter, catching a lot of mice, rats and baby rabbits, used to a life outside. She has a catflap if she wants to come in the house, but it’s a cat that could never get used to a life indoors. So the search is on for another outdoorsie place for her. P. tells me that he might have found a new spot, as he contacted the Somali society, and is hoping to get some response from them.

She is a beautiful kittie, soft ginger, with big yellow eyes, and is extremely pleased with some attention. I hope she soon will be rehomed.
P. travels a lot, and that is the main reason for wanting to give her another human.

She has longish hair, and on a blustery day like yesterday, she is a pale touch of orange in a bare landscape.

Cornflake was a bit later then foreseen, so we went up each with our own car, which was OK. The original idea to pop the table in the back of her car was not working, the table was too big to fit in. Lifting it up on top of the PT was out of the question too, as the wind would have picket it right off, even strapped down with rope. So we decided to take all the back seats out of PT, and in she went, the table. Cornflake took my seats in her car.
We had a lovely cup of tea, to warm our cold and frozen bodies from the sniping wind, and went on our way back to Ripon, with a nice pine kitchen table. Wohzee...

And a drive through the Dales is never a lost drive. Even with the bad wind, cutting through all the layers of clothes one might have, the view is breath taking. I always get exited when I am driving in spots like that. Can’t help it, stop the car and snap. Too nice to let go.
And we have to live in the moment, the light is right, don’t say come back to shoot it, nope. If you do that, the next time you come the conditions are different and you never get the same view with the same light again.

Coming down from Stean we can see Middlesmoor church on top of the hill, the end of the road. No through road up there. A small hamlet, a cluster of a couple of houses, there is only one road to Middlesmoor, you go as you come, at least with the car.

Another beautiful view, and bugger, the farmer needs to get in, no time to really compose, nope, snap and drive. The farmer knows me and smiles when I pass, he has to wait as the road is too small for two cars. I thank him for giving me the time to shoot and get back in the car.

A long time also since I saw the barn with the blue doors. One of my heavenly spots in this area. I have seen it in all weather now, in all seasons.
Too bad I could not drive up when the snow was here, it is a pretty remote dale, and without a four by four, you don’t get in or out.
Give the tree a bit of time and it will sprout again, and have another summer to go. In front of the blue door barn.

The wind is still spooky around the reservoir, birds are bobbing on the water surface. A snipy day. Walkers hide deep into their jackets, noses red. I can imagine how cold the walkers must be because I am freezing my butt off, as the table was a bit too big, so we had to leave the back door open. Tie it down with rope, and hope it will hold.

As ending shot, two shadows running like crazy over the road, lambs from last year, who normally should be behind a fence...
Somehow they got out, and scare coming cars zooming around the bend, I can just stop in time, and quickly grab camera to try to snap them.
Missed the shot as my camera was still set to shoot the non moving barn, so I only have a fleeting shadow of the two escapees.
I worry about the black-brown one, it will get dark soon, and it will be hard to spot it on the non lit road. I could stop because I was not driving fast, but I know there are fast drivers around.

We will hope for the best, maybe they will find a way back in...
A wonderful day, and a nice pine table in my kitchen... Cornflake takes the old table, everyone is happy.

I had a wonderfully smelling beef stew waiting in the crock pot, made with red wine. Yep, definitely a good day!

Thanks Paul and Annie for the table, thanks Cornflake for the company... On to another project now!

My own personal sheep...

It would be wonderful, if I would have my own sheep. So I can shoot it daily, take it places and put it in different landscapes.
I can always dream, but then, wait, no... I HAVE my own personal sheep...

It came home with me all the way from New Mexico, and is happily living in the meadow behind the house. It assured me on several occasions that it likes the english grass far better then the american, I guess sheep have a soft spot for England, it is the motherland for them.
I had a bit of an animal week, I met some new ones, some that I had never seen, some old ones, that are friends since a long time.
Dare I mention Barney, the donkey?

He has goofy days, seeing the camera and just start to pose. Just like a little kid. See how far they can go, what is the ultimate funny face?
Barney is strong in funny faces. I love him to bits. A donkey rescued from a sad life. I think we all should adopt a donkey, preferably two. As donkeys do get depressed when they are alone in a meadow. They need donkey company.

It had been a while since I visited Barney, he is residing in West Tanfield, next to the church. And I was told that he had company.
So off I went to see him and the new one... Barney did not see me since November, but hey, I call his name once and there he comes.
I am CARROTS!!! He sees me and gets little carrot signs in his eyes.
And as he moves in, his new friend follows. Amazing... I am hoping to see baby donkeys somewhere this year, that would be swell.

Barney is still Barney, he likes to be touched, but stay away from his ears. He does not want his ears touched. At all. Even if they beg to be petted. Soft furry pluche ears, tiltable at many angles.

“Hello maam, did you bring the usual carrots?”

Sure Barney, but should you not introduce me to your friend first?

“Meet Fudge, a pain in the butt really, I wanted a female. Why did they put me up with a male? I feel I am at the right time in my life to consider children, but that will be a bit difficult. I know gays can adopt now, but i prefer my own. So I need a female...”

Hmmm, you have a point Barney. Hello Fudge... Welcome to West Tanfield, pleased to meet you!

“Ah, so you are the carrot lady? I have heard lots of stories about you, how you drag everyone over here to come and see Barney. Well, from now on, there is the two of us. And to be honest, Barney is a bit of a softie whiner, but hey, you can’t always get what you want... Now spill the beanzzzz, I mean the carrots...”

Hmmm, Fudge has a big ego. And a big mouth. He will have to tone it down a bit, I will make sure of that.
I am not happy with Fudge as I am dealing out the carrots, as he all of a sudden bites Barney...

Hey, no biting when I am around. Or no more carrots.

Barney, a soft soul, goes to the side, so I pick out an extra big carrot that goes straight into his mouth. Fair is fair. I always take sides with the underdog.
Or shall we say Underdonkey...

We want balanced donkeys, liking each other, knowing that there is enough food for two. Fudge is bigger then Barney too, maybe he is older. I need to see their boss, she lives close by but I am not really sure where. I need to find out.

Soft soul goes to the side and nibbles on some of the bush on the wall. Good personality, I like Barney... He is my favorite donkey in the world.
As summer is coming, I will see him and Fudge more, as it’s light longer. I pass his meadow on the way to Masham, but when it’s dark he hides in his stable and does not come out. Not even for carrots.
I also met up with some horses. On the way to Bedale, to have my car serviced.

I can’t resist the beautiful brown head popping over the fence. Gorgeous animal, tucked inside. I think it is a riding school.
There are more horses around, one comes up to me and says hello.

It’s a shame that I have never been on horse back, I think I would like it, but then there is also the problem of getting on it and off it in an elegant way.
Which I don’t see happening soon. But I will put it on my list: to do before I die, take a horse ride... Never mind how I get on or off it, we can always hire a crane...
At home, things are the same. My personal animal Kingdom has expanded yesterday. We have 3 cats now...

Zuki, a five year old Russian Blue male, gentle soul, careful in all he does. His motto in life is “take it easy, slowly and carefully. Blend in with the background!”

His half sister Amy, with life motto : “I only have one rule: I want to be adored... Adore me and I shall be good to you...”
She is royal and we know it.
A nice thing about Russian Blues is that they like to hide to sleep. Convenient during the day, but annoying when I am ready to go to bed, and have to lift every single blanket in the house to find out where they are.

Miss Amy has found a way to get in her hanging kittie basket, under the cover. Life is good when your back is against a radiator...

And finally our newest Kittie:

Mister Sock... An orange tabby, dressed up in a cute blue sweater. No demands, except to keep him out of the claws of Zuki, as this one loves woolly things and fluffs. Zuki is a very good cat, but he is a bit of a shredder. Give him a trash bin with paper and he will be happy. Give him some furry bears out of my collection, he will be happier...

Mister Sock was given to me by my new neighbour E., and I was thrilled with it. A precious gift, I will cherish it. It’s nice, some days good things come to you without expecting it...

Welcome Mister Sock, There is always room for one kittie more in the house. Especially one wearing a fancy blue suit...
Thanks neigbour, what a lovely gift...

Life is good when some cats are around...

The grim North...

Was the title of a workshop by Leeds University, in the Leeds City Museum. No problem. Except for the fact that I time after time get lost in Leeds. Even with GPS.
It started off wrong as none of the parameters were available in my satnav. I did not have the Leeds City Museum in there, I did not have the Millennium Square amongst the addresses, so that makes it a bit hard to put the Satnav on the right path.
I left the house at 8 in the morning, and finally arrived in the museum at 10. Two hours for a drive that should have taken me an hour max.

Leeds is a huge city, with a very small center heart, the sad thing is that a lot of the people living in Leeds don’t know their city, and have therefore a hard time to explain where to go for lost people.

After six different questionnaires to six different locals finally an old lady was able to point me to the right direction. I could park the car, in the Merrion Centre, and finally discovered the Museum where i needed to be.
As I am a person who likes to be on time, it was very humiliating to enter the room and having to cross it all the way to the back, as that was were the seats were empty. Bugger, bugger...

The museum itself is a building that got a new life. Blacked down from the times when coal was used to heat the city. In the middle of an industrial surrounding, with mills fuming their smoke to the sky.
Which is the link to the workshop today: The grim North. Of course, in our days, the North is not as grim anymore, but it’s not hard to imagine how factory chimneys puffed it all with black soot. the original color of a big number of the now black buildings was yellow. If you would clean the stones, the bright yellow would pop up again.

The golden star ornaments on the outside of the museum give a special view on the Millennium Square, in front of the place.
It’s Saturday and children’s activities are going on all over the different floors, neat that kids nowadays can be introduced to the fun side of musea.

Some of the little ones are definitely motivated to get in. Hip and hopping on the stairs.
I keep getting diverted from the main subject: the grim north.
Not so grim anymore, but a few depressing corners still can be found when looking for them. I would place them around Bradford, Leeds, Sheffield and Newcastle on Tyne, the big names in the British Industrial revolution book.
3 Different professors (or should I say lecturers) are telling us where the grim part came from, and is going to.
I am lucky, I got to know the above mentioned area’s in better times, when a lot of the polluting mills have stepped up to more environment friendly fuels, coal is not used that often anymore.
We get to see documentary styled photographs, about gone by days in Leeds. How the papers showed the readers what was going on in the North.
And of the four different lectureres we hear today, only one is able to keep my attention alive and kicking, the other 3 are blabla-ing some of the shown photograps to death. The full intellectual approach towards photography is sleep inducing. I am afraid that I will fall asleep, and who knows what can happen then.
We do get a break for lunch, and some fresh outside air wakes me up again.

Leeds is a mix of old and new, give me the old anyday. In front of Leeds City Hall some designer architect drew blueprints for an ugly thing, rocket like, don’t see the beauty of it, it only ruins the view on City Hall in my book. There is five of us, members from the Masham Photography club, and our founder is one of us.

Michael Dunne, he always makes me think about my dad, my dad would have been the same age today as Michael.
Now retired, he used to shoot for big name magazines like Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar. A very good photographer, with patience to set up shoots, and make the best of them. I always learn when Michael is around.
Lots to see, as they have put an ice ring up on Millennium Square. Coming out from the museum, it looks like a painting from Lowry that came to life. Scaters, little people, some branches, stick like, great sight.

I try to find a better spot to shoot, noticing a smiling angel above the entrance of City Hall. Two pigeons have made a nest, the angel is not alone. Or should I call it a toddler statue, as it has no wings. Maybe it is just a little boy carved out of stone.

And this is England, repeat after me: “Health and Safety”... I know, my eyes went to infinity again, when I heard it pronounced as I approached the ring.

There are five or six “ice guards” on duty, to assist when health and safety would be endangered. What is it with Brits that they go on about health and safety like nothing else in the world matters anymore. Where are the days that kids went skating on frozen ponds and becks, without grownups, having a blast, coming home with cold hands and cold noses. They managed fine without safety guards.
One of the orange ones tells me that photographing is not allowed. WHAT? YOU ARE KIDDING ME RIGHT? PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE KIDDING!!!!

“Nope mam, you can only shoot if you have family members on the ice...”

Ridiculous, I turn around and find myself another corner where I can shoot as much as I like. They can come and get me if they want. Some orange guy will not tell me not to take photographs. They are in the middle of an open public square, if they want to shun photography, put walls around the thing.

I happily continue my hunt for some snaps to take home. That is when I meet Rachel Rose. Pink and cute.

She is watching the skaters with her mom. We chat for a while, and I mean it when I tell Rachel that I like her hat. Cute kid with the longest lashes I ever saw.

I love watching the skaters glide over the ice, some of them very elegantly. Others clamping on to one another to stay up. Fun!
They should do it in Ripon too. Time flies as I stand there chatting and snapping.

I am not the only one to watch. Others are duffled in warm, and stay a while.

All too soon the day runs to an end and I am on my way home. Interesting day all in all, we learned and a day with a bit of learning is never a lost day!
Talk later!

O, and when you need to be in Leeds: TAEKE THE BUS!!!! She said and grinned. I don’t take the bus as I am afraid the double deckers will tip... ;o))))

Operation “Lambs in snow”

And the first lambs. Yes, lambs in the snow. Every farmer in the Dales will tell me that they are hardy enough, but I can’t help but feel cold when I look at them. We have this set up idea of lambs in spring, when the meadows are fresh green, but often lambs start coming in february.
Lambing season has officially started I guess.

It was a total surprise. I was admiring Nidderdale, the valley in between the base and the hills on the other side of the river Nidd.
I was looking if the side eared woollies were close to their pen, they were not.
So I drove on, and looked at the other side of the road for a second, and yup, there they were. And I saw one tiny lamb...
O my god! My heart made a little jump. Dropped the car to the side, and I knew I needed to keep an eye on my watch as lunch in the Strike Zone is only till two. It was 12.30 but I know from experience that when I see lambs, I forget track of time.

It’s a mixed herd, some Oxford Downs (the side eared ones) and mashams, with spotted face. It remains a mystery to me why farmers keep
cross breeding them, probably to get the best quality of both breeds. I think it’s a shame as each breed has its special ways and looks, and they should stay pure. Hmmm, I sound like certain bad figures in history now. In the above picture, the second from the left is what I call side eared, in reality Oxford Downs, they have little pink ears, completely on the side of their face.
The one on the right is a masham, ears higher on the head, spotted face, and brown ears, I have a warm spot in my heart for the Oxfords.
They are the typical story and tales kind of sheep, it’s how little kids draw sheep, little curls of beige wool coming over their white face. Their nose is pink too. Lovely animals.

This little one is a mix, it has pink ears, but they are standing upwards, and as cute as it is now, it will change over a couple of months and look like his mama Masham. They look squeeky clean in the shows, but when you see them in the Dales meadows, they often are dirty from lying in mud and wet grass, and smell the total opposite of Woollite...

I never get enough of lambs. Every year I have the same cycle, pregnant sheep, and suddenly, the small ones pop out and up.
This herd is hand fed by the farmer who’s farm I was on in the previous week, and they are less shy then normal sheep. They rely on feeding when it snows, so they do come a bit closer after a while, as human stands for munching.

So utterly adorable. And a sad economics rule, we see lambs because we eat lamb. Very few farmers breed them for the love of them, they breed them to make a living. Sure, they love and care for them, but the main reason is money.
If we would stop eating lamb, spring would soon enough become lambless. Such is human nature.
Having said that, I would not mind having an Oxford Down for a pet, just to look at it and make it smell like woollite. Or febreze...
I would give it a nice stable, with free in and out, so it could choose itself if it wants to stand in the rain or inside, in dry hay.

There will be more lambs next week, I will have to keep an eye open. Hard times for the farmers ahead. In lambing season, they have 18 hour work days. Up at four in the morning to check the preggie bellies, find the newborns, vaccinate them and put them in separate pens before letting them out in the meadow.

Most farmers keep the sheep close to home till they have had the lambs, they usually don’t let them lamb in the open. The group has hopeful eyes.
They doubt between running for shelter and the thought of food.
Sorry guys, no food, I am only your official photographer.

The Oxford smiles. She seems to say that it’s OK to take a photograph of her baby. Even for sheep moms, own child is beautiful child. We know how it goes.

And at least the sun is out. Good for the little ones, so they can catch some warmth, there is always a possibility of standing or sleeping on mom’s back, but not when she is standing up. The moms have to lay down for the babies to jump up. Small, but smart enough already to know what spot is the best to stay on.

Auntie Flo is watching me, no lambs, hard to see if she is still pregnant. Maybe they do keep some aunts in to help managing the babies.
When the lambs grow and get more used to the meadow life, they start playing and form what I call kindergarten groups... Zooming back and forth from one end of the meadow to the other. It definitely takes some more supervision then, that is when the aunts come in the picture.

It is getting into the brains that food is not to be expected, they start to walk around, and each has his turn to eat some dry crackers out of the buckets that the farmer put out. Brown chunks, power food. In addition to the hay. The moms need more food if they are nursing one or two babies.

I suddenly discover a mom and another tiny baby just next to the wall. I had not seen them before as I was looking in the meadow.
The baby is smaller then the other ones, must be born only just... I’m lucky, mom stays put, therefore the baby does too, I get a good amount of time to take different photographs.

Different poses, the lamb tries to get his mothers attention, not to worry, she is keeping it close and a good eye on it. They take good care of their lambs, very protective.

The ears seem out of proportion. Baby has huge ears. They will even out when it grows, fed on milk and grass. All baby animals are cute, but lambs were the victory cup. I prefer lambs over any other baby. Maybe a hard shared first place with dog pups and kittens.

Time for a nibble, strange, most moms in this pasture only have one lamb. They normally have two. It means that the one baby will grow fast and furious, it does not have to share the milk with a sibling, the land of Milk and Honey in the sheepworld.

Out of the distance, another mom shows up, with two lambs. They walk on the small trail that sheep before them have traced. Funny, they keep walking on the same paths accross the meadow, you can clearly see what routes they prefer to go to another part with new grass.
One of the babies is happy enough and makes a small lamb jump...

It’s a great sight, playing lambs. It’s not hard to figure out that I spend a long time watching them. Before I know it an hour has gone, if i want lunch i need to go. And a police car stops and a cop with no heart for lambs tells me that I have to move.
O bugger, lucky I have my shots, it’s funny, other people smile and swirl around you when they spot that you are snapping lambs, but there is always a cop who got out of bed in the morning on the wrong leg, so my good times are over.

Time to round up operation Lambs in the snow...
And this will be the last snow entry as thaw has set in, we are back to normal english grey rain weather. I prefer snow.
A good start for lambing season...

Anne Morrow Lindbergh...
"Only with winter-patience can we bring
The deep desired, long-awaited spring."

In my case the deep desired, long-awaited spring took four weeks to come. I left the house Tuesday very upset for the further postponing of the fixing of our phone line.
Drove around and took pics, then headed to base for lunch, and was pretty sure that by the time I got back home I would be calm again. I was having my normal lunch in the Strike Zone on base, house salad with chicken. Lots of veggies and chicken, healthy and filling. At that point, I got a text message from my neighbour that some BT people were at the house.
Sjeesh... What now. Would it? Could it?
Packed up food, computer, drink and flew back home. To indeed find a crew working in front of our house.
WOOOHOOOO...

It seemed like Tuesday was the day that our phone was going to be fixed.

So what started as a cut cable, and could have been fixed 4 weeks earlier had turned out into a major road operation.
Britain’s common sense has been lost and not found.

The people now working were another subcontractor hired by British Telecom, and they brought on the heavy material to put in two new poles, never mind the existing pole, they could not use that one for health and safety rules. And you all know by now that if the Brits say “health and safety” it’s time to duck and go for cover. But enough harping, they were here to fix it, and I was not going to let them out of my sight.

It was the first job they did that was fully documented, well yeah, I snap everything, so why not you guys working...
No way was I going in the house and let them fiddle and take off with the line not fixed. This time I was on target.

It was rather impressive to see them work. They had this heavy duty truck, with a huge drill, and an attached personal dirt system.
Two poles need a hole in the ground, and obviously that makes for earth to be dug out. So that was the reason of the big plastic bag, the dug out earth went into it, hmmm, good point.

The drill looked like a dangerous weapon, I stayed well clear of it. Health and safety rules normally forbid people to watch the phone people doing their job, and it is also forbidden to take photographs or come in the proximity of the drill.

See, I do have common sense in my head, not a lot, but at times the bit I have does work. There is no way that I will stand under that thing, or come close. As far as photography not allowed, you guys are on a public road, and working “for” me, and I want to snap it, so I will snap it.

I know, I can be a pain... It beats all logic in my brain that they are now working with 3 men, half a day, to put in poles while there is an existing pole vacant. After we had 5 different engineers come and check out the place and what needed to be done.

But I was happy enough, and in fact I was so thankful to those men for coming and doing things in the right direction. So I fell back onto my normal behaviour, instead of yelling, I went in and made them a cup of tea, as it was cold. Freezing...

I even gave them some of my real Belgian cookies, that are kept in a super secret stash, as I only have so much to eat, up is up. And I can’t go to Belgium every month picking up some Lotus cookies. So I am careful with them. But hey, a fixed phone line deserves only the best...

After the tea and the cookies they did not care anymore if I was close or far, the digging went on, in speedy tempo.
I felt light... floating on a pink cloud. I was going to have phone and broadband back... Woohzee...

Soon a cable was attached to the house, making connection between the new poles and our phone entry point.

And finally, yes, yes, yes... The pole was UP, and ready to get the cable on it!!! Woohoooo...
It all in all took them two hours to fix it, I have my phone line and broadband back, life is good again.

And to end this sad story (four weeks to fix a connection) I got finished with drying my chile’s, I had the photograph printed, and the dryed veggies went into the frame. A wonderful memento of a trip to my favourite place on earth: New Mexico.
I am happy that the chile’s dried well on the radiator, now to find a place on my wall for it...

Next entry will have sights of El Paso, town on the States Side of the Mexican border. Texas here we come!

Talk later...

A world in black and white

A nice change, from all the color in New Mexico, back to a black and white world in jolly good England. I drove around yesterday, deeply upset, and I will tell you why.
I had to escape the house as it became too small. Too much angry stuff going on. I had contact with my provider about the still not fixed phone line, and they told me that it was postponed till the 21th of February. Enough to send little old me over the edge and in a frantic angry state. I admit, I do get angry easily when it comes to pure stupidity. I have no patience left what so ever to deal with narrow minded people, walking around with horse eye covers. The kind they put on a horse to block it from seeing sideways.
So I had to get out of the house, and do something before exploding totally. And what better way then grab the camera and drive around, as soon as I am in snap mode I go back to serene...

Decided to go and take a peek in Markington, where my lonely tree stands. I call it my tree because I must have shot it over a thousand times in all those years, and it is directly related to my first visit to Mollie and her family in 1998. She took me and her kids to Fountains, and we passed the lonely tree for the first time in my life. Little did I know that I was going to live 5 miles from it in a later stage of my life.

It still stands there, changing with the seasons. I don’t think it grew in the 10 years that I have known it. The background changes, it can have hay balls around, or just green field, today it has snow. Peaceful place... Good for my soul. Calm down, it is only a friggin phone line. Think Tree... Ohm...Ohm... 0
Ohm...

I take the backroad to Shawmills, and admire the fine branched trees with shadows on the snow. Shooting straight in the sun, I am in a daring mood.
Rebel with a cause... I want my phone line back.

But I realise that it is a lost battle, and it could be a lot worse. I could be back in hospital, half dead from kidney and thyroid problems.

After a while, I manage to regain my common sense, it’s only a phone, and it’s not as if I can’t call, I do have a mobile. So get on with your life woman and stop nagging. What is the point of driving through a magical landscape if you can’t enjoy it.

And it is a beautiful landscape. The walls and bare trees, mix and matching together to give it all a fairy tale outlook.
I am lucky to live here. And being able to go out when I want, shoot when I want, my life is a piece of cake...

I meet up with a bunch of sheep, well behaved, they come and greet me up to a certain safe point. They must be hungry, otherwise they would not come near me. But it’s always good to have a little sheep conversation. I speak fluent Baaaah by now.

“hello Possums, how are you doing today?”

“Hmmm, baaah, could be better, the snow is getting old, we want spring and fresh grass. And if you see our farmer, send him over with some hay. We could do with some food!!!”

“Will do, where does he live?”

“Down the road, second side road, third house on the bahhh left... Watch it for the sheep dog, he nips at legs. Well, he nips at our legs...”

“Rest assured, I will send your farmer over in two minutes”

“OK flock, we got it. She will get food for us! 3 Cheers for this one: ! Bahcheer! Bahcheer! Bahcheer!”

“See you babies, take care...”

The meeting is abandoned, they spread back out. With hopeful glances in the soft sheep eyes.

One waits till I get back in my car. Sheep do tug at my heart.
And on the good news front: the first snowdrops are out...

Yes, I was the one lying on the side of the A61, belly down on the floor, shooting them... It is proof that spring will come back.
Woohzeee... Long live the snowdrops, announcing better times...

Take care and remember: life is more then a phone line...

Straight line back to the sun

Hopefully my readers won’t mind that I jump back and forth between the sunny south west and the snow in England. Two totally different places, each with their own merits. When I think Arizona and New Mexico I see colours. England makes me think sheep and green.

One look at some of the murals in Old Mesilla and you know that old and new do mix. I saw one mural that had both the old Virgin of Guadelupe, with the so well known halo around her. A newer artist added the purple lizzard, the pink bird, the dancing lady and a mermaid. With a sun in the corner overlooking it all. I remember that sun. As kids, that is the exact place where we put our suns on the drawing paper in art class. In the corner, with beams radiating over the rest of the page. Funny, it must be a universal thing.
The sun is omnipresent in New Mexico. Part of life. The few days they have cloud cover slow life down a bit. Only a little bit.
The many ristra’s we see all over the place have been made thanks to the sun. The veggies are spread out on big wooden racks and left to dry in the warmth of the sun beams. (Mine are still drying on the radiator, they are near finishing, just a couple of days more, to make sure they are really dry!)
It’s the sun that can inspire to go for some art work. It can be as simple as a lantern on the street with its shadow thrown on a wall. Nature made art I call it. It has a human touch, but in the end the creator is her ladyship the shiny.

Another part of New Mexico is the many pictures of saints. Santo’s. Southerners are firm believers, different Santo’s for different approaches.
The spanish Franciscans who came to conquer the new world and all of the souls in it did leave a mark.

I find Saint Francis and a deer on a wall close to the Plaza in Mesilla. Not far from the more worldly La Posta restaurant. The former stage coach stop for travellers on the Santa Fe Trail or on the path West.

Very old walls, history has been written here. In the days long ago, coaches stopped for the night, to take on fresh horses. Now it is a restaurant.
Lots of hidden corners inside, and a shop with the most beautiful pottery. Dishes, cups, bowls, with screaming colors, it is possible to find the sky and the colours around us back in the table ware.

It’s for a reason that New Mexico is known for the special light that appeals to artists of all sorts. A vivid art community is very much alive around the old town.

Small house hold daily things become an inspiration. An old red lacked chair, the cushion worn. A sign saying welcome, very inviting, so we do go in.

Marie, Jennifer and myself oooh and aaahhh over mouthwatering furniture and decoration. A beautiful quilt with dark brown, black, white and pale blue. Whoever made it had a designer mind as pale blue and brown are known to guide the eye to the full of a piece. A simple quilt, with blocks, the colours make it come alive.

Red walls and distressed furniture, an angel made of wood and little flowery branches, I could easily spend all my pocket money in this store.
I don’t, I take one of the little square framed mini quilts that you can see in the cupboard on the right.

If we ever get so lucky to move to Las Cruces, I know where I will find my home decorations. When we get home, I am surprised with the little sheep that Marie and Jennifer bought for me in the shop. How utterly sweet of them...

Old West decoration speaks a different language then what we are used to in Europe. We browse some more streets around the Plaza, with a few hidden gems.

The simple lines of a wall against a blue sky.

A door made of wrecked wood, matching the mud wall so well, there is harmony in the soft greyish brown entrance.
I do have a peek inside, and think I found the following mural inside. I believe it was a wine tasting house. Marie, check it out next time you go there... so I don’t write lies on my blog.

If it isn’t murals, its windows and doors to admire, simple but effective styles.

People are not afraid to mix primary colors, its bright, its red and blue and yellows, and it works. It does for me. Love it!

People in the area dare to be different. Expressing themselves on the outside, it makes me want to go in in every open door, curious to what is inside.
The antique store close to La Posta had its better days, I hope that a new business will come in and clean it back up. The burgundy stencil around the front door is wonderful... Some new glass in the window and the building would be good to go, after it got a lick of paint. Saving out the stencil of course.

On our way home we do stop at a furniture shop to have another look at things, and I find a nice reflection in a glass window. Old and ugly, but making up for a splendid eye catching little scene.

Can’t help but laughing when I discover that it’s an Italian restaurant. Why would you want an italian restaurant when you have all the mexican food around? Well, it would be interesting for me as I like Italian, and can’t do the spicy stuff the mexican kitchen is famous for. Heinz Ketchup is a spice in my book. Leave out the galapeno’s and chili’s for me...

We pass a school, kids are out. Time for them to go home. And I can admire the murals on the walls too. It’s a Charter school, and one of the few dual language middle schools in the bigger area of Las Cruces.

Some browsing tells me that a charter school is a elementary or secondary recieving public money but have been freed from some of the rules applied in other public schools. In exchange they have a responsability for producing certain results, which are laid out in the school’s charter.
They often offer a speciliazed porgram in a certain field like arts or maths.
They are not allowed to charge for tuition, and if they have limited places, admission is often allocated by lottery.
Interesting... Sort of a public-private school.

It has been stated that kids in charter schools perform better in reading and maths. I wonder if the Dolores Huerta Charter school is an art school.
Dolores Huerta is a co-founder and Frist Vice President Emeritus of the United Farm Workers of America. She is a famous human rights activist, with a heart for the situation of the farm workers, trying to get them better lives and make the public aware of their hard labor.
Besides being a career woman with lots of important issues to defend, she also has eleven children. A tough cookie indeed...

I am so fortunate to be able to travel, see, come home and go on the internet and find out who is who and what is what.
Travel is good for the soul. Well, it’s good for my soul.

Life is good, and could even become better today as there were plans to fix our phone line. So far though, no truck in sight, nor poles...
I guess it is time to place another phone call... The little buggers will regret they ever took me on as a client for their internet service...
And no, the phone line is STILL not fixed... DOH!!!!

Talk later!!!!