White Land

[smokingboot]

It is snowing right now, huge fat flakes getting faster and faster outside my window. It's pretty; the window is open so that the cats can go out. They want no truck with it. I've had my porridge, but can feel the cold knawing at my feet already. Time to board up for the winter.

This snow would have been bad news over the weekend, for we spent much time on the hills beyond Salisbury and would doubtless have frozen in our wellies. We were visiting larians family way down south, and the experience was warm and generous as ever, all food and farms and countrification; Saturday saw us getting our crimbo venison and a huge salmon; I am relieved the latter wasn't all for us cos we'd never fit it in the freezer.


Then, larians mum took us to see her latest acquisition; on a friend's spare acres she now keeps around 12 chickens. They have chunky hen houses, run around wherever they like and though there is feed for them, scratch the earth for their food like proper nursery rhyme hens. Another lady keeps indian runner ducks in a pen; these are scorned by the libertarian cluckers, who seem to rampage unchecked save by one august authority; latest addition to the tribe is Rocky, a young cockerel, who likes to gather all his ladies under the trees and strut around in front of them. Strange, one forgets just how dramatically showy cockerels are simply because they are everyday birds; red comb and wattles, gold 'mane', feathers of jet black and green, big feathery feet...he had no equal in all the realms of chickenry and knew it. And the ladies clucked and made little satisfied noises to themselves over their eggs, and of course, larians mother had saved us some. Unfortunately, staggering under piles of presents, plants, and other goodies, we left them behind. It's a pain, cos they really taste good.


Then it was down to the wilds beyond Salisbury, to visit larians sister who has set up something of an old English dream; her own livery yard and stables. Meandering through old country villages like Stockbridge and Sixpenny Handley, all apparently quite close to Madgecountry, it left me wondering how people under 60 (or under 60 grand) live here. If you don't work on a country estate, you'll travel the winding roads to Salisbury or Andover, and they must be a real laugh a minute in Winter. The nearest village to larians sister had one post office, one grocery shop, two pubs and a mobile chippy. Bloody hell.

I always objected to Priestley's argument that we should not mind losing 'the countryside' if it meant giving every Brit a home; I never understood why/if that choice had to be made, and considering the derelict housing to be seen everywhere I still don't see it, but I didn't feel comfortable with the way common land got squeezed out between the great country estates. Britons could never lose their green and pleasant land, because they didn't own it in the first place; some owners were chilled, but some were not, and would attend to you with dogs if they caught you roaming their fields. God knows what they thought you were doing. Admittedly that was in 1970s/80s conservative heartland Wiltshire. Things are more laid back now; the dogs aren't the problem so much as the guns. Oh well.



We walked in to the yard to be greeted by the smell of molasses and hay, whinnies from various equine lodgers, and much more audibly, a cavalcade of collies; OK there were only four dogs, but they made enough noise for 20. There was Diva, who rounds up the horses so skillfully, Pip the nervous one, meaning it takes her 5 seconds to leap all over you as opposed to the usual 3, Reef, the delightful pup, and Charles the old mini-alsation, now retired from dog agility work at which he won several accolades. We wandered the fields, met horses and watched the four chase crows off the frosty fields; then we returned to her caravan, which, though sizeable in itself, was strained to capacity with four dogs, four humans and 'Missus Puss' who presided magisterially over all and has earned her scars and stripes in a lifetime of teaching dogs to know their place. Home-made soup and lemon cake followed, and we stayed and talked a while, until our hostess had to go run some dog training class. Her life is quite hard, I reckon; but very happy. And we are quite happy too; town and party one week, horse and hound the next; its nice to be able to have both. I can't choose one or the other, not yet.



The snow has stopped, the trees are white and the earth is white and the sky is sea-gull coloured. Time for work.

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[delvy.livejournal.com]

Steph is looking for somewhere to start riding again.......

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