Woodpiles are a symbol of security, aren’t they? [Click on photos for higher resolution]
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I can’t seem to get past the gloom of the election. The feeling of being surrounded by madness, by mass delusion, and by white hatred keeps intruding. The virtual drawbridge isn’t working very well. I can’t keep myself from checking the news. Here in the sticks, the residents of the abbey can get farther away from the world than most people, but it isn’t far enough.
Yet there have been many times in history when people lived behind walls, if they could. I like to imagine (especially when going to sleep) being inside a defensive castle (such as Blarney castle, below). Comfort food helps. And maybe a little Christmas rum.
I wonder how long it would take to grow a 10-foot hedge of holly. Still, Merry Christmas.
The garden, seeded with winter cover crops that haven’t yet germinated
Ken spreading lime in the garden
I keep fantasizing about a rock wall or a high hedge around the abbey.
Fig tree, hoping for a survivable winter
The gate to the chickens’ summer pasture in the woods
Apple leaves reluctant to let go
Chickens snarfing chickweed
From the orchard
Where I’d like to be
Late at night I like to imagine I’m in a house like yours, deep in the woods.