Our local Hall in Moyston has had more than a hundred years of community social occasions, most of which would have been catered for by the ladies “bringing a plate”. We had fifty years of the Moyston Old Time Dance, held once a month in the Hall. It started out as a fundraiser to build the new supper room, and went on until 2016. Local clubs took turns to cater, making sandwiches on the night and “the ladies” donating cakes and slices. Moyston Hall was renowned throughout the district for the quality of the food.
When we moved here 34 years ago, there was the “new” supper room, with an old kitchen behind it. I remember it as being dark and dingy, with a copper in one corner that was used in days of yore to make bulk coffee on those social occasions. They enhanced the flavour with mustard, and who knows what else… I kid you not! Sadly, no one thought to take photos.
Assessing the crockery recently, some very old plates came to light, marked as belonging to the Hall, and judging from the style, dating from the 1930’s. I decided on the spot that we should do something to/with/on them, and an hour or two later, we had a plan to apply images relating to the history of the Hall to these plates, and to display them somehow.
The finished piece will be in celebration of all the plates of food served up and enjoyed over the years.
This week, share the place where you feel you belong in the world. Or one of them!
I haven’t lived at my mother’s place for well over forty years now, and it’s changed a lot over those years. My dad’s old truck is still there, though – I spent part of my childhood squished in between my parents in that truck – my own place to sit and travel! It’s not going anywhere these days, but the rust and lichen that are overtaking the paintwork look like aerial photos of landscape in some “place in the world”.
I haven’t posted a poem for ages, but I’m back for today, at least. I’ve been asked (several times) where my antecedents came from, as if it mattered to who I am. But I don’t believe it matters very much where a great great grandparent was born. What matters is how you love.
I am born of earth.
I am human,
Made of stardust and love.
I don’t care
where you or your forebears
we are all out of Africa and ash.
I care about
Peace Love Empathy
Freedom and Joy.
I respect the compassionate.
My heart bleeds for the withered hearts
that only know hatred and fear.
I am bodhisattva;
I am of earth
to earth I shall return.
We are just into the new year, which seems a good time to focus on growth.
Growing things is the whole point of gardening. Growing things to eat is great, but I also love flowers for their own sake.
As for the cactus garden (more of a wilderness at present…), which my eldest son planted as an 11 year old 30 or so years ago, rain at the right time plus lack of management means that the cacti have grown upwards and outwards, obliterating the central pathway that is supposed to allow access for weeding…Since Simon assures me that there are bound to be tiger snakes in there, I think it can wait until winter!
Our grand daughter Tilly will be two on Christmas Eve – she loves to ascend anything climbable at every opportunity whether it’s meant to be climbed or not. Two Christmas’s ago she was a serene little sleep champion who didn’t even wake up for a hearing test, let alone her heel prick. How things change!
So sweet! Now look at her – still sweet, but with more than a touch of spice (chili, not nutmeg). In the first three she was prancing around on a stone table top, feeling triumphant, while the adults sitting around it were on high alert in case she fell…
In the second pair of photos, she is watching the flames and ash ascending from uncle Alex’s latest bonfire. Thankfully she is more wary of fire than she is of climbing !
Matilda has yet to meet her new(ish) cousin Banjo. I’m looking forward to “Family Christmas” in about six months, when our kids and their kids will all get together for a few days. It’s a fairly rare event, thanks to the long distances between us, but social media keeps everyone in touch in a way that would astonish my grandparents.
Here are the other two grand kids, Juniper and Banjo, photo by their mum, via social media. They were wearing their Christmas outfits from me – I made the shorts and bought matching t-shirts, which delighted Juni, fortunately.
Every photograph captures a fleeting moment, but some subjects are more temporary than others.
Flowers that put on a brief show are often celebrated (Cherry blossom time, for instance). The brevity of this floral show, however, is something to be thankful for – it’s spectacular to see, and the aroma is sensational, but not in a good way. The common name of “Dead Horse Lily” says it all!
I was trying to capture an image of the pollinators (assorted flies) but only managed to get one, as they are experts at being temporarily in one spot! I didn’t breathe much…
To provide a little balance to the spectacular and stinky lily, here is a rose – it will be lucky to last a day, as our weather has suddenly warmed up and things are wilting. Weather is temporary, too, so “this too shall pass”, and then we might get some rain, followed by more roses.
I’m going back about three months for my response to “waiting”, to the day our grandson finally made his appearance. We all got up indecently early, because my daughter and her partner had a theatre date and they had to be at the hospital at a certain time. So Juni and I (Granny), were up before the birds too.
Of course, things didn’t go to schedule, and someone needed the theatre more urgently, so June and I were at home doing the usual things, texting Mummy at times, and waiting, waiting, waiting. At last the news came – a baby brother for Juni, and a grandson for me. A dainty little chap at just under 11lb, he hasn’t looked back and is growing, as is proper for babies, like a mushroom. There was a gift from him to June waiting at the hospital, but he needn’t have worried – she adores him!