A Very Merry Christmas

Christmas Wishes


   First of all I must apologize for the lack of blog posts this last month or so, but as some of you know my mother-in-law was really not well and we were busy helping to look after her and popping back and forth to the hospital. Sadly she lost her battle with illness and passed away, so as you can imagine it has been a very busy and sad time here leading up towards Christmas.
   I promise that I will be updating the blog again on a regular basis now as we are trying to get back to normal as best we can.
   So I just wanted to wish each and every one of you the most wonderful Christmas and I hope 2014 is a better year for all of us, I think most of us have found this year rather hard at times but I'm sure the coming new year will be a far better one.
  Merry Christmas To You All !

The Storm Arrives

Winds Hammer The Fens


   After a night of rain and fen breeze most fen tigers were sitting awaiting the promised storm, not fooled by the early weather they knew better than us, reading the skies like great pages they saw the still would soon rage.
   This bead maker now sits watching the winds and rain tear the reed beds and sedge from shallow dyke while lifting loose countryside litter high into the air, those deep hand dug drains are filling and not a bird flies the black skies over the east. How right those wise old eel men and peat cutters were, beside their warm stoves they sit, another day owned by the weather they watch, no stinging rain will strike their weather torn faces this day, no punt will wander the rivers and deep waters this October morning nor thatchers reed will they cut.
   Now I see how wild this mythical world can be and why talk of webbed feet still ride those whispered tales told in inglenooks on dark winter nights.

Damp Fenland Morning

   Dark damp soil lays still over the fenland this morning, rains fell all night and still black clouds hang above the tigers of the east, no winds to dry the land on this day of worship, no sun to brighten this magical world of marsh and reed just damp still air that saddles the droves and drains alike.
   The first few coils of smoke rise from terracotta chimney pots on low roof while wood burners glow, golden hedgerows line the fens like guilded picture frames and this bead maker enjoys his moring tea while thoughts of Christmas beads ride his mind.

   The dark rich green of Holly walks from his kiln with red ripe berry, the festive signs that start so early for the bead makers, while fen folk boat and fish for eel this man of fire will work his flame once more and beads of cheer he will give to that box of heat that glows beside him warming his soul on these such days.

Dark Morning And Dark Thoughts

One Last Effort


   Darker the morning that welcomes us on this Saturday of October, the world of marsh and fen seems so quiet and still, no dove calls echo through conifer tree this morning and only the odd finch chatters while feeding on niger seed. How different this world in which I live has changed in just a month, gone are the sun filled mornings and fresh green hedgerows as now those colours of autumn start to litter every tree, the rusty orange signs of winters arrival with golden carpets collecting beneath the orchard branches that stand on peat meadows of the past where forgotten voices of peat cutters still whisper in the fen wind.
   The hopes of this bead maker fade with every day as his wares seem those of the past and thoughts of him sitting at his flame this christmas day just a dream, tired of fighting he now feels scared of future weeks and where they will place him, one last effort to keep his world he gives but dark it looks and maybe this bead hermit will soon make that final bead, but it will be a bead in which his fight will be encased and around his neck it will always hang, it will be my bead.

Another Month Passes

Autumn Sun Brings Wide Smiles


   The perfect autumn day here in the east, clear blue skies so wide and bright and not a cloud rides the fen wind just warm autumn air so fresh and clean. The leaf now turn and drop while late fruits hang and bath in the low sun, soon those smoke filled evenings of darkness will follow us home and talk of ice and snow will echo in inglenook while stews bubble in copper pots.
   With thoughts of wooding trips and salting paths filling my head I watch my flame flicker upon the glass in my hand, fine blue candles of light show the magic that I learn and molten glass lays over the steel I roll while  the thoughts of winter making this bead maker smile.

Sunday Sunshine

Morning Sun And Apples To Store


   Early sunshine breaths a big autumn smile over the flat world of the fens this morning, a Sunday of enjoyment sits here in the east. The wildlife of summer has left for warmer lands and now the the native birds rule again, no more the cries of hunting swift high above us or the sight of swallow over the dark fields of the fens, now we see the hunters hoovering over stubble and hedgerow with eyes locked on vole and mouse  and great Marsh Harrier with huge easy wings hunting the wet lands of Anglia.
   Today the doors of worship are open and those who dress in finery will walk tall through great oak doors and arches of stone to their seats on which some will ask forgiveness, yet I will watch my world of nature and learn more lessons of this magical land in which I live.

Mist Rolls Over The Fens

Mist, Dew And Bird Song


   A dew soaked morning here in the east, the flat world of the fens hides under a coat of autumn mist and small flocks of goldfinch glean the hedgerows of seed. The morning mist lifts from the rivers and drains as if to uncover the water world that none have seen, reeds drip with autumn tear drops as still they stand and no winds to clean the night away just still cool air protects this magical land.
   A day of work awaits this bead maker with flame to light and beads to form, another day in his safe barn away from the world of worry and stress, today again the glass will place smiles upon his face and wonders of colour will amaze him as they always do.
   Tomorrow visitors will warm the barn and once more the sound of voices will fill the air, laughter as long since echoed in the dark corners of that little world of beads.

Final Harvest

Plums, Plums And Yet More Plums


   The last fruit harvest from the garden for this bead maker, "Victoria" plums, "Cox" apples and a nice bowl full of sweetness that only a ripe dark autumn raspberry can give. As stinging nettles fade towards the ground and lavender heads dry in the fen breeze I look over the kitchen garden with thoughts of next spring in my head, soon I will clear the last beds and burn those dry bean stalks while dusk races in and the smell of bonfire will hang over the fen.
   Reed cutters will load their punts with reed and sedge before the winter ice slows river and dyke and huge pike will hunt the deep drains for roach and rudd while sounds of harvest fairs will whisper in winds heading for the coast and the low sun will play tricks of light through woodland, how quick the seasons turn.
 
   

Autumn Chill And Fen Winds Blow

Summer Ends


   With every morning becoming cooler and heavy cold dew rolling from green autumn leaf, summer walks away from the rich fenlands and autumn prepares us for those cold ice months of winter. Lone chimney's start to puff gentle smoke clouds into the nippy evening air as fen tiger's glean great coats from timber chest and ready for winter, the apple harvest lay beneath wide thick branch as last potatoes are pulled and sacked, the magical flat world makes ready for another season of darkness and cold.
   Rains ride the fen winds this last few days and skies of pure blue seem a distant gift that welcomed us each morning, no more the heat will test this bead maker at his flame, now cold will await his opening of the door each dawn and his little dragon will soon be warming the old barn in which his dreams are made.

   Days of fun have made this week a happy start with beads of colour and bugs of glass putting smiles on faces, a welcome change to brighten up the long days that this old hermit lives.

Finches, Cool Evenings And Apple Harvest

Autumn Arrives In The Fens

   Cool sunlight shines upon the stubble this September morning, high thin cloud rush over the east as if in a race to the coast and dew covered dyke's snake across the flat droves and fens like great veins of life through an harvest desert. Finches chatter as seed is gleaned, their bright red masks flicker in the sun while beaks roll the seeds with expertise, like noble little princes they sit above the garden, no squabbles do they cause just chatter of news and eyes that never miss a move.
   Another cool night has passed and more signs of season change stand out in this rich strange land, apples drop from ancient branches and plum hang in golden bunches with their purple hints of sweetness, Victoria such a fitting name for such a regal fruit.
   The black berries of bramble fill the hedgerows like tiny dark gems and wild plum and bullace sit nestled upon leaf rich bushes while damson start to ripen in the early autumn sun. Wild garlic and cress fill river banks and verge and cow parsley just gives that hint of tiredness, another sign of a season's end.
   Soon the late afternoons will once more give the scent of garden fires with bean stalks and dried harvest remains burning slow, the nights will draw in until the evenings pass for another year and cold dark hours will once more rule our world.
   For this bead hermit a autumn morning once more brings smiles and thoughts of cooler days, no more the heat of summer will force his hours to shorten nor will his brow be wet, for ahead he knows longer days will once more be spent at his flame. And in just one week his barn is ready to welcome again those he knows and those he helps with beads of glass.

Autumn Chill

Nights Closing In And Colder Mornings

   This old bead maker is feeling and seeing signs of autumn here in the fens, cooler mornings now welcome us each day and the autumn fruits slowly ripen in ancient orchards long forgotten by fruit sellers. Old apples of taste will fall on lush rich grass to lay and decay while shoppers will bite those tasteless green fruits of wax that adorn out markets, such a shame we forget these gems of our past, those families that walked before us knew their flavours and welcomed their gifts each harvest with smiles and thanks.
   For me I've missed my tale writing and sights I share with you, the reasons hard to explain but now I hope to return to these pages as enjoyment they bring me and an insight to my world they give to those who it may interest.
   As harvest dust settles on stubble fields and noble game glean corn from the fen soil my flame still burns and plays with glass while I sit and admire the molten marriage that widens my eyes and fills my heart. Mornings still bring this child his smiles and excitement when beads appear yet still his perfect bead will hide away until it feels he as learned enough and one day that time will come and it will be his last.

Gentle Rains Start The Day

A Cooler Monday To Start The Week

   Hedgerows drip with gentle summer rain on this early Monday morning, grey skies cover the fenland as cool winds make the ripe wheat and barley dance across the rich acreage that rolls over the world of marsh, drove and fen tiger.
   My hopes for a better week are strong and my fingers crossed while the days pass, never have sales been so slow and for once my thoughts are finding their way to another life, another life without beads, maybe a life away from this home we made, sad thoughts of giving up cross my mind now every day and maybe all my fighting is done. Until this time arrives I stay in my world of beads and carry on with smiles and belief as that is all I have, still I make those beads of glass that fill my kiln and still I watch my flame with wide eyes like some small child at the toy shop window.
   A busy day with my flame stands ahead of me, a day of trials and experimental fun awaits with colours and forms to try and on this day a cooler barn will welcome this bead maker and his thoughts, a day of gas change and bead cleaning while the rains fall over his little world.
   Tomorrow a clay day will I hope emerge and a seat by the pond from which pots will be thrown will be my work place, once more my fingers will happily play in that wet clay and bowls and pots will dry in the sun.
 

Early Sun And Cool Breeze

 Long Hours Await


   A wonderful wide sun filled sky covers us here in the east on this summer morning, first day to such a great month of harvest, the damp smell of past rains still linger and early shadows shade the ponds, duck weed ripples across the waters surface as still the fish spawn. The clear waters trickle over grey rock while shallow pools are home to bathing blackbird and drinking dove while above them finches ride the rocking feeders.
   Again the common sight of swimming grass snake finds my eyes as across the water he moves, head held high as long body does lasso the waters, the sun lights that wet skin to show every scale.
   Another long day awaits this old bead hermit and beads of summer he will once more produce, tho the odd treat he craves will I'm sure help cheer his heart, rock and silver will find a way to share his day and smiles will rest upon his face.

   Cooler days are now helping the hours pass, a more comfortable barn in which to work and far more beads he makes, all makes this bead maker a happy one.

A Quiet Cool July Morning

Early Start


   Another cooler start to the day on this late July morning, grey clouds ride the wide fenland skies with hints of coming rain and not a leaf moves on the trees as if they sit waiting for the waters to start falling. The odd early traffic rumbles by as folk head to work yet the green little world of the bead maker sits here deep in the fens like a small piece of nature lost in the open countryside, red, black and white currants hang from lush green branches while the kitchen garden is rich with fresh produce and under the eye of the Lord Robin who sits on his ivy clad post.
   Young thrush and finches work the garden with fresh colours of new feather making them look so new, every day they grow and learn, no more those young helpless chicks who were fed on bush and tree, now proud cocks who display their new colours and who will visit my feeders this coming winter, new performers for my cold winter theatre they will be and next summer they will feed young of their own under my gaze.
   Long long days have again ruled this last week, the heat at times did make this bead hermit slow but his flame did still burn, the second quiet month this summer with sales so slow but worried thoughts are no answer and on I go with beads of colour filling the kiln, summer reds and blues mingle with yellow and greens, pinks and purples dance together bringing smiles on faces as village fate and fair roll over my mind, nice thoughts that keep my heart beating strong.
 

Cooler Morning

A Real Summer


   A cooler start to another summer day here in the flat world of east anglia, scarlet armies of poppy ride the gentle breeze in fields of barley and silver birch shimmer their sun ripe leaf in waves. Bees are working early on lavender as I sit by pond and watch fish spawn on the surface and this strange world with open lands and wide skies just rests after the heat of the last week as if to cool those folk of the marshes and droves.
   How different these lands in months of sun, rich damp soils make green this magical world when other lands are dry and waters stay so deep while most are shallow, wide clear skies of crystal blue watch over those who tend the land as food is grown and fruits do ripen, a simple life but one that makes a man true, a life in which he learns to understand the nature and the way she looks after him, hard at times she seems but every hard day is for a reason and every reason a good one.
   On this cooler day my flame will burn and beads I will form to smiles, heat will once more rule my barn and hours will seem long but thats my life, the one I've chosen to lead and if heat be the day then in it I will work as I do in cold winter and moan I never will, just thanks I will give that I have this craft to work and learn.

Good To Share

Mr Jay, I'm Watching You !


   A cooler morning starts off this day of July, easy breeze and dull grey skies cover the fenland, no early sun warms our backs yet nature is busy as another of her great shows I sit and admire, with early bee's working the rich smelling lavender flowers and clear falling waters that run through rocks does bath birds of every kind, wing flapping and tail shaking start their day.
   The Jay sits in cherry tree pinching all that he can of the half ripe fruits while this old bead maker sits and reflects on the past month, a long one it was and one not full of joy but one of work, long days seem to gang up on this worker of glass but dreams of easy days and smiling faces that will soon visit keep his flame hot and hopes alive, dreams of trips to quiet beaches and woodland walks fill his mind when days are hard.
   Another crowd of summer colours await my flame today, bright cheerful beads will be the positive results and thoughts of country fair and hippy parties will wonder my head while yellows, reds and blues fall to my mandrels.

The Stone Age

Been A Long Long While


   Again the kiln does make this bead maker smile on this July morning, a morning of calm here in the flat lands of east Anglia, grey skies do welcome but talks to heat and sunshine roll from the voices we hear, The early start gave joy to this old hermit as the door opened on my box of fire bricks and those stones of glass found the cool morning air after their cooling, granite beads with veined cores and surface works forged over a million years greeted my eyes as smiles found my face.
 

 These old friends once more excite and please just as before, no colours of brightness sound loud this morning just the works of nature found on every mountain and moor, the stone on which our world is built and one that never fails to please with every crack and crevice that only nature can produce.
 

Early Sun Lights The Fens

Summer Perfect


   Apart from the slight cool breeze that surfs the open fields of the east, a more perfect summer morning you could never wish for, sunshine heats the rich soil while crops ripen and hedgerows are awash with fruits and wild herb, already the larder that nature presents is there awaiting the chance to enrich our evening meals and bring goodness to our diets.
   While swift hunts high above the flat lands and swallow fly the reed and sedge beds of the marsh, this rich mythical world in which we live turns from one of cold hard winds and ice wrapped mornings to this amazing nature filled land of organic wild wonder, a place where only the waters were reclaimed but never was nature tamed, a land where great fish swim the waters and great bird fly the skies and where the people know and respect the lands that fed the lost and forgotten folk who's voices still ride the winds of the fens.
   For this bead maker the hopes of a few hours in the kitchen garden will ease the long day ahead, a day of fire and glass that will both excite and annoyingly tease at times, a day when the magical tricks of the flame will cross over with the mundane task of dipping countless steel mandrel and beads of all colours will find room in that warn kiln for the night.
 
 

An Early Quiet Start

Summer Treats Us With Mornings Of Sunshine


   Another morning bathed in early sunshine greets us on this day of June, bird call sounds out over the fens and this bead maker sits by his pond with thoughts of the day ahead crossing his busy mind, a day with his flame awaits and yet more silver will enter the blue cones of fire before him, with rock and colours bright it will mingle and the resulting effects I will glean and remember for those cold winter days.
   Nothing but the chatter of finches and far call of the dove cuts through this still morning, the gentle sound of running clear water does whisper to my ears and carp swim through weed while the sun opens up the pond to my eyes, the perfect summer start to a day.

   A happy week it has been with kiln door opening to great gifts every start and silver flashes putting smiles on the faces of customers, encased under that coat of clear crystal glass that leaves nothing unseen. Like the pure waters that fall to my pond every bead found a new way to talk, not one the same yet together they move.

 

Was Worth The Wait

For Once I Get What I'm After !


   Five full years I try, five years in which thousands upon thousands of beads were made in my flame, beads I liked and beads that made this hermit smile but never that one set I wanted, those beads that lay on seabed deep under tropical sun, beads that watched a million ships pass while fine sands pitted their surface.

   Now those wave tossed treasures have passed my eyes and in my mind they will stay, no longer will I wait, no longer will I search those blue cones of my flame for now I've found those gifts from Davy Jones' locker.

Sunshine, Song Thrush and Spawning Fish

How Lucky Are We


   The sunshine fills the fens with smiles this June morning and this bead maker sits with his mug of tea watching the spring world that so many miss, with fish spawning in the rich beds of green weed that oxygenate the ponds and the most majestic song thrush singing to the new day, how can this bead hermit do anything other than feel lucky.
   My world is free to most but lived by few, how lucky am I to see what I see, to hear what I hear and to smell what I smell, no city rush or greed, no envy to what others have, no guilt to what I do, just my flame of fire and nature in my life, a life to which my heart belongs.
   While regal cock pheasant struts along the edge of tall green barley and fast swift packs that circle high above let out exciting cries as they feed, my mind wonders to the beads of the day, the bright colours of the summer fair and the fine flowing dress of the gypsy queen, reds, yellows and rich corals all ride my thoughts and silver shimmering over deep purple collar, all sitting on natures backdrop of wild greens, the day filled with colours awaits me and once more I run to my flame with willing to learn.
 

Cooler Morning And The World So Still

A Silent Sunday


   A cool start to this June Sunday, not a breath blows over the fens, no clear blue sky to light up our morning nor sunshine to warm our backs, just a cool still start to the day here in the magical lands of marsh and dyke. While great grey heron stalk the river banks and reed beds this bead maker enjoys his morning tea with watching eyes that glean that early world that nature brings, tiny open mouthed chicks that fill their nest and fledglings that hop from branch to branch with young wings beating awaiting the next feed from beaks that overflow with grubs and fly, smiles sit upon his face as spring goes about her business and thoughts of long wooded walks wonder his mind.
   A day of work does face this man of fire today, molten glass will wrap his rods of steel and beads will form from colours of bright summer, ideas will play his mind like blue grass fingers on banjo strings, all of which he wants to try but time will never be enough and some will pass his thoughts forgotten to the next.
   His barn now empty of the old awaits the fresh start where new faces will enter the door and laugh and smile while fingers run through bowls of beads, again the barn will live and welcome as it should and this hermit will meet again those who love the glass, too long a time as passed without the sounds of voices around his flames and soon it will return.
 

To The Garden I March

Trees To Top And Veg Beds To Hoe


   Another bright sunshine filled morning greets us here on this day of June, the light breeze blows across the rich farmed soil, acre after acre of fen grown vegetables that feed the east shimmer and dance on every breath from the north west, no chill in this morning air, no coldness to sadden our smiles, an early start with wide blue skies so clear and still is what we watch.
   For this bead hermit a day of garden play does await with trees to top and hoe to work, a day with nature will cheer his old heart and the sounds of the fen will fill his ears, to rest beneath greengage when tea is cupped he will and thoughts of old garden tales told to that little village boy will once more bring back the odd smile and tear both.
   Dry soil once more lay over these magical lands that rode the damp rains of May, the fen blow will soon return on hot summer day and rich orange sunset will greet the darkness on those long evening hours. Back once more is the season of green hedgerows that hide the sweet grass meadows where the wild flower shows rich bright blooms only to those who know and the mystical brown eyes of the hare will follow your every move until you pass.
   Waters run deep through fen and marsh where reed so tall does hide in great willow shadows and a different world hold tales forgotten, no more the eel catchers silently punt or great barge take reed and sedge to thatchers, now the quiet waters ride the seasons as nature intended, slowly this strange world to some is being lost.

A Quiet Weekend

The Rains Have Passed


   After a week of rain filled days we enter a dry quiet weekend here in the fens, a weekend of bead making and garden jobs face this bead maker, two days that he will enjoy without question, his flame with candles of blue that melt the glass with magical spells and that peaceful garden that lets his mind rest and welcomes his hands to her soil every evening.
   The first salads are being harvested from the kitchen garden and plum and apple are dripping with those tiny fruits, a thousand cherries hang where blossom once stood and young gooseberry swell every day, their fresh leaf so bright and green.
   While rose buds form and lilac flowers show their purple and pink the young are fed by parents at every feeder and table, blackbird, finch and blue tit are busy while still the dove sits on her nest waiting, large clean thrush gather grub and worm and the magic call of the swift fills the evening air as they hunt the wide skies of the east.
   Every drove and dyke is alive with life, every bank holds spring young that face this new world, reed beds hide the nest of warbler, tiny nests that hold those bald blind chicks and ride the fen winds, the first early damselfly and mighty dragons hover the sedge and marshes while fen tigers welcome the warm southern sun on their backs while they work under those giant wide skies.
   A happy land of early summer we see with thoughts of cold winter month now lost and forgotten to old and young, another fresh season starts, another year has passed and once more we face the warm summer that we thought would never arrive.

A Real Summer Sunday

At Last We Get A Summer Morning


   An easy breeze and a sea of sunshine floods the fens this morning, at last we have a real summer start to this day of rest, blooms and blossom fill the east anglian air with sweet cent and the bird world seems so busy once more. The rains of the past week left the soil soft and the hedgerows clean and fresh, now the summer sun can warm our world and bring again happy faces to coastline, insect life will once more roam reed and sedge while waters crystal clear hold another world of natures building.
   Once more this bead maker will work with his flame while another Sunday passes, his garden he will tend in afternoon sun and evening pond will be his friend, his dreams will walk on silent beaches and wonder through oak forest where dappled shade will dance and streams will trickle, to some his life is dull and slow but this bead hermit will enjoy the trips of his mind once more while his beads are made, his world so rich tho pocket poor will ride these sun filled days and his simple life will hold his heart so full of fight.


 

Once More We Face The Rain

A Wet Cold Week


   Another chilled morning of early summer rides the fen winds on this day of May, yet more rain falls over our rich soil and the hopes of a warm bright bank holiday sadly sink in our hearts. These wide open skies once more cast grey cloud above our special world of dyke and drove where bird does sit on fresh new nest  now damp and cold, where picturesque lilac blooms see their cent washed away by the drizzle and old cast iron gutters play those winter tunes once more.
   The bright new green world now drips with rain and rivers feed the dry banks, cow parsley stands higher each day and the reed beads clean the marshes like armies of washer women dressed in green, no forest of oak stands in this world, no hill path to follow or rock to climb, here the world of water and fen do face the winds and rain.
   A week to forget for this bead maker it has been, a week of worry and sleepless nights he spent, his kiln did die and no beads were made while joints are slow and stiff once more, how nice the warm days would be now to return the smiles he hides, it will pass as new days arrive and once more his flame will play the magical tricks he loves so much, no more tears will he have to fight, now he can carry on those lanes of learning that snake through his life of fire and glass. Again he will watch the dancing rain on ponds as molten glass will set and hear the finches chatter while feeding high above the water and these days will be forgotten as those of the past are today.
   
 

How Fast The Change

A Green World In Just a Week


   The sunshine warms the flat lands this Sunday morning with easy winds blowing across the fens as leaf and blossom alike dance their little jig of spring, a night of rain fell over us here in the east and still the rich soil is damp and dark awaiting the dry sunny day ahead.
   How green this land has now become with sun and rain working that magic we miss all winter, the hedgerows fill with shades of green, no more through these trees can we see, now they form a solid wall for field and meadow while natures larder will soon feed and busy nests will run through summer.
   For this old bead maker there is a long day to face but one of which he will enjoy, the morning sounds will fill his ears while he sits at flame and his mind will once again ride the carousel of bead ideas that never leaves his head, colours will play and eyes will wonder at the marriage they make while smiles will beam across his face.
   An afternoon of garden will follow and soil to work, seeds will once more be sown and hoe will glean the weeds that number many in just a week while seedlings grow those crops we wish for to fill our plates and salad bowls this summer. A happy man will finish this day by pond, book in hand and dog by feet he will sit, a simple man he has become and one who greets every day with hope and smiles, thankful for this life he has.

Sounds Of Nature

Bank Holiday Silence


   My kind of world greets us on this bank holiday of May, on distant fen the call of pheasant rides the gentle breeze and travels the silence without a stutter, the repeating call fills the air with warnings as slow walking partridge glen the dark soil beside barley green like old men bent over rabbit nets.
   River bank sits quiet as Mallard wander the still water, no purpose in their trip that leaves gentle bow ripples to reach the reed edged banks so steep, no shouts of children spoil the air on this day of silence.
   The bead maker sits with thoughts of clay running through his mind, his bones that ache sit resting on seat of turf while the morning sun warms his back, to tend his clay the thoughts do cross with wide eyes watching ponds of still water he waits, will this morning freeze in time and never pass, will morning like come again to cheer his face and heart.

The Bullock Yard

The Bullock Yard


   On slopping hillside of southern sun lies forgotten yard of grand beasts that once roamed the meadows of grass. The rust red tin that covers yellow brick from London stock now hides the whispers of cattle men from a century past when candles of tallow lit the night as calf was born.
   A shelter from snows and gales from the north it once stood so proud, now clad in ivy the walls and lime mortar pass through seasons of both sun and ice. Great nettle beds soften the forgotten shell that once held life and passed in every hour by Ashwell folk who remember not this yard of cattle.

Sunny Start

The Garden Calls


   The bank holiday as arrived and after the rain showers of yesterday we wake to sunshine, a still quiet morning in which I sit and plan my day, beads to clean and photograph followed by a day working in the garden I'm thinking.
   Tho the day will be a busy one and job list is long it will be such a pleasure to spend it in the fresh summer air, the trees now wear their spring jewellery and once again the countryside is a rich green that cradles blossom of every colour, how i wish these quiet mornings would last forever, no traffic passes the cottage nor machines working the flat rich fenland, just nature going about her business, the sound of dove call, water from the ponds and the whispers of forgotten fen tigers who walked this rich land before us.
   My eyes light up with the thought of tomorrow's holiday being spent throwing pots next to the pond in the sunshine, a day with no worries or demands to spoil, just a man with his clay to form while the rest of the world passes, for the first time this year this bead maker is to enjoy the warm sunshine and a weekend of enjoyment and rest.
    No trips to the coast or country drives that he longs for this time but a chance of relaxation pleases him and time to recharge those batteries that keep him fighting for this life he loves and adores, that old bead hermit who watches the world pass by while happy in his world of glass, magic and clay.

Sunday Frost

Warming By The Hour


   A sun filled Sunday morning here in the fens with lingering frost still hidden in garden shade and a raw chill still holding in the air. A willing day of toil faces this bead maker with beads of plenty awaiting a cold water wash and photographs to be taken, the afternoon sun I hope will warm my back as yet more seeds are sown and beds prepared in the garden of veg and if luck shines on me an hour reading by the pond will end the day.
   As colder fingers start this day my mind turns to warm summer mornings that will I hope soon return, when that fresh cent of mint rushes up as you brush past and sweet young carrot can be pulled and eaten straight from the ground, hedgerows can once again be walked beside tall Barley ears and summer river banks will hide a thousand nest's, a season of smiles and quiet thoughts to make this old hermit happy.
   Now I head towards my flame while service bells call those who pray to great houses of stone where windows of colour are lit by this early sun and those of faith and those of guilt will ask forgiveness. I ask of none as my world is simple and pleasing, one of which only thanks are needed and where worship is not a part of life, I ride the seasons that nature sends in my short stay and enjoy them I try, to me a greater service will never be held.

Chill In The Air

A Night Of Rain


   The still morning air is damp here in the flat world of east Anglia, every tree drips and the grey skies left behind by last night's rains hang over us making for a dark dull start to the day.
   No bright sunshine to flood the fens on this April day, no warm morning sun to greet the fresh new blossom of cherry, plum and peach, just the dampness left behind by the darkness of a wet night. So quiet is this early hour, no busy sounds of building bird or courting dove, no gossip telling finches sit on bud filled branch, just silence and stillness, how different a day this be from those we enjoyed this past week.
   Talk of cold days to return hit our ears and winds from the north head our way, great frost will once again cover the dark fen soil and summer will once again stutter back not sure of her entrance, the rare spring we wished for as again left our dreams and the chill again returns to cool our expectations.
   Today I will sit at my flame and eyes will search through dusted window pane for signs of summer's return while glass will form beads of art that only fire can achieve and thoughts of warm summer evenings will ride the merry-go-round in my mind.

God I'm Old !!

One Very Enjoyable Day


   A day away from his flame as been spent by this bead maker, to wield his chainsaw and cut to the ground those tall conifers was the aim and one he reached with smiles and aches alike, a back that won't bend and legs that won't work is all that's left of this day, a day with sunshine and saw dust playing the sweat that ran from his brow and one he wishes would never end.
    His past work was forefront in his mind all day as he toiled alongside the nature he loves and misses, it lifted all the worries that remove that smile from his face, that big mother welcomed him back and he thanked her a hundred times.
   As trees were cut and bonfire was burning the smell of cedar sap filled the air around this tiny part of the fens, branches were thinned and tops were removed from those evergreen giants, to die they won't but behave they may, now friends once more they block those winds of the north and yet the light now floods the garden that grows our food and greengage and apple need not fight for light this year.

A Sunny Welcome

Glass And Clay


   Stunning blue skies and bright sunshine welcome the fen folk this morning, no chimney smoke from open fires is seen today nor coats of winter or hat to be worn, the sun will warm their backs and place smiles on those weathered faces as trees turn greener and hedgerow thicker.
   The blackbird builds her nest just feet from me as I sit and watch, every life is busy on this morning and all I can do is admire the wonder that nature gives us, my eyes too slow to see all but that I catch makes this bead maker feel so lucky to be witness to the building of another summer.
   For me this day holds magical glass of colours bright and tricks of the flame that will shape those beads that last a thousand years, the pleasure of sunshine filling the barn from dusted windows will once again please this hermit and fingers warm will no more wish for heat.
   The clay will call this afternoon and bowls I will trim and decorate while sitting in the sun, for me the perfect day in which to work and one to make me smile.

Day Of Sunday Sunshine

A Day To Play


   The perfect spring morning of sunshine, blue skies and bird song greets us here in the fens, I've never known a better start to the day of rest. While fen folk gather at chrurch and chapel this bead maker will be enjoying the morning sowing seeds and working his small piece of soil, his rake will level the fine rich earth and seeds will fall in rows, the sun will warm his back and dreams will fill his head, dreams of fresh vegetables being pulled from the soil and picked from the stalk and bowls of mixed salad sitting on the table on warm summer days.
   This afternoon he will spend sitting by ponds throwing pots on his wheel and enjoying the feel of clay between his fingers, no better way to use this sunshine filled day can he think of.
   Those cold long months of winter when days such as this seemed so far away have now passed and the ice and snow are far in the past as the new green seasons head our way, the warm sun soothing our bones and the smell of cut grass is a welcome scent to our nose, at last we can enjoy the new life that moves around us, nest building in every tree and green leaf that appear fresh every morning, quiet warm evenings when gardeners stand and rest on hoe while church bell rings and bright mornings such as this when we all feel new and full of life once more.

Wild Wild Winds

Fen Winds Batter The East


   Clear blue skies light this April morning with sunshine strong and summer like filling the fenlands with smiles and thoughts of warm July days, yet those huge fen winds batter the land of marsh and drain, willow branches bend and dance over the water, touching the surface leaving tiny ripples like moving finger prints.
   That never ending rolling roar fills the air like some wild sea that will wrap around every cottage and rush through every hedgerow like a high tide unseen by eye but felt and heard, spring-cleaning the dark magical soil of this flat garden of Britain it wipes clean every fresh bud and shoot.
    This morning I return to my torch after a day of clay that I so enjoyed, pieces stand to dry on racks and ideas kick and punch to draw attention in my mind but wait they must. Maybe this evening I'll head to my wheel again to lift and pull that wet clay once more, an addiction that only cost time I've found, how lucky am I.

Up At Dawn

First Of The Year


   Well, it's here, for the first time in 2013 I get to play in the clay room on my wheel, this excited bead maker was up at dawn like that little boy on Christmas morning, its been four long cold months since I sat at my wheel feeling the wet clay between my fingers, watching my hands pull pots and bowls from lumps of fresh soft clay, piece after piece placed on boards to dry and a mind kept so interested by texture and form alone.
   Pictures of tall vase like pieces ride my thoughts alongside rustic kitchenware and decorative bowls that families will share, simple tea bowls and cups will sit beside drying pitcher and clay beads will gather like small children watching and wanting to be involved.
   A new year will I hope bring new skills and ideas to fruition, colours will I'm sure be bold and shapes new to my wheel, all I ask of this summer ahead is to learn and enjoy the lessons that cross my path on those tiny lanes I walk and people enjoy my journey with me, they may feel my hurt when things go wrong and share my joy when smiles light my face but importantly they are there walking beside me.
 
 

Nature Is Busy Under Grey Skies

Warm Morning Of Spring


   A warm morning here in the wild fens with a rain filled sky hanging over the flat lands. Nature's spring is taking shape with building birds working the garden floor for twig and straw to carry, while bee bumbles around the hedgerow's prince who stands proud dressed in his white blossom and leaf bud, the sign of spring that most ignore is the regal blackthorn.
   The dandy of the fens, a cheerful pleasant sight in any country lane on this April day, to grow his fruits of sloe this summer will he tend while wild plum and dansom will follow, their fruits more sweet and rich in juice.
   The countryside has that hint of green and a promise of summer at last, not so cruel as to tease this time the mother lets winter pass without further tricks and sets smiles on faces who watch the skies foe swallow and swift, noses smell that rich clean grass and nettle shoots so green for tea do bunch while cherry blossom opens in soft pink.
   A real spring day for this bead maker to work his trade and one he will enjoy.

Thoughts Of Clay

A Head Full Of Pots


   Warmer days point this bead maker towards the thoughts of clay, early summer afternoons sat by ponds throwing pots and bowls until the sun sets and buckets of glaze in which they wash. For the last week my mind has seen nothing but pot designs, shape and sizes rush around in my thoughts doing crazy dances, too quick for me to note like a mad butterfly never stopping on one bloom, my dreams flicker from one piece to another.
   This week it starts, no more waiting and wishing for the spin of my wheel, at last the feel of wet clay will touch my fingers and pots will dry on shelves once more. The long cold winter is over and my clay room will once again become active, my days will be busy with both flame and wheel and kilns of both glass and clay will warm my heart on every morning.
   A warm morning we enjoy on this day of rest with just gentle fen winds and bright skies to welcome us, still the soil lays damp from last nights rain yet soon it will dry and gardens will be busy in the week ahead.
   A day of work for me with beads to make and barn to tidy, old carpet to remove and glass displays to clean, an exciting time for us and such a nice fresh change to my little barn of magic.

Damp Fenland Morning

Hodwell Beads And Empty Boxes


   A grey heron passes over my ponds on this damp April morning, a morning of dull skies and easy thoughts, a morning when small fen cottages stand out like tiny white steamers sailing the fen marshes, slow smoke rising from red brick chimney stacks while fen folk enjoy the signs of spring that most ignore.
   The river banks wrapped in early dew while ivy clad pumping stations stand idle their wind blown shells home to barn owl and summer swallow. The voices of past fen tigers whisper over reed beds and water meadow, great eel catchers and sedge cutters telling stories of better days when their world was lost to all but them, when huge marsh harrier hunted the wide open skies and clear waters were ruled by pike and eel, when summer winds burnt faces of peat cutters and and reed bails would travel the drains to waiting thatchers, those eyes still watch through the dew and mist on these dull damp mornings and those voices still whisper in ears.
   For me awaits a day at my torch, Hodwell beads to form in flames of blue and gold and fen colours for me to find, today is no real day of colours bright nor sharp loud design but one of natural beauty, those greens and browns that make our world so calm, shades to wear on every day.
 

 Empty boxes are left as this bead maker sorts his past in glass, beads from old are now asleep and packed away as new ideas fill his little place of magic, a new look is forming from the old and a welcome sign will soon be hung over his door, new friends will interest his mind and smiles will he hopes face his work once more.

Grey Skies, Beads To Make And Seeds To Sow

Warmer Days


   Grey misty skies greet us this morning, skies that seem to drop that blanket of dampness over the village and the smell of spring reaches your nose as you leave your cottage, the sound of dove and pigeon echo through the air while my thoughts turn to those childhood days when that boy would set off to pick peas on his trusty bike on mornings such as this, plastic bucket hanging on his handlebars and a sandwich wrapped in silver foil tucked in his coat pocket. Four miles down country lane he would travel until the pea fields were laid out in front of him, smiling faces of the lady pickers would welcome his arrival and green pea nets handed to him, happy times they were and days never to return in this new world of ours.
   With the temperatures warming this week it has been the kitchen garden that as taken my attention, raised beds have been dug and worked ready for seed sowing and paths and hedgerows have been put in place, yet more conifers have been topped so as to let in even more light and the odd bonfire as sent small columns of white smoke high into the wide fen sky.
   Those two hours every afternoon seem to settle my mind and set it free of worry, I'm back out in the world I love and enjoy with just sounds of the countryside in my ears and soil on my hands, I can lean on my hoe and look across mile after mile of rich fenland, no better way to end a working day.
   Today this bead maker is playing with silver glass, blues and pinks will shine under clear coats and more natural shades will sit next to each other in the hot kiln waiting for tomorrow and their chance to show off. While dove and finch alike build for their new families this bead hermit will sit at his flame watching magic and being lead by the glass and every few minutes his mind will wonder to past days and people, spring mornings when all that mattered was the Ashwell countryside and family, when the river bank was his resting place while watching the water for frog and fish and when he wondered how his life would turn out, well he has had a lucky life and one he enjoys, not rich in worth like most but rich in nature and the important things in life.

Easter Sunday

Blue Skies And Sunshine


   Huge wide blue skies look down on us this Easter Sunday, the sunshine pours through windows all over the fens while children hurry to find Easter eggs that await them. How different this spring filled weekend is to that of last week, no sleet or snow falling, no rains to flood the flat lands and no trace of those fen winds that have haunted us through the first few months of 2013, indeed this Sunday is the perfect picture of early summer.
   Hedgerows are alive with bird song and the moans of growing buds that struggle to bloom, gardeners at last can get on their soil to drill and sow and families all over the east will travel to the coast for the first time with excited children who carry bucket and spade.
   For this bead maker it's a normal day at my flame tho I wish it was a different story and this big kid was also off to watch the sea and walk the beaches and rook pools, maybe soon he will be but until then his mind will take him there and fill his head with the sounds and smells of those quiet coastal villages that line east Anglia.
   My day will be split by a bike trip on fen lanes, a trip on which I will pass huge river willows and fishing heron feeding on roach and perch and for the first time this year I hope to feel the warm sun on my back as I travel those narrow drove roads that fen folk have walked for generations.
   As I write church bells will be ringing all of Britain and services will be held in both hamlet and town, hymns will be sung beneath stone built arch and under the rainbow shadows of great windows stained. For me my Easter will be to enjoy what I see around me, no books of praise nor words of worship do I need to celebrate this spring occasion, the first day of summer will teach me lessons of nature as does every day I spend here in the countryside where I belong and to those who know this old bead hermit I wish you a very happy Easter and a very enjoyable day.

Snow Blizzards Hit The East

A Wonderful Spring Morning !


   Talk of spring and fresh new leaf would look rather out of place on this March morning, the fens nestle low as wild winds bring snow blizzards to the east of England, daffodil bud sit with heads bowed as snow settles and every fen home lets out chimney smoke as old fen tigers sit in wonder as to where spring has gone.
   Acres of rich farmland already lay under a fine sheet of snow and winds tear at every hedgerow that dare stand in it's way, no wide blue sky to place smiles upon faces nor the air full of bird song this morning, just the real raw hard fenland where no man or woman fears the cold, where life is hard and strange words roll from the tongue, where poacher and keeper both walk the moonlit droves and marshes hide a thousand tales.
   This bead maker will work beside his kiln on this cold day, his eyes will miss nothing of the snow that falls and his little dragon will heat his barn until dusk, thoughts of those working the land and waters of the east will enter his mind and lady luck he will wish their way.
 

Wicked Winds Of The North

A Morning Of Gales


   Those strong fen winds from the north arrived this morning, talking winds that carry fen spirits over the flat world of east Anglia, winds that arch the back of even the mighty oak and ash, winds that make every willow shimmer their dance over waters edge and turn the damp soils of winter into dry crust.
   A morning when tea cups warm the hands of the men of the fens and weather beaten faces hide behind high collars and under hats of wool, a morning when reed and sedge beds roll like huge land seas, wave after wave whispering those spells that will rid this magical rich land of winter's end, natures broom that sweeps the remains of long cold months from the young fresh shoots that will arrive.
   Winds beat every cottage and spoken words fight to reach our ears, bunches of hag stones rattle and knock as their thick rough twine starts to dry and moss pads fall from roof tile and slate like little cushions landing on paving stone.
   A day at my flame await this bead hermit with winds to watch and rushing skies to follow, thoughts of wild magic will play with my mind and beads born on this day will I'm sure carry it on for a hundred years.  
 

Grey Skies And Sleet Falling

What A Wonderful Morning


   Big dark grey skies welcome us this March morning, a mixture of rain and sleet falling over the fens and that cold winter feel runs between Ash and Willow like a naughty child making sure everyone knows it's there.
   No wonderful wide skies with theatre backdrop white clouds on this start to the day, no spring sunshine to tease us into thoughts of summer, just fine ice drops falling onto the dark soil and river banks, sleet that does slide without interruption down every reed until hitting the waters surface.
   Oh winter why do you play these tricks on us, why not pass and let spring warm our back once more, your long cold months we lived and your snow we walk upon while others walked warmer roads and saw sunshine every day, is it not our turn to see buds bloom and leaf grow, never will we forget you nor speak ill of your coldness and again we will welcome you this year end as we do every year, just move on and say goodby for these next eight months, don't bully us more, just let us smile once again in early morning sun.
   A sparrowhawk sits on the round timbers of garden fence watching while every small bird is gone, not one stays while this regal prince of the fens is hunting, his head rocks as his eyes flicker and scan every branch and shrub, the sleet hitting his wide back and bouncing to the ground, no food for him this morning, no painted faces to carry away, I wish him gone and my little friends safe once more.
   With the white ice laying a fine carpet over the garden it is a warm working day ahead for this bead maker, my seat by the kiln calls and a flame that will burn and warm my thoughts awaits me, today I hope my aches will leave and my legs will belong once more to me, these last few days I've felt so old and slow but it will pass, it always does.
 

Early Rains Across The Fens

A Wet morning But One Full Of Life


   With the rich fen soil damp from over night rains and the air riding on a gentle fen breeze most minds would be thinking spring is still far away let alone here, yet I sit here with early morning cuppa watching that special matinee that only nature can direct, one with no words nor leading actor but special effects that no computer would ever achieve.
   My gang of painted faced bandits feed on the niger seed feeders while four black birds tread the wet grass hunting worm and all under the gaze of that little fat robin who seems to check every move they all make. The call of collar dove and wood pigeon wander through this quiet still morning, calls of love and attention haunting over the flat lands while the chatter of finches never settles as they gossip in lilac tree.
   This morning I travel the fens for a few hours, camera in hand and eyes watching every hedgerow and thicket, a small rest for me to enjoy after a busy week, a chance to enjoy the world that I've missed this last month. Long hours and worried thoughts have made this hermit long to walk again, great drains and river banks of the east I'll explore, reed beds and willows I'll pass and wetland beauty will cross every path I stroll to catch my eye.
   Bare winter trees with ivy clad trunks will greet me with a welcome wave in this morning breeze and crested grebe will whisper as they watch me pass their fishing grounds, such a different world to that I lead in my magical barn but one with which I walk hand in hand though the long seasons and one I would hate to lose.

Rain And Dark Skies On This Mothers Day

Spring Makes Us Wait


   Oh what would I give to hand my mother a gift on this special day, to tell her I love her and see her smile, just one minute that's all I'd ask, just one minute. To ask where I go, how I head forward and to hear her voice so calm and warm would I know turn this big man into a small kid once again. To all out there who have their mum to spoil and love today, make it last every second of this special Sunday and every day to come.
   After a week of thinking spring was upon us and the first sunshine of the year warming our backs we now enjoy yet another cold wet weekend, no use to man or beast. Once more gardens all over the east will be too wet to work and log piles and coal bunkers are once more pillaged by red faced fen tigers weather beaten by a long winter.
   Hot porridge and toast is taken on this cold damp Sunday morning by those thinking of early morning cuppa sitting on patio's of stone in summers early sun, today they watch through windows as rain and sleet fall over the dark soil and even the odd flake of snow dances down towards the ground.
   No summer dresses and hats head to church and chapel on this day of worship just winter coat and scarf pass through those great timber doors hung on pillars of stone.
   My plan of garden work will wait another day and to my torch I will head, a warm day beside my kiln with glass to melt and beads to form and as I work my eyes will watch a thousand times the wet world outside through old glass pane with webs of fine silk thread in every corner.
    Memories of Sunday mornings will flood my mind, that child helping his grandad in wet garden will appear, his black wellington boots and torn winter coat to keep him warm while dung was dug in and bonfire  would smoulder for half the day and every quarter those church bells would chime making him look up towards that tall spire topped with a golden weather cock.
   

Early Mist

Damp Coat For The Flat Lands


   Willows drip with early fen mist this March morning, a quiet still start to the day with only the sound of four calling swan arrows passing over head, loud cries and beating wings I hear, those magnificent powerful giants of nature heading for crops of fresh green shoot and rich dark fen soil on which to glean.
   The mist curls around every cottage like a fine damp cloak around shoulders of stone and brick, my barn sits under conifer like a Victorian gent standing in shadows waiting for the smog to lift, a grey morning opens this bead makers day.
   The cobbled path sits wet and cold with tiny rock pools nestled between every smooth pebble, edge of fine green moss softens straight line and crowds of snowdrop bow their heads to each who passes along this road of stone.
   Spring life starts to appear here in the flat lands of the east with winter barley turning this dark rich land green and reed and sedge waking every river bank, soon the eel will move and great Zander will hunt the deep drains once more in sun lit waters. The winds are drying the land and every hedgerow holds a million buds, the great change of spring now starts and too my thoughts of summer.

The Month As Passed

We Made It !


   February 2013 will always stick in my mind, that month will never be banished from my memory, since my life as a bead maker started I've never faced such a long hard struggle for 28 days, the seat in which I work never seemed to cool and my flame was there alongside me every hour. Sleep was not important and hard to find, just work and worry seemed to live that month, that four weeks walking on the edge of failure when we just had to succeed, when every day I longed for a sale and held my breath, when questions of our future turned in my head and answers frightened me.
   Now at last it's over and we made it through that cold second month, we can now smile again but only after I thank those who encouraged us and those who were there for us, not many close friends share this bead hermit's world but those who do are special, they understand why I fight so hard to live this simple life, they know I ask for nothing more than to live here making my beads in this little space I call home.
   I'm a simple village boy with no special education, I love the nature around me and I love learning the magic my flame teaches me, yes I wish the road I walk was sometimes an even one where no rut would trip me nor tree lay across my path, but my life would die away on such long plain roads where thousands of others travel, I'm here such a short time and waste it I won't, I've seen lives taken so early from those who never had time to enjoy and I'll fight a hundred fights to live this one life I have the way I wish, so even those months like February 2013 that lay around the next bend wont stop me, they will hurt me and tire me, they may even frighten me once more but I'll get through them with that flame of magic I adore every day and I'll carry on loving the beads I make.

Sunshine Lights The Fens

Cold But Bright


   Strong sunshine lights up the fens this last day of February, it's marriage to the cold breeze from the north making such a fresh clean morning, one of bird song and dancing conifer branches swaying like green waves . Finches chatter in Lilac and blackbird washes it her morning pool, crystal clear and cold as ice it cleans every feather. Bird boxes welcome blue tit and great but will they stay, will they make their home and be safe, travel a thousand times from feeder to hole with beaks of full in months to come, maybe they will.
   With morning sun come thoughts of clay for this bead hermit, afternoons sitting in warm garden throwing pots and bowls and longing my life to stay that way, peaceful and honest hidden away from the busy world with my flame to welcome me each dawn and clay to cleanse my hands each evening, no better way can I think to spend my days, no better way.

   Today I look to old friends in my flame, focal beads of stone and coats of clear to protect their core, silver tears that drop onto their faces never to move again, there they stay for a hundred years, admired and worn around slender necks of those who care, passed to daughters from aged hands onto another life where they show off the magical tricks of fire and glass.

A Cold Still Morning

A Dragon To Feed


   No early spring sun or bright blue skies here this morning, a cold still late winter's day greets us with huge wide grey sky and not a breath of fen breeze, dove call sounds out from the silence and just the odd passing morning traffic rumbles by the cottage as I sit warming hands on my tea mug.
   My little dragon will today warm my feet while I sit at my torch, his fat belly will bulge with orange flame and his warm grey breath will climb up through the still air as if to warm the clouds, the kettle will ride his iron shoulders while ever crackle and spit will sound out through the barn.
   A day of colour ahead of me with bright dots and discs to form, happy beads to brighten the mood and remind us that summer is closer than we think, blues, greens, reds and yellow will enter the flame, this bead hermit will once again ride that funfair of crazy warm colours while the world outside his barn slowly works through this last cold season, his own little world where every day can be fun, every hour can be a magic show where tricks of fire deserve great applause and tiny eyes watch from dark corners.

   Bright candy pink was formed yesterday with simple case to allow all to see, a magical colour with cords of light running through ever bead, not the shade this hermit would normally expect to make him smile but smile he did.

Spring Morning

How Near Spring Must Be


   Clear blue skies greet us here this morning, crystal blue with not a cloud in sight cradles the early sun that lights up the flat lands of the east, early frost melts while bird song rings around the fens like natures own Sunday service.
   A choir of rooks sound out from the great Ash and Oak of manor farm, a good half mile away but their calls echo through the still morning air, wood pigeon court and the tiny wren hops from hedge to hedge, her small fine beak searches every twig. The gold finches are again busy feeding while the first spring green finch arrives on cherry tree branch, so clean and clear his green wing feathers.
   For me a day of garden toil that I will enjoy, jobs of which I longed to arrive through those winter months of ice, bonfire to light and beds to dig with plans to make and seeds to sow when greenhouse is tidy once more, what better way to spend this day of rest.
   No flame to light this day nor dragon to feed just spring sun to warm my bones and natures theatre to entertain, a thousand players will perform and every one a star.

Hot Lemon And Honey

A Day To Recharge


   It's been what seems like a long long week here at the barn, a mixed bag of fortunes was my reward with beads both good and bad emerging from the kiln, positive results far out weighing those with a tinge of disappointment, lots of ideas were tried and lots more will be given a chance in the flame, but today I rest, recharging my batteries and spending time thinking, watching and writing about the life I lead and that which as passed, my way of relaxing I guess.
   I sit here watching 12 painted clowns feeding on niger seed, their faces so bright and clear and not a worry in the world, some sit and wait their turn, their red face masks standing out like warning lights in the green and brown of late winter while others dine on those tiny black seeds they love so much. Beaks are cleaned on bare lilac branches while collard dove starts to forage for those first early nesting materials, pulling and tugging on twig and stick until carried high into conifer tree.
   No rains this morning or winds of the fen, no ice nor snow carpets the dark soil this day and just the sound of blackbird, robin and finch fill the air, an unspoiled weekend morning, I'd barter every bead I've made to make every day such as this and make a million more to bring back those I miss to share them with.
 
 

Hints Of Winter Remain

   Cold Morning In The Fens


   Cold sleet from the north washes over the dark eastern soil this morning, sleet that kisses your face with freezing cold touch and stings your forehead like a thousand angel pinches. The cold of winter's end rides every droplet of ice, that cold chill that tightens your skin before working it's way to your bones.
   On a day when the fens look so grey like the world as lost it's colour, my flame will flicker on again after burning late last evening, more magical tricks it will show, keeping my mind warm even if body cold.
   My little black fire dragon is again alive and crackles and spits as he warms the barn, his timber fare stacked awaiting his greed and flat bottom kettle resting on his shoulders.
   So close was spring that you could feel the warm mornings travelling our way but now that reminder of winter's tail, those weeks when fingers once again feel cold and stiff, when nose and cheeks belong to another colder you and breath sends words into the cold air riding warm steam until they fade into the past.
   Once again a day of glass calls and I head off to play and learn, to carry onward on my journey, travelling those lanes I love where lessons hide behind every tree and new challenges await around every bend, where I past old friends who were forgotten and say hello once more, old friends I made in my flame in winters past  when colours were new and days so different to those I now live.
 

Signs Of Spring

Life Starts Again


   Another fresh morning greets us here in the fenland with that cold wind yet again forcing us to light wood fires and wrap in layers of plenty, my warm kiln will welcome my freezing fingers this morning and that little fire dragon that stands in barn corner will breath out warm air as it's belly glows golden with flames from fen timber.
   I see my world changing every day with snowdrops arriving like bands of spring outlaws hiding under every tree, there they sit with heads bowed after the battle with late winter, ready to welcome spring they wait, humble yet so very beautiful they look.
   Every tree and shrub hold a thousand buds of leaf, natures jewellery they will form, no gold or stones of light do they need, just those honest green pendants that gather water and make our lands so green, great shade they form where bead hermit will sit and write and dream of worries lifting to leave a restful life with quiet days in which to melt his glass.
   The wren hops from every web searching her food and robins sit watching over every change, collard dove collects twig and stick to form and restore and those tiny blue darts that tits throw through conifer branches seem now so bright.
   Even my flame is happy licking colours of bright fun, another sign of clear warm days I wonder, does this magical fire that teaches me know how the seasons turn or does it once more play tricks with me, I'll never know for sure but ancient glass hermits trusted and so will I.

A Day Of Clay

Ceramic Beads To Make


   A sunny day here in the fens and today I play with clay, no throwing on wheel or coil pot making for me, it's ceramic bead ideas that have pestered my mind these last few days, round, disc, curved and much more, how busy my hands will be.
   With the light rain falling here in the east and clay in my hands I think of that little blonde haired boy sitting mixing mud in the garden of that thatched family home, with sticks and twig he mixed his mud to form those small bricks that would sit and dry in summer sun, castles and walls would be built with moats that drained in minutes and plastic soldier placed inside, how long ago it seems.
   No fire dragon for me to feed today just warm kitchen in which to work with large pine table to roll my beads, the barn will rest this January day, no lights to glow and flame to flicker and still corners will stay dark while glass rods will feel safe once more.
   Clay will work in my hands until placed to dry on wooden tray, tools to carve and engrave will be busy and holes will form in every piece. Rolling and twisting will be done while thoughts of spring will run in my head and cups of tea will help to make this day another of interest and fun.
   What will people like, designs of old or something new and crazy say, maybe narrow and long they will be or chunky rustic country nugget with no side the same, I'm sure I'll try them all and some will be found that will sell.

Dark Morning

Rushing Dark Skies


   A dark winter morning welcomes us this Wednesday, as light opens up our world the sight of those rain filled wild clouds rushing over the fens heading off to the coast is all we see, no bright blue skies to start this day, just deep dark banks of storm armies rolling east, in haste they march watched by a thousand fenland eyes.
   The light drizzle of night has left tiny crystal clear drops on every window and cobbled path holds still pools for early winds to dry, clumps of snowdrop leaf sit nestled under cherry tree with coats of dew and Magpie rattle is cutting the silence, a different land winter is leaving behind.
   No ice is left and ponds now dance in fenland breeze to celebrate their freedom from that bitter cold winter  sleep, now life can start again in water cold, a life so strange for us but to them a world so full and busy, weed will grow and reed will stand until the spring they will produce this show we watch, a show that will amaze again like every year.
   A day of glass I face, warm and content I will work my flame while I watch the molten magic tricks that will entertain and orange glow from box of fire will keep them safe until tomorrow. Rods will watch as I pick my next and dust filled corners will hide eyes that see all, builders of web will laugh at my simple craft as they produce such stunning work and to them I bow in respect.
   How lucky this bead hermit is to share this world of flame and glass, to explain his reason to fight for it to the last is not needed and one that all can see.

Rains To wash, Winds To Dry

The Thaw


   Temperatures lift here in the flat lands and with the rains of last night most of the snow has been wash deep into the fenland soil, now we watch the winds rushing across the dark garden of East Anglia with reeds and rushes riding every blustery breath nature sends while forgotten lavender shivers every silver seed head.
   No dark skies to greet us this morning, no sky of grey so full of winters carpet, only blue fresh sky with those long slender sun lit white clouds that ride high in the wind, a sign of sunshine maybe on this day of rest, a day to dry our sodden land and wipe clear the mess winter left behind after frozen parties that bright clear stars did attend well into each night.
   For this bead hermit it will be a long warm day at my torch watching my birds feed at their swinging feeders and listen I will to the old conifer trees talking above my barn, groaning to each other like old folk of the fen putting world to right, the fire I'll feed and bead ideas will play around in my head as if riding some wonderful carousel, off and on they will jump while I try to catch them, no easy Sunday for this bead maker.
 

 

Winter Remembered

Childhood Winter


   As I sit here on this cold winter Sunday looking out upon the snow covered fens the memories of winters past come flooding back to me, great weeks of snow when being a child was the greatest thing ever and hours of fun were had in the small streets and lanes of Ashwell until hands were so cold you had to go warm them up in mum's kitchen.
   Those snowball fights in the school meadow and riding a mini bonnet down Kingsland Terrace with both fear and excitement. Those long walks along village lane where curtains of ice from great willow trees hung and waters as cold as mountain snow flows from chalk spring.
   On three sides the snow covered hills protect my Ashwell, the fourth lay flat and cold with just narrow lane cutting a path, a path walked by both rich and poor for a thousand years, where tramp and merchant alike have trod and snows drift to a mans waist.
   I remember those great iron lamps that lit the streets in winter snow, every flake passed through the light like angel wings falling to the ground, I would sit watching at my window well into the night hoping the snow would settle.
   Those ice covered pavements that ran along busy high street, solid crusty ice that bore a hundred frozen foot prints with clay red salt resting to each curb and figures walking slowly through wet sludge in the road, some bent over wearing coat and hat and others enjoying every step.
   The odd car would pass or coal lorry loaded with those grey heavy sacks, food for fires all over the village and every door step would have small round finger prints from milk bottles now in larders or on kitchen table. The shops would still trade as before with pavements swept clear of snow, an invitation to their door, butchers, bakers, post office and village store, all open and still serving with that smile that only village folk used.
   Kitchens everywhere would smell of soups and stews and that winter pot of boiling potato peelings that every hen keeper would cook, great black iron kettles stood on ranges full of boiled water for that needed cuppa, no hot water taps to run then. The larder would home winter stores and cheese, butter and meats would sit wrapped in paper, pickles would stand in jars like soldiers of different regiments all waiting their turn, reds, greens, yellows, like stained glass in a church of food.
   Dad's and grandad's would be sawing and splitting logs by wash house door and the outside water taps would wear their winter coats of sacking and string. The cobbled yard would be cleared by salt and bird tables would be adorned with strings of peanut shells and homemade lard balls, oh how this world changes, am I the only one who wishes he could return, maybe.
   

A Wild White World

The Tree Of Winter


   The fens stand still, no winds on this day of January, freezing mist sits above the rich garden of the east like cloaks of silver haze waiting to fall upon the soil, everywhere so quiet as if I was stood watching a winter funeral but my eyes only fell upon one subject. There stood the most regal of ice tree, it stands looking out over the fen as if every noble branch was inspecting winter's work, pointing to even the smallest gap in the ice.

   Can he feel me watching, does he know my thoughts, the strength I see in him and how I wish I was standing there in his place, a hundred years behind him and a hundred to come, seasons pass and wind blown fen earth protect his roots, how we dream of that safe long life.

World Of Ice

Freezing Fens And Skies Of Ice


   I woke to a world of ice this morning, a world so cold that my fingers and toes feel like they belong to another, hot tea for warming and woodburner to light were my first jobs of the day. Now the barn is warming with the little chimney puffing out gentle smoke columns that rise up into the ice sky above us passing through tree branches like skeletons of white frost a winter gift like no other.
   A group of six partridge walk over the snow covered winter barley behind us, little round bodies with those orange feet stepping slowly through the thick cold carpet that covers the dark rich soil and great tits visit peanut feeder like small blue darts that flash through the low conifer branches. My robins sit on the feeding table like little feather balls their red chest bright in this winter world and the blackbirds scramble on the tall rose bushes picking hips of bright crimson.
   Now with hands warm I'm heading off to saw wood, I need to keep that little fire dragon fed in the barn, crackling and spitting as it feeds on my collected woodland supplies, that old bead hermit now gets closer as I sit out there in the warm while winter laughs at us all, she loves playing her frosty tricks on us and I guess we would be lost without them.
   
 

Snow Arrives

The Fens Are White


   We woke to find the fens covered in that cold white winter coat that visits every year, conifer branches bend under the weight of snow and the ponds are quiet under ice. Fen tigers all over East Anglia pack up fires for the day and care for livestock, chimneys smoke away like village gents puffing on pipe and great coats are pulled from hooks of iron to keep backs warm, boy do I love this time of year.

   The hardened fen folk would laugh loud to hear me call this snow, to them it's more of a thick frost and as for the cold winds, well just an early spring breeze, their weathered faces tell stories of winters hard, winters of ice and freezing gales that freeze drain and dyke alike, winters when rivers are walked upon for week after week like frozen lanes that snake through the flat lands towards the wash, where clusters of ice covered reeds line each bank like miniature winter forests beneath which roach and rudd hide, oh no I've not seen a real fen winter yet !
 
 

Skies Full Of Snow And Cold Fingers

Winter Returns To The Fens


   If I had a pound for every time people ask why I enjoy living out here in the strange flat world of the fens then I'd be one very rich guy, the answer is hard to explain but mornings such as this one are a big part of it. Sitting here looking out across the wild frost covered fenland's that stretch out for miles behind us, it's dark soil now wearing lace caps on the peaks left by the winter plough and cock pheasant that strut over the winter barley, a raw morning of winter but one I love, some would prefer the summer mornings when the early sunshine lights the world of nature but for me these cold months when hands never seem to warm and frost will sit all day are just as interesting.
   When most think of the fens their thoughts turn to reed beds, sedges and willows along with swans, geese and barn owl, they see the dark rich soil that holds hardly a stone and drain that runs for miles as straight as an arrow and don't get me wrong they are all a big part of life here, but for me there are so many more things that I watch and the change of seasons can be no more severe than here in the fens and droves of east Anglia.
   I feel the only thing missing from the countryside I enjoyed back in Hertfordshire is woodland, the lack of trees here in the fens is very obvious to my eyes and I guess the those strong tough winds that we ride on even the best summer days are a huge part of the reason why. Since we moved here I've set a few trees here in the garden and already they have changed the look of our surroundings and of course with this we get greater numbers of garden birds, I guess it's my own little part of Hertfordshire, the backdrop to natures theatre that performs for me all year.
   Now with the sky full of snow I'm heading off to my torch and a warm barn in which I'll be working until this evening, I'll be watching for snow as I work and I'm sure if it does arrive this big kid will find an excuse to get out there in it !
 

Snow On The Way

A Short Visit To The Beach


   So, the snow is on the way they keep telling us and I believe them as the temperature and the sky are both pointing towards winter again, I've been cutting wood so we have enough to keep the wood burners going over the next couple of weeks and for once I feel ok about working in the barn when it all arrives, it's dry, it's now for the first time warm and it's even getting tidy for a change, fingers crossed all will be well.
   After the car not starting a few weeks back and the AA guy telling me to keep giving her a run out to charge battery, I've been trying to do just that and this week I managed a short morning visit to the local beach, it's only a 35 minute drive but with the return trip it's enough to get some power in that battery.
   It was a sunny morning but that coast wind was blowing and the tide was out giving a real cold winter look to the place. Hardly a soul walking on the sands just a couple of guys digging for fishing bait along with the odd dog walker.

   I did manage to pick some sea glass but was really looking for any driftwood that may have been washed ashore, but no luck on that front.
   I must say this morning we now have some great winter sunshine here in the fens and tho it's coupled with a rather chilly breeze blowing over the flat lands it does make a pleasant change to those grey damp mornings we have had over the last couple of months.
   I've been writing a few more poems this week, most are about Ashwell and my childhood and I'll be putting some on here at odd times, you all know me enough by now to realise that I need a good kick up the arse now and then before I show things here on the blog so if it's a week before you see one try to be a little understanding, I just hate the thought of showing a poem and people thinking they are really not that good, but I will share them I promise.
   Ok, back to my torch and I need to clean and photograph beads that I'm listing on eBay this evening, I'm glad the mixed sets are selling as I really believe they will be handy for so many types of jewellery and I'll keep listing them.

Homemade Biscuits And A Warm Barn

   Well, touch wood the winter hasn't been too angry on us yet, with the addition of the wood burner to the barn we have been keeping warm for the first time since I built the place, it is amazing how better it is to work without hot water bottles on our laps and trying to move with layer upon layer of clothing. To be honest with you there have been times this last few weeks when the barn has been far warmer than the house and the idea of me sleeping in there as crossed my mind, tho I must admit I'd miss my bed even if I struggle to get a good nights sleep in it.
   This weekend I had a baking day with flour and butter covering the kitchen table I managed to bake a selection of gluten free biscuits, I wouldn't say the best I've ever eaten but by far cheaper than buying from the shops. In days past I would have a biscuit with my tea in the mornings while working but this last year as made that impossible, so I thought I'd give baking some a go and I guess as time passes the quality will improve and I won't have to close my eyes when walking past the biscuit section in the supermarket.

   I must say this last couple of weeks as to a large degree been spent working on my torch, the bead sales are at last slowly turning around and I need to make the most of it, you never know how long it will last so make hay while the sun shines is the old saying. I've had little time for the ceramic side of things tho every day I'm drawing sketches of pottery ideas and I have some new glaze to try, I'm hoping this coming weekend will be spent on my wheel so I can catch up a little, I'm missing the feel of clay in my hands.
   I think some of you have noticed I'm listing some larger selection sets of beads on ebay and by the remarks I've had some of you are impressed with the colours. I just thought it was something a little different for the new year and I do enjoy making them so why not, just a bit of fun for a change.
   Ok, that's my morning cuppa over and back to my torch, I hope your all enjoying the start to the new year and if, like me, you feel a change is needed in what your doing or indeed making, then go for it, if I can make colourful beads like those above then you can do anything.
 

Welcome 2013

Happy New Year To All


   Well what a wonderful start to the new year here in the fens, no rain all day and sunshine that filled the sky with clear blue, those fenland winds were cold and fresh and this old bead maker had a day of complete rest,  now I'm ready to start the new year with a mind full of fresh ideas both glass and ceramic.
   An early start calls in the morning as I have so much to make, beads for both shops and for the displays here at the barn, pottery for the website and etsy shops and also for a small selection that I hope to display here too. We have only a few more jobs to complete the spring clean of the barn then it's just a matter of weeks before we can invite customers and friends here once again.
   I have been questioned on the subject of lessons in lampwork again this week and I have decided to start teaching once again, I must say I have missed it and look forward to once again helping those who wish to take up the hobby. I will post more information here on the blog nearer the time including the cost of lessons and the day long courses, if anyone is interested feel free to email me with any questions, upwellsell@aol.com
   Now I would like to take the opportunity to thank everyone for their support in the last 12 months, it has been a hard year for us and every sale of our beads as been so important here, we can only thank you all and hope you will continue to use our beads in the future, there were times I really didn't think I would still be making beads this new year, but I'm still here and that makes this silly old sod smile. I will try my best to continue making beads of interest and I too hope my ceramics will please some, I very much look forward to  the next year being one in which my beads and pottery will travel hand in hand but more importantly I hope all of us live a healthy and happy year, we enjoy what we do and ask for nothing but respect from others, we help and encourage those we know and above all, we remember those who sleep never to wake again, those we miss and loved.

Happy New Year