A Damp Fen Morning

Rain Filled Skies And Tired Eyes


   A grey morning welcomes us on this day of worship, cries from the tall manor tree rookery ring out like those calling bells that fill church towers all over this garden of the east, while men of the land and ladies in fine silk drop coin from gloved hands in stone temples this bead maker once more enjoys a day at his flame.
   No ice does lay over the dark soil just the green young wild rape seed that self set in autumn mildness, rich green they stand with game birds walking their shallow paths and broken wet stubble rotting beneath their young leaves.
   Where is that winter we fear, the snows and freezing winds of the north that wrap these flat lands in white soft coat and form ice on dyke and river through every black night, all that shows this fresh year is the rains from the west, great storms that bully our coast and burst our rivers banks and still cold damp mornings such as this, we wait and watch those great open skies that rush over us, we wait.  

Rain, Winds And Dark Mornings.

How Wet This New Year Of Ours

   While single streams of white smoke lift from the terracotta chimney pots that rest on those low roofed fen cottages where dirt floors had flooded in years past and fen lend has since played with their upright appearance, the rains once more soak the rich garden of the east. Those huge wide skies form deep dark cloaks that sail high above the hard people of the fens while they work the reed beds and farmland, to these folk of the marsh this is just another part of life in their magical world.
   For this bead hermit it's a day of cleaning beads, while the wild winds blow away the remains of the old year, natures fresh start and one I hope will be good for all of us.

New Year Dawns

The Fresh Year Is Upon Us

   With fen winds blowing cold fresh air over the flat world of marsh and drain and the damp rain sodden dark rich soil sticking to the feet of fen tigers, we welcome the new year once more. A new year in which the seasons will again test us and make us smile and cry, a year in which we will turn many corners and favour those days when our spirits are high.
   Once more we will watch those great hunting birds in the wide skies and see fish hover over shingle filled river beds while great Willows bend and kiss the water. Eel traps will sit nestled in reed and sedge while winter plays his harsh game and spring will once more put smiles on weather beaten faces as she always does.
   So much to come while this bead maker plays with his flame and learns more molten magic tricks, another year in which he will watch and learn from natures lesson's, yet again he will live the simple life he enjoys and new faces he will meet, we welcome you 2014.

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.