A brief glimpse of Spring

Upon waking up last Sunday morning we were met by two strange phenomena. The first, being of the visual variety, was the most obvious, as it was immediately apparent upon drawing our curtains. The grey clouds had taken a day off, leaving us with a brilliant blue sky and a sunny disposition.

The second was a lightness of feeling which initially wasn't easy to put one's finger on. Then it dawned on us. For the first time in two months it was a Sunday without any obligations, free to spend whichever way we fancied.

Putting the two together, we felt truly blessed that the sun had chosen this very day to grace us with her presence.

According to the weather forecast, this cloudless, sunny day would be a one-off. In fact, the weathermen said it would only last until mid-afternoon. So, we wasted no time in filling a thermos with strong hot coffee, packing a picnic and heading off for a bracing walk and some much needed fresh air.

I wore my beloved princess coat, accessorized with a green beret and scarf. My hands were kept warm by my fake astrakhan muff which cleverly doubles as a handbag!

Our favourite nature reserve, Het Broek, where you have followed in my footsteps many times before, was our destination of choice.

The sun was surprisingly strong and it was good to walk and bask in its relative warmth.

The lakes and ponds were glazed with a fine layer of ice, too thin even to hold the weight of the  resident waterfowl, who could be heard screeching and bickering across the main lake as usual.

Soon we came to the bird hide, a ramshackle wooden hut looking out over the lake.

It was looking deceptively calm, as most of the birds seemed to be hiding among the reeds bordering the small islands in the far distance.

Only a young swan, still partly clad in its downy plumage, was venturing out on its own.

The warmth of the sun after the heavy rains of the last couple of days gave rise to a thin white mist emanating from the sodden earth, creating an ethereal, de-focused world.

The tangled bushes, which simultaneously carried last season's growth and Spring's new beginning, and the majesty of the high, windswept trees, made my daily worries recede, so that I was only living in the moment and savouring every breath.

I was looking forward to a visit to my favourite part of the reserve, a paradisaical corner the sight of which always fills me with tranquility and a unfathomable feeling of déjà vu

But the path leading to this slice of heaven was closed off and the bridge crossing the brook had been removed.

A notice on the gate said the path was permanently closed to protect the family of beavers who had taken up residence here. It is true that we did notice some beaver activity the last time we were here. Obviously, this sounds like a solid enough reason, but I was still feeling quite bereft at the thought of never seeing my favourite place again. Silly me, I'm getting all teary-eyed while typing this.

Taking another path instead wasn't nearly as satisfying, but there were still enough sights, sounds and scents to enchant us and even trick us into thinking it was an early Spring day.

On a path sheltered by a bank of reeds, I tilted my face towards the sun, which was colouring its paleness with a blush on my cheeks while warming up my winter-heavy limbs.

It was warm enough to show you what I was wearing underneath my coat: a black frock patterned with a firework display of flowers in white, orange and green. I wore an ochre belt at my waist and a green cardigan on top, echoing the green of my opaques.

My boots are the ancient pair I'm always wearing for walks of this ilk, and which were still carrying traces of the muddy clay we trampled in on Christmas day.

Onward we walked, through a landscape which had time to heal its peat-digging past and become a haven of fauna and flora. 

If it weren't for the occasional encounter with fellow walkers, the quiet would have been quite deafening in comparison with our daily life's hustle and bustle.

For this particular girl, however, the quietness was like medicine after the frenetic rush of the last couple of weeks.

After eating our picnic sitting gingerly on a damp bench, it was time to return to our car.

It was getting busier now that it was past lunch time, and we no longer had the place mostly to ourselves.

And, true to the weathermen's word, the sun started playing hide and seek with the clouds, until the blue sky we'd waken up to was blanketed once more.

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday and Mica's Weekday Wear Linkup!

Summertime blues

You might think this post's title is a bit misleading, as there isn't even a smidgen of blue in what I'm wearing.

Well, obviously, it isn't the colour blue I'm referring to here, but the state of mind.  Finishing my travelogue has left me feeling a bit deflated, as if my holiday is only now truly over.

But not to worry, as we will be going away on a short trip in just over a week's time, and obviously I'm hoping to return with a whole new set of travel stories!

In the meantime, the heatwave has come and gone, and we are left with a typical Belgian summer: an unsettled mix of fine days, with the odd hot and humid day thrown in, usually followed by a thunderstorm and, more often than not, the ubiquitous grey skies and showers.

Now that the temperature has dropped from its great heights, it's time to turn my attention to some of the unworn Diolen delights waiting patiently in my wardrobe.

Honestly, why should I care about grey skies if I can wear a dress as sunny and bright as this one? Wearable sunshine, that's what it is! Grabbed from Think Twice's rails many months ago, its green and white stripes and different sized yellow and orange flowers instantly appealed.

The dress came with a narrow white fabric tie belt, but I'm generally not a fan of such belts so I replaced it with an vinyl one in a similar yellow as the flowers.

I then started piling on the accessories, staying in the green/white/yellow/orange colour palette of the dress. 

I've had the handbag, which is in pristine condition, for years, but it rarely gets an outing, as I wouldn't forgive myself if it got damaged in any way. I mean, look at those exquisitely embroidered flowers!

It was the Saturday before last and, as usual on a Saturday, it was time to hit the charity shops. These goodies all came from the shop in our village!

There's a huge tin decorated with Nasturtiums (note how well they go with my frock!) still retaining its tiny key so that it can be locked, a set of Matryoshka dolls, and ... can you guess what the orange-red thing with the bird is?

It's an alarm clock! Apparently, it originally came from Habitat where I guess it cost more than the € 5 we paid. Our previous one, a radio alarm clock, annoyingly kept getting ahead of itself, so that's off to the charity shops now, to be replaced by this absolutely fun one!

When the alarm goes off, the bird starts tweeting, its eyes light up and it actually moves, as if hopping up and down on its perch.

Sunday was a picture postcard perfect summer's day, the temperature warm enough not to be stifling, with wispy strands of stratus clouds in a blue sky.

Having been held hostage by the hot weather for too long, we hadn't been for a proper walk since we came back from our holiday.

So, with no other plans or obligations, we packed a picnic and went off, our destination being our favourite nature reserve, Het Broek in Blaasveld.

Last time we were there was at the end of February, so another visit was long overdue!

This time I was wearing blue, which is the predominant colour of this delightful cotton Madras check dress from Think Twice, its collar, sleeves and pockets (yes!) edged in red. 

As the dress was calling out for red accessories, I added a red belt, further accessorizing it with a red and white plastic beaded necklace and red, white and blue bangles.

My hat, with its light blue chiffon scarf, was found in a charity shop on my birthday two years ago. It was made by long-established German hat-makers Mayser, yet it only cost me a couple of Euros.

At first sight, all seemed as it should be, with plenty of water in the reserve's many ponds. There must have been plenty of fish as well, as we spotted several cormorants perched among the waterlily pads, spreading their pterodactyl wings, and a pair of statuesque white herons in the far distance.

We'd expected it to be quite arid, with most of the vegetation yellowed and burned to a crisp, disintegrating at the merest touch, so we were pleasantly surprised by the abundance of green lining the ponds and paths.

Some of the ponds were pea soup green with algae, though, a direct result of the sun relentlessly working overtime.

Among the carpet of lily pads, a late and lonely water lily was displaying its delicate beauty.

We braved a path overgrown with brambles and nettles to get to my favourite corner.

There's a strange familiarity to this landscape, something I can't put my finger on.

It is utterly enchanting whatever the season: from left to right, these photos were taken in early November 2017, late February 2018 and, the most recent one, during our August walk.

A dense thicket of grasses, reeds and cattails almost obscures it from view. 

A sudden quickening of the pulse, then my muscles seem to relax in recognition of this primordial landscape, perhaps reaching its tentacles all the way back to my childhood.

Near the visitor centre, a gaggle of turkeys had escaped the confines of their pen and, accompanied by much gobbling and gurgling, were about to embark on an adventure of their own.

Continuing our walk, our nostrils detected peaty woodland smells: earthy and mossy, with a hint of old fallen leaves.

You eyes might deceive you into thinking this is a tree-lined path on the right, but it is in fact one of the brooks running through the domain, brimming with water in rainy times but now completely dried up.

Highly invasive it might very well be, still I can't help but be enchanted by the delicately sculpted, pastel coloured flowers, reminiscent of orchids, of Himalayan balsam (Impatiens glandulifera), flowering prolifically in late summer and early autumn.

Before we returned to our car, we sat on this bench and stared a while, breathing in the delicious scent of the warm summer air.

Linking for the first time to Nancy's Fancy Friday party!

Some velvet morning

The first of November is a holiday here in Belgium. It's All Saints Day, when people visit their departed loved ones' graves and decorate them with flowers.

We don't have any graves to visit nor do we need a special day to remember our loved ones, as  remembering is a continual process and memories, good or bad, can pop up when least expected.

The day started as it meant to go on, with a blue sky in which marshmallow clouds carelessly floated, the sun shining with a blinding, dazzling brilliancy, shrouding the world in a gauze-like haze.

Not a day to be spent inside, obviously.

What we needed was a good long walk, so we wasted no time in getting dressed and ready.

I dressed in velvet: my dark green velvet jacket, of course, and a printed velvet skirt in autumnal colours, charity shopped last December and last seen here. Needless to stay, I felt quite strokeable in all that velvet softness. Purr!

I combined the skirt with a wide-cuffed and pointy-collared blouse bought at a flea market last Summer, in a heavy moss green polyester with a light green and orange flower print and closing with green buttons, with a smaller version of these at the cuffs.

I added bright orange beads and a gold tone ring with a round orange centre. On top, a pale coral polka dotted cardigan, adorned with one of my Bambi brooches, which has a greenish background.

Another brooch was pinned to the jacket, with an orange and green flamed stone.

My handbag of choice was made from buttersoft dark green leather, with sturdy round handles and a flap closure ending in a fringe.

I wore, and probably ruined, my last pair of burnt orange tights. I've been looking on the High Street but I don't think burnt orange is in fashion. My only remaining hope is the weekly market in our village, which has a stall with a fabulous and inexpensive range of hosiery.

The scuffed brown boots are my footwear of choice when I go out walking from Autumn until early Spring. They are super comfortable and warm to boot (pun not intended) but the culprits of the ruination of my tights ...

I needed a scarf, as the jacket is quite low cut, but there was no need yet to bring out the wool, so I chose this large square one in yellow, orange, purple, pink and blue.

Our walk took us to one of our favourite wild places: the watery nature reserve Het Broek in Blaasveld.

The air was pungent with Autumn smells, a heady mixture of rotting vegetation and mulchy leaves, mingled with some strands of far-off wood smoke.

A patch of crown vetch was basking in a sun trap, attracting the last of the bees. It usually flowers from June to August, so it must have been rejuvenated by the late Summer weather of only a week or two ago.

Vegetation - even in its various stages of decay - was still quite abundant, and partly obscuring the view into half-hidden pools and brooks.

I love this watery world of mystery and imagination.

Flocks of geese arrive from further North to spend Winter in this paradisiacal half drowned landscape.

The meadow where I posed back in August was a squishy cushion of earth and grass. This is, after all, a marshy area, and will revert to water meadow in months to come.

For now, I could still walk across its surface without getting my feet all too wet, rejoicing in the sun's balming rays.

It felt good to be out and about in what could very well be the last of the delicious Autumn days!

Once again linking to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style!

Warming up to the ice age

Last Saturday, our plans for another clearing session at my dad's house fell through, so that we unexpectedly had a whole day to ourselves, to do whatever we fancied.

As it was an exquisitely sunny, albeit frosty day, there was no way we were going to spend it inside.
In fact, we made the very most of it and went for a long walk a little further from home.

As the temperature was still well below zero degrees Celsius, we dressed warmly, which in my case meant a colourfully patterned wool-blend dress, closing with a zip at the front.

It might look deceptively thin, but its wool content makes it really warm. In view of our walk, I wore it with both a slip and a thermal camisole underneath.

I chose opaques in almost exactly the shade of green featured in the dress.









This thick cream cable-knit cardigan, with delicate red and lilac detail, completed my outfit.

On top of this came my trusted fake fur coat. I also wore a lined vintage turban hat, a nice long purple scarf crocheted by my friend Ingrid and a pair of fingerless gloves to enable me to take photographs. Oh, and my new-to-me sheepskin boots, of course!

Whenever it got too cold, I tucked my hands in my handbag disguised as a muff. Or is it the other way around?

A thirty minute drive away, Het Broek in Blaasveld (broek meaning marshy area) is a favourite nature reserve, which we visit in all seasons. Much to our shame, our last visit was in May (I blogged about it here), and I guess 2016 was the first in many years that we did not visit it at least once in the autumn months.

Although there are several options for shorter and longer walks, we usually do the same loop, which offers quite a lot of variety.

Immediately after entering the domain through a gap between hedges, two large ponds come into view, now covered in a thick layer of ice.

The pond on the left is the kingdom of a gracious pair of white swans. A lady walking her dog was feeding bread crusts to the birds. Rather than regally gliding over as usual, the swans, clearly out of their depths, came waddling over, treading carefully on the slippery ice.

Followed by a comical moorhen, whose antics on the ice put me in mind of a funny cartoon bird.

Het Broek is a watery wonderland, with ponds and lakes in different sizes, and with the exception of one or two sand ridges, the whole area is only two to three metres above sea level.

In winter, the many brooks and creeks which run between the crooked trees are clearly visible.  In spring and summer, these are mostly hidden by abundant foliage, allowing only the occasional glimpse.

Beyond the first two ponds, the path snakes through a wooded area, passing some secluded ponds, the quiet only punctuated by the sound of chainsaws accompanying the process of woodland management.

Eventually, a more open landscape on the edge of the domain was reached, where a small frozen stream quietly meandered through banks of iced greenery.

After a short stretch along a tarmacked path bordering a body of water which is used for water-sports, the nature reserve is re-entered. This part was opened to the public fairly recently, and still has a relatively untouched feel.

I loved this enchanted tree-bordered channel of now frozen water, with thick slabs of ice littering the path next to it. And doesn't this innocent piece of wood eerily resemble some poor animal's head?

On to the visitor centre and picnic area called Beaver Island for a short stop and some silly poses involving a couple of naughty bronze beavers.

A few minutes after leaving Beaver Island, we caught our first glimpse of our favourite stretch of the walk: the water meadows, or should that be ice meadows?

From here, there are paths in two directions. We opted for the one leading off to the left, which is the longer of the two. Surely, those few patches of ice are going to be a doddle?

Soon the path became harder to negotiate, with treacherous patches of ice alternated by squelchy stretches of mud where the sun had melted the ice. At one point, the only way to continue without sinking into the soft mud was by climbing a conveniently placed bench.

And yet we continued, even when at one point there was no way of avoiding having to walk on the ice. Let me tell you that this is quite something for me. As a four year old, I broke my arm after slipping on ice, leaving me with a life-long trauma.

The magical world at the end of the path was worth the effort, though, the low sun spotlighting the ice floes dotting the drowned forest floor.

The final stretch of our walk led us past some of the bigger ponds, in other seasons the haunts of gaggles of quacking ducks and honking geese.

Now they were deserted, apart from a couple of dare-devil ice skaters, watched over by dormant, dead-to-the-world winter trees.