Back to the Enchanted Place

I might not be the world's biggest Christmas fan, but if there's one thing I'm absolutely looking forward to as soon as the calendar's page is turned to the year's final month, it must be my week off between Christmas and New Year. This is, in fact, the only time of year when we're at home together for any length of time which does not involve any forward planning whatsoever. As the darkest days of the year are upon us, this usually means sleeping in until there's a smidgen of light on the horizon, followed by a leisurely breakfast and lingering in our dressing gowns nursing cups of coffee or tea until the mood takes us to get dressed. Depending on the weather, we might go for a walk or a rummage, or perhaps just stay at home and read. Apart from the odd food shop, household chores are confined to the bare minimum so that by the end of the week dust bunnies are having a field day here at Dove Cottage!

At my office, the final working week of the year is always a hectic one, involving the necessary preparations, not just for our week off, but in anticipation of our return in January as well. So, although I wasn't feeling too clever after succumbing to the lurgy during the weekend, I went in for a couple of hours of slog on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, collapsing on the sofa as soon as I got home. I was obliged to call in sick on Thursday and Friday, though, as lack of sleep and continuing coughing fits had left me totally exhausted. I didn't get dressed on those days, slept a lot and in my waking moments read a couple of pages in the two books I currently had going, none of which was able to grab my attention for longer than the odd 15 minutes.

The only ray of sunshine came in the form of a lovely handwritten card from Kezzie, in which she'd kindly included one of her sustainable snowflakes made from the insides of envelopes! 

I was feeling marginally better on Christmas Eve, which prompted me to get dressed and even attempt a walk into the village to pick up some Christmas cards for our neighbours. But although the fresh air certainly did me some good, I felt quite exhausted by the time I got back. 

An overdose of tea lashed with honey, throat lozenges, cough syrup and painkillers had been playing havoc with my appetite as nothing tasted quite as it should have. I was actually dreading our Christmas Day supper which for the last 28 years has consisted of gourmet, which is kind of a thing in the Low Countries, involving a variety of tiny pieces of meat one fries individually in tiny frying pans on a raclette-like device. As I wasn't exactly looking forward to all that effort, Jos just fried up all the pieces in a large frying pan, and we enjoyed them with potato salad, a selection of veggies and home-made cocktail sauce. And you know what: it tasted heavenly! 

The weather was simply too atrocious to venture outside and go for a little stroll to build up my strength. Instead, it was a lazy day of pottering, reading and listening to the handful of guilty pleasure Christmas albums which thankfully only come out of hiding once a year. 

In total contrast to the Pyjama Days of yore, I got dressed after breakfast, only changing into my jammies after supper. The dress I was wearing wasn't my original choice, which felt a bit restrictive for a day spent mainly on the sofa. Consequently, I was already wearing the mustard opaques and decided they didn't look half-bad with my final choice of frock, a vintage shift dress picked up at Think Twice.

More mustard was added with my charity shopped H&M batwing cardigan and one of the perspex rings I found on Rita's flea market stall the other week. The pansy brooch came from Cardigan antiques market while the 1960s style necklace was an old retail buy.

Boxing Day was another grey and rainy day, the initial mild temperature of 11°C dropping to 5°C and below from late afternoon onwards.

The forecast had been for some sunny spells in the afternoon, but they never materialized, although it did remain dry for a couple of hours. I wasn't feeling very energetic - emerging from the dreaded lurgy has been a slow process, sometimes involving one step forward, two steps back - and as brain fog had once again descended I wasn't too keen to leave Dove Cottage's confines.

Nevertheless, I accompanied Jos to the carwash, stopping at the charity shop in Lier along the way.

Seeing the outfit photos we made in our new favourite spot that day, it seems that although I was looking a bit pale, aided by some carefully applied make-up I did manage to look better than I actually felt. 

I was wearing yet another Think Twice find, a faux-patchwork patterned button through vintage dress, which I often seem to combine with shades of aqua. My King Louie cardigan and H&M beaded necklace were both charity shop finds. Only my ring and belt were bought on the high street.

Pickings were meagre at the charity shop that day. That, and the fact that my heart wasn't really in it. I still managed to snag a funky pair of Gabor sandals which, with the reduction our loyalty card entitled us to, cost us all of € 1,25. 

Finally, we woke up to a clear day with lots of sunny spells on Tuesday. I also woke up feeling more clear-headed than I'd had been in over a week. Not wanting to tempt fate, however, we decided to take it easy in the morning and then go for a short walk after lunch. 

The mercury would eventually climb to 8°C that day, although it did feel quite a bit chillier than it actually was. Or perhaps it was just me. In any case, I opted for a warm woolly skirt from Think Twice, worn with a vintage C&A jumper charity shopped back in January.

The bottle green mock croc belt was a charity shop find as well, while the green-based enamelled brooch with its posy of pansies pinned to the jumper's asymmetrical collar was among my latest flea market haul.

Meanwhile, the sun was streaming through our curtained front door window, creating a kind of magic lantern effect, so wild horses couldn't have kept us inside.

So, wasn't it just our luck that the minute we'd set off to our chosen destination, a smattering of tiny raindrops appeared on our car's windscreen?

Quickly consulting our phone's weather app told us this was supposed to be just a blip so we decided to proceed regardless. 

Although the sun only put in another appearance when on our way home, any sign of rain had fortunately disappeared by the time we'd reached the park in Duffel.

What was supposed to be just a short limb-stretching and head-clearing walk turned out to be quite a bit longer than intended. Drawn by the magical orange-red glow of the carpet of bald cypress leaves which is such a feature here in Winter, we soon veered off the path we'd initially taken and and crossed an expanse of minor mud into its direction.

I've lost count of the times we have walked here over the years, often preceding or following a rummage at the nearby charity shop, which this time we gave a miss.

There's something to delight us here in every season, from the first hesitant signs of Spring to the exuberance of the Autumn hues, but there's definitely something to be said for its relative bleakness in the depths of Winter. The steel grey mirror of the pond reflecting the row of skeleton trees standing sentinel on the edge of the River Nete's towpath beyond. The squidgy, squelching muddy tracks lying in wait to suck you in. The moss and lichen covered tree trunks and the frost-bitten remains of Summer's bounty.

It was almost inevitable that we would end up at the castle ruins which funnily enough could be heard before its wonky towers appeared between the tangle of bare branches. One of the towers was wearing a crown of bickering gulls, while atop another, the resident pair of Egyptian geese were loudly honking, leaving all and sundry in no doubt that they were the lords of the castle.

The castle ruins greatly add to the appeal of the park, which once again proved to be the perfect poetic backdrop to the year's final post, same as it did in 2016 and 2017. 

An enchanted place, with the birds still the keepers of our secrets ...

Much as I'm eagerly awaiting the restoration of the castle ruins so that they can once again be visited freely, I will most certainly miss the state of wild abandon surrounding them now.

The faded coat of arms adorning the rusty wrought iron gates barring the bridge leading over the moat. The weeds and grasses and tendrils of ivy gleefully, luxuriously, taking hold of what for all intents and purposes is rightfully theirs.  

The split and hollow trees, brittle and frail, yet not giving up on life, even if they're only playing host to strapping Winter greens.

The rusty remains of a bike, stolen and discarded, hidden away among Summer's growth until its corpse is revealed in Winter.

We climbed to the tow path, leaving the already dying light behind us, the sun's ever weakening rays casting an eerie glow on the granite grey river. Far away, too far to catch with my phone's camera, a train chug-chugged over the railway bridge, its cadence mingling with the cries of the birds and the echoing snatches of people's voices drifting over from the opposite side of the river.

And here we were back in the park itself, where the Brutalist fountain, finally relieved of its crippling layer of moss and weeds, was rippling the almost-black, opaque water of the pond. Back among the fiery fairy dust of the bald cypress leaves. 

Now all that's left to do is wave my magic wand and make 2022 go away. 

Here's to an infinitely better 2023! 

Happy New Year!

All is quiet on New Year's Day

New Year's Day dawned and it was eerily quiet outside. As we had been up past midnight, just to sit out the fireworks going off left, right and centre, we'd slept a bit later than usual, but otherwise it was just an ordinary Saturday for us. 

We tiptoed downstairs for fear of waking up the sleeping world. Nevertheless, we put on the radio and loaded the washing machine just like we always do on a Saturday morning. After all, nothing had changed since we'd closed our eyes and drifted off. The world hadn't been magically transformed into a virus-free one overnight. At least, they didn't mention it on the news! 

For once, though, we didn't need our daylight therapy lamp to tide us over breakfast. As we'd tentatively lifted a corner of our bedroom curtains, a pale blue sky floating with marshmallow clouds had greeted us. Drawing them wide, we could even detect the rays of a waking sun.

We'd been making attempts to go for a longer walk in one of our favourite nature reserves all week but all had been thwarted by the weather. In fact, it looked as if this day would be the first one in a long time when those godforsaken weather gods didn't have rain in store for us. Plus, at 15°C, it was so mild that it might as well have been an early Spring day. 

I didn't even need that many layers. The green jacket, in spite of its faux fur collar, is only a moderately warm one, and so is my thin knit brown speckled scarf. I could have gone bareheaded, but wore my charity shopped Burberry beret as I'm a creature of habit. 

My only concession to the relative wildness of our destination was my old pair of fleece-lined brown boots to tackle the undoubtedly muddy paths.

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while might remember this particular nature reserve from previous visits. In fact, I've mentioned it in no less than 7 blog posts since having rediscovered the area in the Summer of 2020.

At a mere 20-minute drive from Dove Cottage, the reserve, which goes by the name of Walenhoek, is the perfect choice for sampling some fresh air and the delights of nature whatever the season.

There were only two other cars in the car park, both apparently belonging to dog walkers making use of the adjacent, fenced off dog area.While dogs are obviously allowed in the reserve itself, they have to be kept on a lead at all times to protect the resident wildlife.

Apart from a handful of early birds like us we had the place virtually to ourselves so that we could immerse ourselves in its soul soothing solitude, the quietness only pierced by bird calls and the hypnotic, distant  rumbling of a train passing by on the track just beyond the domain.

There used to be clay pits here belonging to one of the area's many brickmaking factories. After the industry collapsed in the 1970s, it was reclaimed by nature and the traces of centuries of exploitation by man all but erased by its almighty force.

Today, the reserve comprises 60 hectares and offers a delightfully varied landscape of large ponds and pools bordered by reed beds and dense thickets through which a myriad of footpaths wind their way.

It was balmy enough to remove my jacket and show you what I was wearing underneath.

You've already caught a glimpse of my grey woollen skirt criss crossed with woven diagonals in red, green, yellow, black and white, which has been gracing my wardrobe for many years.

The blouse is another one which I reclaimed from the bottom of one of my flea market boxes and no, I honestly haven't got a clue what it was doing there. It was a delight to wear, so it's not going anywhere anytime soon. My teal cardigan is one of my charity shopped heart patterned King Louie's.

Both the green stretchy belt and the green beaded necklace were retail buys which have earned their place in my wardrobe over time. 

The brooch, with its green mottled stone set in a circle of tiny pearls, was bought from the Brooch Lady at an antiques fair in April 2017.

Although we'd walked this path countless of times, we only noticed the battery of bird feeders offering a plethora of delicacies last April, when it was being raided by a pair of cheeky squirrels. 

Sure enough, there was one of the bushy tailed creatures squirreling away its fill of nuts as we passed by. What's more, he or she didn't even bat en eyelid when I tiptoed ever closer to take its picture!

The reserve is dotted with the crumbling remnants of the former brickmaking factory, such as the old electricity cabin (below, top right), its former use given away by a danger of death warning sign.

It's almost beyond belief that less than half a century ago this place was a bustling hive of activity.

We'd brought a picnic, as we often do, and took some time looking for a suitable sun-drenched bench, eventually deciding on one with a view across the largest of the ponds.

Here, we were dazzled by the low Winter sun which had joined forces with its reflection.

I was just in time to grab my camera and catch one of the trains whizzing by, an elongated, quick-as-lightning blur of red and white (below, bottom right).

Hunger pangs satisfied, we continued on our way when, just before taking a final turn to the tree-lined path which would take us back to the car park, we spotted the slats of a wooden garden chair among the trees. 

Gingerly making our way towards it without being tripped up by treacherous brambles, we noticed that it wasn't a case of fly-tipping. In fact, it was a rather fancy one in perfect condition, which was tied to a tree trunk with a piece of rope. Clearly, this was someone's secret hideaway. Not so secret now, obviously, but I suppose it would be completely hidden by an exuberance of foliage in Summer.

With a view like that, I can imagine sitting and staring here for hours!

My depleted energy levels somewhat recharged, I decided to strike the iron while it was hot when we got home. I finally ventured into the garden and removed the slimy remains of the Nasturtiums, which hadn't yet been cleared as they'd been producing flowers only a couple of weeks ago.

What with all the wetness, and sunny days occurring almost exclusively while I am stuck at the office,  the garden has been somewhat neglected, which means I'll have my work cut out come Spring!

The sun had upped and left us again on Sunday, the grey sky reflecting my mood. To say that I wasn't looking forward to going back to the office on Monday is quite an understatement.

Nevertheless, I tried to cheer myself up by wearing colour, and lots of it. I thought it was time this dress got another outing. A sales bargain from Think Twice in the Autumn of 2019, I fell head over heels for its jungly flower and foliage pattern. However, it initially took me a while to wear it because of its plethora of split seams and its zipper, which needed to be fixed.

Taking the lead from the cobalt blue flowers, I added a belt, necklace and ring in the same colour.

Although picked up at a flea market ages ago, it was the necklace's first wear. I've certainly been discovering hidden treasures now that I've culled my tangled jumble of necklaces!

My final accessory was the brooch with its bouquet of sparkly flowers - the odd cobalt blue one among them - on a purple background. 

The Christmas break now being well and truly over, it will be business as usual in my next post. Please make sure to stay safe until then!

Scenes from the bleak midwinter

On the last Sunday of 2019 we embarked on our final walk of the year.

Admittedly, apart from the odd stroll in the park, we hadn't been on a good old ramble for quite a while. Time and tide had been against us, not to mention that eternal spoilsport, the weather.

At the end of a string of wet weeks, that weekend's forecast had been for reasonably dry and sunny weather accompanied by - shock, horror! - some light overnight frost. Had the weather gods finally cottoned on that it's Winter in these parts?

In any case, that Sunday morning we wasted no time in going for that long overdue walk, choosing  one of our favourite nature reserves, Blaasveldbroek, as our destination.

The reserve is about 20 kilometers from where we live and, with its 675 hectares and a choice of foothpaths, it's the perfect place to stretch one's legs. My long-time readers have accompanied me there more than once over the years.

So, after breakfast we dressed warmly to combat the barely above freezing temparatures, donning coats, hats, scarves and gloves, and packed some sandwiches and a thermos flask for a wintertime picnic. 

The day did have a bit of a cloudy start and a lingering haze initially put paid to the sun's attempts to grace us with her presence.

Once or twice, patches of blue appeared in which fleecy clouds seemed to huddle together for warmth.

There's fauna and flora in abundance, too! Speaking of the former, arriving at the visitor's centre, which lies at the heart of the reserve, we were met by the resident cat, a Phoebe lookalike, albeit quite a bit slimmer and friendlier than our grumpy monster.

There were two big grey hairy pigs in a fenced off area which they were in the process of digging over completely with their snouts, in search of who knows what. However, they didn't keep still for a single moment, so that I was only able to catch one of their mud encrusted snouts on camera.

The fearsome but funny bronze beaver (one of a pair) and the enchanting carved wooden ducks probably need no introduction as they have appeared on the blog several times before.

You've already seen most of what I was wearing that day in my previous post, but I still had to show you my outerwear.

The jacket, in a mustardy brown and with furry collar and cuffs, is part of a skirt suit. I've gone off the skirt, but the jacket is still making an appearance each winter. I usually wear the boxy jacket with a belt, this time opting for a burgundy leather one. My ears were kept toasty by my woolly beret from Think Twice and I added a charity shopped scarf in oranges and pinks.

This marshy reserve really is a place for all seasons, and I am definitely an all-seasons girl, finding delight even in the so-called bleak midwinter: the solemn trees reflected in the swollen waters, the thin shards of ice escaped from a puddle, a dead branch giving life to mosses and lichens.

We always stop for photographs in this marshy meadow, even if this time we had to stay close to its edge as the rains had made it quite inaccessible unless one was wearing wellies.

In spite of the cold, I had no need for the pair of leather gloves I'd brought, making do with my fingerless knitted ones, which are far more convenient anyway for a constant photographer like me.

The mottled blanket of clouds was getting denser, the skeleton trees shadow-playing against the gloomy sky. Gentle giants, they are, but even gentle giants do not live forever, victims of old age and fierce winter storms.

Near the end of our walk, just before the turning to the muddy car park, a half-drowned landscape awaited, a graveyard of gentle giants.

Giddy and light-headed from fresh unsullied air, we returned to our car, and drove back home, happier in our skins than we were before.

And so the final days of the year were upon us, leaving me with a final handful of outfits to share.

First up is what I wore on Monday, to run some errands in our town. But laid back days like these are no reason for me not to get dressed up, so out came this charity shopped frock, handmade and with a seasonal print featuring flowers, leaves and berries, in brown, green, red and white.

The furry maroon cardigan is one of the three I scored at the charity shops just days before, and shown in my previous post. 

I picked golden yellows for my opaques, beaded necklace and orchid brooch. The brooch can also be worn as a pendant and was a flea market find.

I opted for full-on colour on New Year's Eve, starting with my dotty Diolen frock from Think Twice, matching the ochre dots with my short-sleeved batwing cardigan. 

The cardie is H&M by way of the charity shops a year or two ago. The long, black and white beaded necklace was another recent charity shop buy, while the green flower brooch - almost exactly the shade of the green dots - was a flea market find.

And now, for the grand finale, I'm introducing you to the outfit I wore to wave goodbye to the old year and welcome the new.

I was determined to wear this glorious Scandi print maxi skirt but initially didn't have the faintest idea what to wear with it. Then I remembered the vintage jumper and blouse in one which I picked up for just € 1 from Think Twice a month or two ago, but promptly forgot about.

It was short enough to wear untucked but I thought it benefited from the addition of a belt, choosing a fabric covered one which I think once belonged to a dress. 

The brooch with its mottled ochre and green stone was yet another flea market find. One of my favourites, I chose it to enhance the yellow bits in the blouse's sleeves and collar.

The final touch was my Art Deco style necklace, one of my best charity shop jewellery finds ever.

And so, that was it, 2019 all wrapped up and put away in a drawer. And about time, I should think, as we are - eek!- mid January already!

Old and New Year Ditties

The year is tiptoeing towards its end, the clocks tick-tocking away its final hours.

The calendar on the wall, once as fresh-faced as a newborn, has lost all but one of its pages. Like a  tree that lets go of its leaves in Autumn, it marks the dying of the year.

Its final page, which only 30 days ago announced, with much fanfare, the start of that whirlwind of a month, December, has gotten wrinkled and dog-eared with use.

We have come full circle again in this strange man-made concept of time and like the trees that have shed their leaves, we are taking time to pause and reflect and, eventually, renew.

I'm  hopelessly nostalgic at the best of times, but never more so than at the end of December, when we're on the cusp of another year.

This is a time to reflect and count one's blessings. To be maudlin and shed a tear or two. To mourn the past year and its losses and to rejoice in its gains.

Traditionally, this is a time for fresh starts and new beginnings.

A time for New Year's resolutions you know very well will never be kept - even recalcitrant me is making them subconciously.

My Christmas Eve outfit:wearing 1960s shift dress accessorized with assorted charity shopped bangles, 

a vintage brooch and a necklace, ring and pair of rosebud sprinkled tights once bought from the high street. 

Be kinder, be a glass-half-full kind of person, be less afraid of change ... the list is endless but in the end I cannot change who I am. And what's more, do I even want to? 

And why, oh why, even wait until this symbolic date to make changes if you really want to?

“Every moment is a fresh beginning.” ~T.S. Eliot

Jos's Christmas Day outfit, featuring a green waistcoat from a vintage shop in Welshpool 

and his best pocket watch which used to be belong to his eldest brother

To be in good health and to live in the moment: that's about all I am wishing for. I do not ask for much. It's the little things that make me the happiest.

The world outside our window seems sapped of colour, at first glance grey and unappealing, the leafless trees reaching up their gnarly bare branches to the sky.

They do not ask for much either, just another year will see them right.

Another Spring for their saps to rise, their buds to grow, their leaves to unfurl. To blossom, however briefly, on the mildest of May days.

 Another Summer to provide shelter under their shady green canopies.

Another Autumn to put on a fireworks display of turning leaves, for birds to feast upon their berries and seeds.

Another Winter to lay dormant, their tangle of branches and lacework of twigs silhouetting against an ever-changing sky, a place of rest for the restless birds.

Yes, we have come full circle again, and in a handful of hours we'll lay the old year to rest and raise our glasses - our cups of kindness - to a new one full of hopes and dreams, wishing that at least some of them come true. 

My Christmas Day outfit: vintage maxi dress worn with a symphony of faux pearls, consisting of a vintage 

Christmas wreath brooch and a necklace from the high street. Charity shopped sparkly teal cardigan 

with another vintage Christmas wreath brooch pinned to it. The ring was another high street find.

So, I am starting the year with a ray of hope for the future year, a glimmer of Spring to come offered by this small clump of delicate Snowdrops caught on camera in a local park only a couple of days ago.

Nor will I then thy modest grace forget,

Chaste Snow-drop, venturous harbinger

of Spring, And pensive monitor of fleeting years!

~ William Wordsworth, from "To a Snow-Drop" 

Happy New Year!

* The post's title is borrowed from Christina Rossetti's poem of the same name, dated 1853