Thursday 6 September 2012
Blackberrying with cats . . .
Last night it was such a lovely evening that I walked across the lane to the field opposite, to try and find a few blackberries (believe me, it was a FEW as well - about 2 dozen!) I found I had a trio of cats following me - Banshee (who spends all the warm days of summer in this field), mad Miffy (the boys' mother), and on the cow highway above the bramble bushes, grey tabby and white Sheba (aka Misery Guts) was yowling for me in her deep Eartha Kitt tones). Ban and Miffy were running around the field like they'd never been free before. Sheba carried on moaning, because she didn't know how to reach me. I nursed my dodgy knee and tried not to turn my leg in the poached areas where the lame cows had been hopping round that week. Sheba finally found her way through a gap in the brambles and joined us, but kept her distance from the other two - she doesn't like any of the others At All. . .
Anyway, we had had a very long day and I am surprised I had any energy to move as we had been up since 6 a.m. and not home till 4.15, having been to a small car boot sale all day. It was finally worth the effort, when our two rocking chairs went to a new home at a knock-down price, to a dealer on holiday . . .
The photographs are the views from our recent day out in Laugharne. What an idyllic spot beside the marshes. I watched Swallows and House Martins swooping low above the brackish tidal stream just flipping their beaks and wings beneath the water and then soaring upwards again in a thousand silver drops. Gulls and other seabirds floated on the still waters of the high tide. A swarm of other waders flew up as one from the mudflats as something disturbed them, jinked in a cloud of wings and disappeared from view in a parabola of movement. A heron stalked at the water's edge, stiff and hesitant like starched grey silk. Holiday-makers walked below the castle, intent on visiting Dylan Thomas's boathouse. They paused for photographs - lingering and making the most of the scenic backdrop.
After delivering some artifacts from my husband's family to the 1940s Museum (they were delighted with them and part of my husband's family history is now part of the tour!) we visited St Martin's Church , and found the grave of Dylan Thomas, marked by a simple wooden cross which people had left seashells and pennies on. His wife Caitlin is remembered on the other side. (She survived him by half a lifetime . . .)
Today our son is home from his travels and we are having a celebration meal (roast pork with all the trimmings was requested). I think we will all sleep well tonight.