I’m hoping to post the odd (probably decidedly so) picture of our house and the life we’re living in it as we crawl out from under the shadow of large-scale renovations and the general exhaustion which seems to go hand-in-hand (for us, at least!) with having a small child. Well, actually, we’re not quite crawling out (of either) yet, as we’re about to head into another phase of Big Work (this being finishing off the exterior and contemplating such lunacy as interior re-plastering [our ceilings are falling down; what can I say?]), but, like Mon, I like seeing snapshots into people’s lives beyond the words they choose to put up on the screen (hence this is also part of her Through the Keyhole series, which kicked off yesterday – do join in, as the more the merrier for those of us nosy enough to want to know if our kitchen is alone in its midden state; I think it’s a Saturday thing in theory, but I’m too shite to have managed it yesterday).
So here is what I see when faced with the kitchen sink (which makes me hugely grateful every time I come near it, for a multitude of reasons including [but not limited to] having a sink! a real ceramic sink! which isn’t stored under the piano in the dining room!, having taps! real, shiny taps! which give out water! wet, drinkable, clear, reliable water! [older readers may remember our well shenanigans... let us draw a veil over that], the fact that the sink is not piled full of washing-up waiting for my approach in order to adopt its darkest, most sinister laugh while it points out the lack of washing-up liquid because we have a DISHWASHER WHICH WORKS AND EVERYTHING).
The plants you can just about see are lavender, a tradescantia, an unidentified chap called only ‘small foliage’ by its garden centre vendor, and an obscenely pot-bound lemonbalm, found in this unhappy state (well, not really unhappy – perhaps mildly discontented?) because there is nowhere in the garden to put it, given that most of the space outdoors is still broken. Which reminds me – I really want to put up some pics of the latest garden developments, which have given us some workable lawn space for the small girl to play in, and a rather nice wild plum tree which we hadn’t noticed, really, in the chaos which was there before we rotovated. That next, perhaps, though I’ll probably forget (again).
Here is a better impression of the view we get from this side of the house, which faces down the garden:
(This is not the garden, I hasten to add, but the field behind the garden. There. Glad we got that all cleared up.) The sunlight is stretched and lazy this evening, causing the shadows to reach far across the field as a storm-cloud blows over towards the east, and it’s quiet here – all I can hear is the hum of the oven (the week’s granola, sourdough bread adventures, coupled with rhubarb crumble [and a topping I keep meaning to post here, come to think of it], baked taters and a ham with bayleaves and a herby cheese sauce, since you ask) and the birds telling us all about their troubles and joys (which now include two new feeders around the other side of the house, partly to redress the balance of the bird-free garden which arrived when the chickens departed). See the colour of that earth? Our walls are that colour, underneath their new clothing of lime, and someday, I hope to have a cob oven in the garden which won’t be rendered, to remind us of the earth which gave us our house.
Right. That din-din-din-dinner is calling to me, and as it’s now eight-thirty, I feel inclined to respond. Let me know if you’re posting pictures, and I’ll nosey mosey along to look at them.
