Feed the Birds

This time of year is tough for everyone, but especially for the birds. Nearly all the berries and seeds have been consumed and insects are still underground or waiting for the warmer weather to reappear. Resources are at their scarcest, not in deep winter, but as we move into spring.

Feed me! Image: CandreK on Unsplash

And it is time to mate and raise a family.

Though my garden is designed to be as wildlife friendly as possible (read a little unkempt!) I do try to add something tasty during this period. Unfortunately, I’m not so sure about birdfeeders. I struggle to keep them clean and free from cross-contamination. For a while there, I thought I’d found the perfect solution in the eco-friendly coconut shell filled with fat and seeds. They are great, though they are not cheap when the birds (and squirrels) happily much through one a day. So I needed to think of an alternative.

DIY bird feeders

A long time ago, I remember reading about making fat/seed feeders out of yogurt cartons. Since I don’t have any individual sized yogurt pots (though they would work perfectly here), I decided on using what I had: muffin cases and tins.

So this morning, I decided to give it a go. This method will provide six fat muffin-sized feeders and takes mere moments to make. Here’s how:

Ingredients

250g of lard (available at larger supermarkets)

200g of wild bird seed

Containers

Garden twine

Preparation

To make each one ready to hang on the tree, I cut a piece of twine (about 30cm), folded it in half and poked both ends through the back of the case. A large darning needle is perfect for this. On the inside of the case, tie the threads together and leave a loop of twine at the back – something like this:

If using paper cases, I’d recommend putting them in a tin after this stage, as a little leakage is inevitable.

Now for the filling.

Put your lard into a heavy bottomed pan and warm on a very low heat until all the lard is dissolved and clear in colour.

Slowly getting there
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Remove your pan from the heat and add seeds (and any other bird/squirrel treats you like) and stir to combine.

Super nutritious if not delicious
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

As the lard is very liquid, it will pour out much faster than the seed mix, so I’d advise pouring an equal quantity of the lard first and let the seeds follow. Possibly allow the lard to cool and harden slightly before transferring it to the cases. I might try that next time.

Looking tasty! Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Now all you have to do is wait for the lard to harden and return to a creamy white colour. You may have to put it in the fridge if your house is especially warm.

And that’s it! When firm enough to handle, simply tip the case out of the tin; head to the garden and attach to a tree branch. They add a little colour to the bleak brown.

A bird cupcake Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

With a method this simple, I will happily make these on a weekly basis until April when the garden is bountiful. And, at around 10p per cupcake, we can all afford to feed the birds.

The Consolation of Trees

One day, when it was especially dreich and the mizzling rain seemed unable to rouse itself to a full downpour or cease altogether, I was playing with Hermione in the garden and took shelter under the trees.

They were surprisingly efficient at keeping me (almost) dry and warm; protecting me from the indeterminate rain and very determined wind. And so I stood – tossing the ball and watching Hermione rush about and thought about trees.

My tree shelter Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Few things in the world can compete with them. They bring joy, shelter and nourishment in an abundance of forms and yet, they are seldom valued for their contribution any more than water – until they are scarce.

So this post is all about trees and how they console and uplift us.

Tree therapy

If you are ever feeling down, I suggest that you find a tree (a cluster if possible) and stand beneath it. You don’t need to go into full forest bathing mode or further than your garden – a large single tree will do. Because the very structure of trees with their overarching branches, solidity and quietness stills the busy mind and we feel embraced by a loving nature.

The science will tell you that it is because trees release phytoncides that boost mood, but I think it is more than that. No doubt, we started out as tree dwelling creatures and since we have always used wood in the making of our homes, trees are inextricably linked to our sense of safety.

Smell those pines!
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Tree houses

Whilst trees can make us feel at home; they are, of course, a permanent residence to any number of creatures. Study the trunk of a tree and you might be surprised how much activity is taking place on, and under, that unmoving bark. Lichens expand like spilled paint; fungi enliven dying wood; ivy and tree roses entwine themselves. Birds evade the sparrow hawk among its branches and unknown numbers of insects live their secluded lives in cracks and crevices. A tree is a living metropolis.

At the puppy park, I often indulge in some tree companionship when other people are absent. Observing trees is a wonderful way to distract oneself from numb fingers and the tedium of endlessly tossing a ball. This afternoon’s study proved especially fruitful. Drawn to the large holly tree by the trilling carols emanating from its midst, I waited for my eyes to focus and establish where the sound was coming from. By far the noisiest contributors were a flock of tiny coal tits who could only be spotted when they moved from one branch to another.

What else was there, I wondered? Well, quite a lot. While waiting patiently, I came upon a very plump pigeon, some beautiful goldfinches and a friendly robin who came to sing me his little tune. A tiny squirrel soon showed off his aerobatic tricks, flinging himself from a neighbouring tree onto this one.

The tree’s gifts were not merely visual. The wind’s soft soughing was soothingly soporific and the damp scent of the undergrowth redolent of childhood.

In such circumstances, it would be difficult to be anything but serene.

No matter the season

My old apple tree in winter
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And trees offer up so much, regardless of the time of year. Even in the midst of winter, when they are as bare and pale and seemingly devoid of interest as a wet January afternoon, they are worth our attention. Leafless, we see their stark beauty and raw power. Few things are more photogenic than the silhouette of a tree at dusk or sunset.

Though they weather the most inclement of conditions, they seldom die. Instead, they stand as a model of resilience that we would all do well to emulate. Further, they contain a message of hope. ‘I may not be in leaf now,’ they seem to say, ‘but look how intricate and strong I am. Be patient, find your own strength and spring will soon be here.’

Nature’s calendar

Whilst I rely on my diary and calendar for daily tasks, it is to the trees that I look for news of the coming season. In winter, I search for the first buds to unfurl; in spring the bright green to dull to khaki as warmer days take hold. Autumn, obviously, speaks for itself.

And what better way to illustrate the seasons than through painting trees? Below are four postcards of famous artists’ impressions and who is to say which manifestation is more beautiful?

My own art work has focused on trees recently and heightened my observation and appreciation of these magnificent ‘vegetable beings’ . (William Boyd)

A hymn to trees

So let today be a hymn to trees, for gratitude moves us to mindfulness, which moves us to peace. Our search for consolation is only steps away from our door and given freely. We should remember to thank the trees, and if you feel the urge – give one a hug.


Share your skills

Yesterday, my delightful niece came for lunch and a lesson on how to make bread. I’d mentioned that I often made my own and offered to show her how. She was keen to accept. So between remote working (her) and dog walking (me), we set about making bread together.

My own experience of learning the art of bread making was rather more drawn out and frustrating. I’d follow one recipe after another to get okay results. Only after months (years?) of trial an error, I discovered that a second rise is not optional but mandatory and exactly what the dough should feel like when it is perfect. Answer: your earlobe! I picked up scraps of information here and there and eventually figured it out.

Well, we had to try it!
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

In the past, such endeavours would have been entirely unnecessary. My mother or grandmother would have shown me how or I would have learned from observation. But breadmaking, like so many lost skills, is something we often have to learn by ourselves. How much better to teach others what we know.

Restoring lost skills

So many skills that the older generation took for granted were lost when ready- made goods became more affordable. And no, I am not romanticising the often laborious tasks so many had to face. Knitting, sewing and darning every evening to make sure your family was well clothed is not what I’m talking about.

However, rising costs and a desire for more individual or better quality goods has made many younger folk turn to the skills performed by their forebears. And not just the young. My age group has shown a marked interest in the practical crafts, but what we lack are those to show us how.

I’ve crocheted my squares but don’t know how to join or edge them neatly!
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

My crocheted squares have languished in the basket for months, because I don’t know how to join them (except in the most basic way, which I don’t like) or to do a pretty edging. I’m stuck. Books are great, but they’re not the same as a hand to guide you.

Using the business model

Sharing skills or knowledge sharing, as it is know in the business world, has long been acknowledged as a vital component in a successful enterprise. After all, if one person knows how to do something and shows another, efficiency, confidence and productivity improve.

And yet, in the domestic sphere, we seem less willing to embrace this concept. Young people (and older!) go out into the world not knowing how to mend a shirt or tyre or make a healthy meal. When we neglect to pass on these vital abilities, we doom them to the cost of constantly replacing clothing, paying for expensive help and eating poorly.

My husband is a whizz at DIY and throughout their childhoods, the kids were encouraged to help lay floors, decorate etc. Their skills are now well beyond our own, but I hope that early introduction gave them the confidence to try.

My eldest has just built an exquisite home office in the grounds of his house. It is so cute, I’d quite like to move in myself.

A cabin in the garden ‘woods’. Image: Genevieve Costello-Spears

On-line learning

For many of us, the Internet is the place we turn to for advice. My husband has fixed my car using it and I have tackled many a craft project under its expert tuition. Indeed, there is almost nothing that can’t be learned via YouTube. But it is not quite the same as having a person to guide you.

One way of doing it Image: Lauren Mancke on Unsplash

And we all have skills. Probably many more than we realise. Sharing these is an opportunity to build relationships as well as passing on expertise. There are few things more delightful than giving someone the gift of knowledge and the empowerment that brings.

So don’t keep your skills to yourself. Share them. We can all do with a little help sometimes.

Collage to Calm the Mind

After yet another week of sad news, I really needed to do something to cheer myself up. Lack of sleep and general low mood meant that my brain was sluggish and my enthusiasm for new projects rather low.

The seed of a blog Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Craft group morning arrived, and I needed something to do – something that the most weary soul could master and still hold some sort of conversation. Having shown my husband at the weekend how to use magazine pages to make a mood board, I thought that I could manage something like that too.

An artist’s solution

Julia Cameron in The Artist’s Way recommends doing collages regularly to focus one’s intention. It works both as a meditation and as an unedited (by the thinking brain) route to work out what you really want in life.

We have no shortage of magazines, so Monday morning I simply pulled images that I loved from their pages, sometimes cutting neatly and sometimes not so much.

Plenty to choose from Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Simply looking at these attractive images was enough to lift my spirits, and I was able to host and chat happily too. By the time my guests had left, I had a great heap of pictures waiting to be put to good use.

I had numerous gorgeous nature pictures from Country Living magazine, but the ones which really enthralled me were from my art magazine Uppercase.

Time to get to work

After a nap, I set about putting the cuttings into subject-based files: nature scenes, homes, vintage and art ideas. Then, and this was the really brilliant part, I just had to start trimming and sticking.

The most wonderful thing about collage is that it requires so few materials: scissors, glue, paper and a little space. Most art projects require heaps of room. As a case in point, I’ve rashly started making a quilted bed runner, and my craft table is strewn with strips of fabric and thread.

This kind of collage is not meant to be a work of art, but rather a work of play. You stick things in, not according to any particular rules, but simply what is pleasing to your eye.

A joyful riot of colour
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Certain colours and shapes will appeal to you – others not so much. All that matters is that you enjoy the process and hopefully have something fun to show for it.

Revived

All this cutting and sticking certainly reactivated my creative brain – as it is meant to do. Staring at delightful pictures cannot help but lift your mood (just as staring at frightening or depressing ones will do the opposite). And, most importantly, these are illustrations that you have chosen rather than some sinister algorithm. These images inspire rather than invoke cravings.

So, having done my collage, I thought about how I might store the voluminous quantity of extra cutouts! Some I will use again for a collage, others I’d like to use in my journal projects.

My Uppercase magazine had an especially delightful cover made of good quality paper. It would, I convinced myself, make an excellent file.

Uppercase upcycled Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Having created a binding with washi tape, I set about adding a few collage touches to give it less of a commercial look – adding a title from within the magazine, birds and ephemera to obscure the bar codes.

Inside, I used an old calendar sheet to make a pretty pocket for my stash. I think it worked out quite well, and the delicate pages I collected are now safely enclosed.

A handy folder Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And did the process work to calm my mind? Absolutely! While focussed on simple tasks that were unlikely to frustrate or torment me, I was able to let go (for a while at least) of my worries.

It was also pleasingly productive. I intend to make more little folders for other ephemera, as they are too delicate to shelve without protection.

Most importantly, the activity reminded me of what is important in my life and what I need to pursue with more focus and effort. I love art and I love creating (ideally in nature!) At my age, I am certainly not aiming to be the next Turner prize winner – but art brings me joy and often the bonus of practical objects made by hand.

So if you are wondering what to do next or even in your free time – I highly recommend this exercise. If nothing else, it will give you a chance to unwind and enjoy the playfulness we all enjoyed in primary school!

Wintering

A few months back, my darling niece sent me a book she thought I would enjoy. It was entitled ‘Wintering’ and subtitled: ‘The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times’. This memoir/musings by Katherine May was a moving investigation into the idea of using our personal ‘winters’ to strengthen, repair and heal ourselves. As in nature, winter is not so much a dead time, but an opportunity to gather strength for the future.

What I love about winter (the season) is that it offers up clues of awakening right from the moment when the earth seems the most dormant. Buds appear on the trees – dark and hard, perhaps, but buds nonetheless.

Waiting for their moment Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Spring bulbs begin pushing up their green leaves in late November – slender flags that promise the riot of colour to come.

Rest

While the earth may seem at rest, it is actually very busy. Trees are using their roots to sustain the trunk through harsh weather and also gathering as many nutrients as they can for the leafing/flowering season. Bulbs are using the cold temperatures to ready themselves for spring. Gardening Knowhow explains: ‘The cold temperatures cause the bulb to break glucose into smaller molecules which lowers the freeze temperature to prevent damage to the bulb. Additionally, small leaf structures and the beginning cells for flower production begin to form.’ Protection and preparation go hand in hand.

My beautiful amaryllis bulb that I’m hoping will bloom once more. Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Insects, worms and bugs all respond to winter months in different ways. Some, like the Monarch butterfly, will fly south to warmer climes (as do so many migrating birds); some survive by deploying their own anti-freeze in their bodies; some move into homes which are warm or lay eggs or larva to wait till spring. (Source: Backyard Farmer) Many do this after ‘cleaning up’ the leaf matter and refuse from autumn by bringing it down into the soil where it enriches it. Everything is readying itself for a new start.

Retreat

And people too need a time to retreat from the manic activity of the ‘warmer months’ and to reflect on their priorities and goals. If we fail to do this, we simply stumble from one year to the next.

Unfortunately, most of us don’t perform this vital task until life takes the choice from our hands. Often it is a consequence of illness, bereavement, job loss or significant change which forces us (as it did the author Katherine May) to take a moment to be still and evaluate our lives.

Now that is the kind of retreat I could enjoy! Image: Jared Rice on Unsplash

It is not always a pleasant experience. In my case, a diagnosis of MS followed rapidly by breast cancer was a clear call from my body to take a rest. Living in the way I did was no longer an option and I would have to find another path forward. As someone of Tiggerish disposition, this was a bitter challenge. What? Sit still and let the world pass me by? Surely, I could push through the fatigue, the weakness, the anxiety and keep going. After all, one can’t do nothing!

In my usual practical way, I set about restoring my health with the cheerful delusion that I might somehow will myself into wellness. I embraced a challenging diet, learned to meditate, read copious books, studied languages, and exerted myself to my physical limits. As a consequence, busy days were followed by days of absolute lethargy, as my weary body tried to regroup. Hours were spent in bed or staring out the window in a kind of stupor. And I felt guilty, because lying down during daylight is lazy, isn’t it?

Well, no, not if you are ill.

And eventually, I came to terms with the fact that I was ill. With a degenerative disease and no cure in sight, ‘winter’ was something to which I would have to acclimatise.

Perpetual winter

There are still times when I resent this situation, but gradually, I am beginning to see the advantages.

My Herculean efforts to get well have not resulted in a miraculous recovery, but have meant that I have not got worse. I can still live independently, write, visit friends and do many things I love. They are just different things from before.

All the hours spent delving into my messy mind have helped to clarify my thinking, making me more understanding of others and compassionate to myself.

My world has shrunk significantly but ironically it feels more expansive. Spending time quietly observing, likes Donne’s lovers, ‘makes one little room an everywhere.’ My home, my garden, my local haunts hold any number of wonders – nature especially so, as its beauty shifts throughout the day and season.

Late winter afternoon at Crowlink Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I left off writing this post to take the dog to the puppy park. It was cold and damp and the cloud lowered threateningly. It was the archetypal English winter day. For most of us, that would be miserable. Not so long ago, I would have concurred. Yet, I thoroughly enjoyed our amble.

The air was fresh and birdsong filled it. There was time to watch the sweep of the birds’ wings in the air; to smile at the kids on the swings next door; to smell that peculiar late afternoon earthy smell that always reminds me of the last moments of play before home-time as a child.

Hermione was sniffing her way around the perimeter and enjoying her outing. All was peaceful.

Park in winter Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I had been struggling to know how to end this – to be neither dishonest nor vapidly optimistic. Do I wish that my wintering was a temporary affair and that my new found wisdom could be carried forward into a new life? Of course I do and I envy those who have recovered to do just that. But for me, winter is here to stay. There are times when it is bleak, but I also love its stark, raw honesty. And there is so much more to learn.

Embracing the season

For a very long time, I seriously disliked winter. I saw it as a boring interlude between fiery autumn and delicate spring. January especially seemed to drag for an eternity. But now, I adore winter, as I love all the seasons, for the very special gifts that it brings. Join me and let me show you why.

The weather outside is frightful

We Brits enjoy nothing more than discussing the weather, and the winter months certainly give us plenty to talk about. These last few weeks, we’ve seen strong winds, days of fog, rain, sunshine and hereabouts, snow.

With an energetic cocker spaniel to exercise, not going out is hardly an option (though Hermione draws the line at heavy rain). So away we go, regardless of the conditions. Even if the weather is not ‘nice’ it is has its music too (to misquote Keats).

For days, we had such heavy fog that it was as if the clouds had dropped from the sky to earth. Sound was muffled and visibility poor (see above left). It was a little eerie, but also magical – this still, soft world that looked as if it were covered with tracing paper. Today (above right) the sky was rinsed blue and the light piercingly bright. Each branch and twig was gilded with sunlight and the air icy fresh.

‘There is no such thing as bad weather…

only unsuitable clothing ,’ (Alfred Wainwright, Coast to Coast ) is as true now as when it was written fifty+ years ago. Only now, we have the advantage of high-tech fabrics to protect us from the most severe weather.

Investing in a proper rain jacket (or even better a Dryrobe) means that no weather will defeat your plans. And I love nothing better than being snuggled up in a warm coat with gloves and a scarf and feeling the cold on my face. Few things will wake you up more effectively than a blast of freezing air: it is completely invigorating.

Keeping toasty Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

On our recent trip to the Highlands, the thermometer rarely rose above five degrees centigrade and the weather was, quite frankly, awful, but it barely dented our spirits, as we were kitted out to cope. Even the stinging rain and strong winds that assaulted us as we walked along Nairn beach was stimulating rather than miserable. Our faces were scrubbed clean and rosy by the time we got back into the dry of the cafe. And a hot chocolate never tasted so good or felt so welcome.

Contrast is what makes life interesting

Winter is a time of deep contrast. We leave our centrally heated homes into the chilly air outside; we combat the short dark days by filling our rooms with fairy lights and candles; we take a rest from the hectic pace of spring and summer. As with light and dark, we cannot appreciate one without the other. Artists love winter, because deep structures are exposed and the light (when we are graced with it) is especially sharp.

With the sun low, and setting so early, we are also able to witness the most glorious sunsets.

That which does not kill us

Facing adversity – even in as basic a way as facing the elements when they are not favourable – is an important way to build resilience. Wim Hof has made millions (deservedly) through showing people how to learn mental strength through physical challenge – including the cold.

Taking the time to take a walk outside (appropriately dressed) is the easiest and most enjoyable way of boosting one’s mood. Add a friend and a coffee date afterwards and it is positively perfect. With the January blues affecting so many of us this month, it is a prescription I would recommend.

Acceptance

The most radical change that has occurred in me is the simple acceptance of the weather – whatever form it takes. If you are struggling with the idea of living in the moment, perhaps start here. We cannot do a single thing to change or improve it. If it is miserable, it will pass. If it is fine, that will pass also.

We can complain or be grumpy or we can embrace it. Through searching for the beauty (and you may have to work hard at that in the beginning) it helps us see beauty in other things too.

Winter is an essential phase in the cycle of the year and we may find that winter, in the metaphorical sense, is an essential part of our lives too. But to avoid stretching your patience too much, I shall consider that next week.

Tree tops in winter Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The Year of the Roller Coaster

The Chinese name their lunar years after the animals in their zodiac. These revolve in a twelve year cycle. In a few weeks, we will be in year of the snake. All sorts of propitious things are promised. But then, the year of the dragon, which we are leaving, predicted all sorts of good fortune too.

Not wanting to be left out, I’ve decided to name my years – not according to any zodiacal sign but simply on their merits. In my system, names are applied retrospectively so that a more accurate nomenclature will apply. Last year was definitely the year of the roller coaster.

Roller coaster in grey Image: Priscilla du Preez on Unsplash

A worrisome year

2024 seemed to offer nothing but bad news (and I’m not even beginning to comment on world affairs). My brother-in-law died, my best friend from graduate school had a catastrophic stroke and too many friends were given awful diagnoses.

As a consequence, rather than looking forward to 2025 with hope, I looked to it with trepidation, knowing that at least some of those mentioned would not make it until 2026. I wasn’t sure that I had the stamina to cope.

Then I did something that shifted everything into perspective. I went through my new diary putting in birthdays, medical appointments and anniversaries as usual, but this time, I wrote on a separate sheet any good thing that had happened in a month. It didn’t have to be big or Instagram-worthy – it just had to be good.

A pleasant surprise

What I discovered was that every month had at least one happy event (and often more), which a cloud of worry had made me forget. Furthermore, on closer inspection, I realised that these events were giving me hints on how to cope when life most certainly wasn’t going to plan.

Let’s face the music and dance

Having last seen a professional live band sometime in the 1980’s, it was rather brilliant to see two this past year. I have Mariia to thank for this.

In concert in Brighton Image: Mariia Matrunich

In January, we got to see the wonderful Dakha Brakha. Their skill as musicians and the moving imagery projected behind was a reminder that even when the worst occurs (invasion by a wicked superpower pretty much tops the list) that joy and beauty can still be found.

And in April, we got to see Ukraine’s top band, Ocean Elsa. It was a poignant experience with most of the audience composed of displaced Ukrainians. The performance gave them a taste of home.

This band, like Dakha Brakha, have used their international tours to remind others of the difficulties those in Ukraine continue to endure and to raise funds for the war effort.

When Ocean Elsa’s performance was interrupted recently in Kyiv by the air raid sirens, they continued the concert in the underground station. In doing so, they thrilled their fans and reminded them that the spirit cannot be silenced.

(The video above was taken by Mariia’s friend and content creator for the band, Oleksandra Hyzha)

Art to console and inspire

In almost every month, I took advantage of trips to galleries and exhibitions. Both our holidays centred around places of especially wonderful architecture and art. Vienna (June) was designed as a huge visual spectacle and Venice (September) was a veritable 3D picture postcard.

Vienna’s centre was built to impress and residents are rightly proud to live in such a city. For the purpose of this blog, it was an area on the periphery that interested me. Here, the architect Hundertwasser had designed social housing that would uplift the hearts of those struggling financially and bring joy to even the hardest day. His use of vibrant colour and inclusion of nature tried to show that even the most modest housing stock need not be depressingly grey.

The Art House that exemplifies Hundertwasser’s unique style. Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Venice, magnificent though it is, lacks soul. The grand piazzas and glorious facades are designed to impress. It is architectural conspicuous consumption. Though we may gaze in awe, we are not included in its glories.

The churches in Padua, in contrast, were a kind of exaltation. Their exquisite frescoes, paintings, tile and marquetry were commissioned in the service of God. Everyone was welcome to both wonder at their beauty and to bring their concerns. Padua is an important pilgrimage site and if you have any faith or none, the churches offered consolation in a difficult world.

In the company of friends

Few days, let alone weeks went by without visits to friends – some regular meetings like craft club and others more occasional, like my university friends’ annual reunion. All of them reminded me that nothing material can come close to the joy that shared companionship brings and any effort needed to host or entertain is rewarded with double in laughter and boosted morale.

My 60th in May provided a great opportunity to bring friends and family together and set the decade off on a positive note.

May sunshine, friends and Prosecco – what more could one want? Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And so my diary went on: a coffee morning here, a visit from my son there. Over and over I had been blessed with joy in one form or another. And reading through it, I realised that I had fallen for the pity-party narrative when I should have been rejoicing at my good fortune. Yes, the year has brought a plethora of problems and yet, should I focus on these, I would lose that most valuable attribute: hope.

So, if you are feeling a little ground down by life, you might like to review the good times and remember that though the roller coaster lurches downwards for what can seem an eternity, it will climb again soon.

Giving Thanks

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving Day in America and since I’m married to an American, we didn’t want to feel left out.

Thanksgiving is a lovely holiday with many of the hallmarks of Christmas: family reunions, great food and full-on decorations. The upside is that, unlike Christmas, it doesn’t have the pressure of gift giving or quite the same expectations of perfection. It is a sort of ‘Christmas light’ where everyone gets together, eats, drinks and hopefully thinks about all the things for which they are grateful.

Autumn thanks Image: Megan Watson on Unsplash

International thanksgiving

With our sons in America, we couldn’t have the usual family feast, so we decided to do one for those who were also separated from their families. Mariia has a number of lovely local friends, so we had a sort of Ukrainian Thanksgiving with a few sympathetic Brits added for good measure!

One couple who attended had run a morning coffee and activity every Saturday morning for Ukrainians and their children – a life-saver for those finding their way in a new country. (They also hosted a family) Our neighbour, John, is a professional activist. We all had seen the impact of the Russian invasion on those who had to flee.

So, although it was a very joyful evening, it was also a very poignant one.

Smiles and sadness

After we had worked through a delicious bowl of borsch, made by Mariia, and three gorgeous mains made by my husband (venison stew, pheasant breast in cream and nut roast, for those who want to know!) it was time to give our thanks.

It is traditional, in America, for each guest to speak a few words about that they are grateful for and so we did the same.

A very special meal Image: Mariia Matrunich

And with such a gathering, the platitudes were left at home. Each person spoke movingly about their thanks and when Svetlana spoke about her appreciation of the Ukrainian troops, I wanted to cry. Scrumptious wee David, at the front of the photo, lost his father fighting in the conflict. I don’t know how his young widow retained her composure.

The Ukrainians were fulsome in their thanks to their families and the UK for sheltering them, but it is as much we that should be thanking them. Without their tremendous resilience and courage; the hardships their troops have had to bear, Europe would look very different now. Putin had no intention of stopping at Ukraine. Without them, we might all have been pulled into the maelstrom of war.

Time for something sweet

Our next course was dessert and it gave a good diversion from serious thoughts. As is traditional, I made pumpkin pie and some tasty, if rather exploded, apple spice pies.

With coffee and Ukrainian chocolates, we wound up the evening and said good-bye. It had required quite a bit of planning and effort, but we were so glad that we were able to do it.

End of the evening

Alas, the evening was not quite over for us. There was a mountain of washing up to do and Jeff had to drop some guests home. But we managed it all with a smile, buoyed up with the success of the dinner.

And more to do before we sleep Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Of course, one doesn’t have to find a special day to give thanks or host a meal or even join with friends. Each and every day is an opportunity to show our gratitude for the innumerable blessings we enjoy.

It may be fashionable to complain, but it shrivels the soul and narrows the mind. If you have been kind enough to read this, perhaps you can think of something, no matter how small, for which you are glad.

I start each morning giving thanks for a new day and waking, as the Southern expression goes, ‘on the right side of dirt.’

Christmas break

With so much happening between now and Christmas, this will be my last post until the New Year.

I hope the holiday season is a good one for you and that you find joy. In a blink, it will be 2025 and until then, much love, Karen x

‘May your days be merry and bright.’ Image: Chad Madden on Unsplash

Wild Weather Meditation

Having nagged Mariia for months to adopt a meditation practice, on Sunday, she asked if we could could do one at the beach and listen to the waves. It was a glorious day and the temperatures well above average, so why not?

What I hadn’t realised was that the extremely high winds were wreaking havoc all along the coast. Upon our arrival at the beach, we noticed pebbles had been thrown up onto the promenade and the shore carved into mountains and valleys of shingle.

Beauty and the beast
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

It was certainly fresh. The tang of salt water and sea weed immediately assaulted our nostrils and the sheer energy of the crazy air stirred in us an equal excitement. The extra effort required to reach the beach against the opposition of the wind made our arrival there extra sweet.

Tuning in

Having found a spot in the sun and close to the protection of the groynes, we lay back and enjoyed the sea’s symphony. The bass of the powerful waves pounding the shoreline was most distinct. Above that was the tenor of the wind whipping across its surface. And if you listened carefully, you could hear the susurration of the tiny pebbles grating against the water’s edge.

The sea drowned out all other noises. Even the gulls could not be heard over the din it made.

Enjoying the deserted beach
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Sunlight played on our closed eyelids and, snuggled in several layers and a Dryrobe, I could imagine myself on a Caribbean island rather than the edge of the Atlantic. Protected from the wind, only gentle puffs of wind caressed my cheeks. It was bliss. My mind emptied of all but the sounds of the sea: a cherished moment of respite from an active mind.

Observational studies

After about half an hour, I wanted to watch the scene as well as listen. So I sat up and observed. The sea was charging the shore like a bull a matador – full of fury and pent up energy. No sooner did a wave make land than it would pull back and hurl itself once more. Gradually, it was working its way towards us, pushing a mound of sea foam at its vanguard.

Various gulls flew across the grey, their bellies and underwings silvered with sunlight. And the black groynes, facing West, looked like ancient standing stones set against the faint light of the sinking sun.

For a while, we felt as though we had stepped out of time, of our busy worlds and into something much more ancient and elemental.

Sea snow

Adding to the magical quality of our visit was the abundance of sea foam. Only when the seas are at their wildest do the seas create foam that floats through the air in great blobs like giant snow flakes. When I first witnessed it, I was thoroughly confused. How could snow descend in a clear blue sky? Now I know better, but despite clearly explaining its provenance to Mariia, she couldn’t help finding out for herself and getting a little wet in the process.

Sadly, not snowball making material
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And it was wonderful to see her embracing her curiosity and letting go of worldly cares – just as we had. I’m hoping it will encourage her to meditate – in whatever location – rather more often.

Time to go

With the sun setting, it was time to head back.

The pier at sunset Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A few pictures taken, I was ready to scale the substantial cliff face of scree. By the end, I found it easier to crawl than walk – but I got there and as a bonus, I found an unusual and intact shell waiting for me at the top.

I love the objects to be found on the beach: shells, hag stones, driftwood. There is something otherworldly about them. Having pocketed my treasures, we headed home to hot cocoa and the joy of central heating. But, I shall keep my shell as a talisman to remind me that the sea is always waiting, with its magical ability to transform our troubles to airy nothings.

Souvenirs of the sea
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Puppy Park Therapy

Since my lovely dog walker is unwell, I have been taking Hermione to the puppy park once again. Despite the time commitment, the cold and the ruling out of any morning activities, it has turned out an unexpected boon.

While there recently, one of the regulars said that the puppy park was a kind of therapy, and she is absolutely right. Combining exercise, fresh air, good company and fluffy companions, it ticks all the boxes. And you don’t have to own a dog to enjoy them.

An urban idyll

The park is only a five minute’s drive away, set in a quiet neighbourhood next to my children’s old primary school. Behind is a Victorian cemetery and to the side a modern church. All of these lend the park an air of peace. And, despite being in the centre of the Old Town, feels like the countryside.

My heart lifts whenever I look up to the Downs beyond or the wide skies. Worries take on their correct proportions and disappear.

On days like today (when it was snowing earlier) we are exposed to the rigours of the cold. Indeed, facing whatever weather we are offered is good for us. The dog needs walking regardless – and battling the elements merely boosts our resilience. Today, I didn’t have my cold shower. Forty-five minutes in zero degrees was enough!

Exercise!

My ability to exercise is naturally not great, but a trip to the puppy park at least ensures that I get in a few more steps than normal. On good days, I might walk or stand for most of the time; on bad, I can enjoy the experience from the bench at the back.

The only problem is that one has to take care where one walks. The dogs have clearly not read the no digging signs and the ground is a mine field of craters. Mud and wet grass also pose their own challenges – but it does help sharpen my concentration. Fortunately, most owners pick up after their pets, though it is wise to keep an eye out for such hazards also.

Sensory meditation

For those who struggle with regular meditation techniques, the park on a quiet day, is an ideal place to practice. This morning, since it was so cold, there were few people there and at one point, no-one. I could relax and observe the magpie strutting across the grass; listen to the high voices of the children in the playground and enjoy the chill hand of the wind on my cheeks. The world smelled newly laundered.

A warm welcome

But undoubtedly the best part of our visits is the welcome you receive. Dog walkers are a democratic bunch. The only requirement for joining ‘the gang’ is a canine companion. Seldom have I been in any context where strangers are invited in so openly. Not everyone wants companionship and may walk the perimeters with their thoughts, but most of us steer towards the gaggle at the centre of the field.

Hermione is my membership card Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Park society

They come from every station in life and it is delightfully egalitarian. You may be rich or poor, employed or retired, able bodied or unwell. It doesn’t matter. What binds us is our love for dogs (and other animals). These are kind hearted folks who take the time necessary to care for their pets and many have rescued more than one from dreadful fates.

Over time, you meet the same people and share news, but even if you only meet once, people often open up in unexpected ways. Do they know that here they won’t be judged? People share their worries and their fears, information about health problems and relationship woes. They listen too with interest to yours. Sometimes there are tears; often there are hugs. We share tips and commiserate and feel better for the understanding.

There is much laughter too. A couple of regulars seem to try to outdo each other creating crazy and witty stories we all enjoy. One lady announced, to our bemusement, that she had, ‘Picked up her new partner off the street.’ Like a comedian, she waited for our reaction then followed with the line, ‘Well, from a hole actually’. Eventually, the whole story was revealed: her new man was a gas engineer working across the road where she struck up a conversation and asked him out.

Though not everyone gets on – we are human, after all – it never sours the atmosphere of the park. There is room for all.

How much cuteness can be contained in a fur coat?

Dog therapy

The action of stroking a dog or pet is itself a happy hormone booster, so getting to stroke several is better still (dogs benefit equally). Added to all of the above, the park is certainly a great way to strengthen one’s mental health.

For those of us with disabilities or health issues, it gives a welcome and necessary break from the home and great social interaction. I am blessed with a full house, but for those who live by themselves, the park provides its own family. And if you don’t have a dog? No matter, most owners would welcome a break from their duties occasionally and some are no longer able to walk their dogs as they would like.

There is an organisation called Borrow My Doggy that matches busy owners with those who would like a dog, but cannot care for one full time. One darling man I met recently suffers from chronic fatigue and walks the dog of a lady with MS. He loves the freedom of the arrangement and the owner is delighted with the help: a win-win.

An outing to the dog park may never appear on Tripadvisor, but I’d give it five stars any day.