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Autumn’s Arrival

When I started planning this blog at the beginning of the week, my intention was to take my title from an Emily Dickinson poem, ‘As imperceptibly as Grief – The Summer lapsed away – ‘. At that time, it looked like our extended summer would simply segue into autumn without us scarcely noticing.

My only clue as to the change of season was the arrival of my vibrant, autumn crocus and nodding Japanese anemones. Their appearance is bitter-sweet. While I am cheered by their, ‘See? There is yet time for flowers!’, I am saddened by the knowledge that they are the last arrivals. There will be now more new blooms until spring.

By mid week, autumn was striding on stage in the most dramatic fashion. Our Mediterranean blue skies began to fill with deep charcoal clouds and our evenings were a son et lumier show of lightning and thunder. Long sought after rain came down in torrents, tropically, at night and in bursts throughout the day. Gentle summer breezes were pushed aside by howling winds and my collection of windfall apples was soon outstripping my ability to peel and cook them.

**Apples everywhere**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Autumn had arrived. The days are still warm and the garden abuzz with pollinators and butterflies, but the light has changed: The crystalline sharpness of July replaced with the buttery yellow of September.

All creatures, great and small, are hurriedly making the most of the harvest and birds flock hither and thither in search of food to eat and store. Our Austrian pine this year has produced a bumper crop of cones. Sitting in my shed, I was puzzled for a while by the soft staccato coming from outside. I couldn’t see anything doing anything, but later, when I went out, I realised what the noise was. Our resident squirrel had been plundering the tree for the fat pine nuts stored inside the cones and dropping the empty shells to the grass. Perhaps the magpies were joining him – they love that tree too.

**The evidence. Empty shell casings.**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A few nut casings fell from the pines I had picked for winter decoration and I broke one open to see what it held. Sliding my nail between the shell, I popped out the nut. I thought I would try it. I was rather hoping it would taste like the delicious nuts harvested from the Pinyon pine. Sadly, no. I spat it out. I shall leave them for the squirrels.

I have planted a couple of the seeds, though. They would make the most adorable bonsai. Wish me luck.

**Dark skies** Image: Jack Taylor on Unsplash

Of course, the most dramatic marker of the changing seasons is the night sky. Where not so long ago, we would sit in the garden watching the bats’ aeronautical display at dusk near ten pm, now it is dark by eight.

The shortening days mean winter is on its way, but I savour these evenings of dramatic skies and fierce sunsets. I’m happy also to let the dog out at night and see the moon and stars again. The next full moon is this weekend: moon watchers, take note.

So this splendid summer is over and I grieve a little for its passing. Yet, I am also filled with anticipation for what this autumn holds. After all, as Keats said, it has its music too.

My blogs may be a little shorter for a while as we settle in our Ukrainian guest. She is an absolute delight, but there is much to do to get her settled. Starting a new life requires a lot of paperwork!

Just Say YES!

After the gradual return to normal life this March, my husband and I made a decision. From henceforth, we would say ‘yes’ to anything that came our way that was not completely reckless. Though we had a very peaceful and mainly enjoyable lock-down, it had meant missing any number of reunions and events. We did not regret the time we spent in the garden, practising Wim Hof and swimming in the sea, but it was time to re-join the world and see what it had to offer.

**A word that evokes joy!** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Escape

The first thing we did was escape to the Highlands we love. The trip required no flights or public transport and would involve spending most of our time outside. It was a perfect way to introduce ourselves to what felt a little bit of a scary world.

I have already written about our Scottish trip, but what made this one different was that we were always willing to go off the beaten track and explore. If there were an interesting tourist sign or intriguing alternative route home, we would take it.

We were rewarded by any number of stunning vistas and fascinating monuments all to ourselves. On spotting the sign to the bell tower (below) we headed off down a very narrow and wiggly path to apparently nowhere. When we reached the destination, we found it was many, many steps above us.

I said, ‘Yes!’ to the steps and ascended – aching legs be damned! The tiny building was adorable and the view breath-taking. Since, of course, we were the only ones daft enough to visit, we were free to explore inside and, with the curiosity of children, we did.

Our trip was filled with such diversions and all the more enjoyable for it. On our return, flush with fresh air and good health, we made a rather more momentous decision. We decided that we were in the fortunate position where we could offer sanctuary to a Ukrainian refugee.

A path filled with obstacles

What started with enthusiasm, soon became fraught with frustration and anxiety. As we had the space, we had offered our home to a mother and son who were friends with a young woman in Eastbourne. So far, so perfect. Sadly, what we had not figured in to our plans was the chronic incompetence of the Home Office.

We did our homework, attended events, cleared wardrobes and cupboards and tried to make our home as welcoming as possible. Then we waited for the visas, and waited, and waited. After about eight weeks had passed and only the son had been granted his, we became desperate. They had already moved out of Kiev at this time and back as things normalised. Then Kiev was bombed. Having a face in mind when you hear terrible news is a very different experience to learning of the anonymous casualties of violence. This felt personal.

Despite going through all the help channels and being assured their case was being expedited, nothing happened. We contacted our MP’s office; nothing. By three months, we were simply angry. We wrote to our MP again, this time with positive results.

Unfortunately, the endless delays and the natural reluctance of the family to leave their home meant that they ultimately decided to stay in Ukraine. We held their place until their visas expired – just in case – then we started all over again.

This time everything went super smoothly and Mariia will join us on Sunday. Armed with a little more knowledge and having the pleasure of Skyping frequently with her, we are really looking forward to her arrival. Taking in guests, no matter how lovely, is never without its challenges. But I’m still very glad we said yes to helping someone in such circumstances. I certainly hope someone would do the same for my children should the need arise.

**Our Ukrainian guest arrives on Sunday** Image: Daniele Franchi on Unsplash

The best yes

Without a doubt, the most wonderful yes I made this year was to attend the prize giving at Chatsworth House. As with many brilliant experiences, it held its fair share of terror (publicly reading my story) and uncertainty (I had not the faintest clue what the day held). By agreeing to attend, there was much to be arranged at short notice and not inconsiderable costs incurred. But all good things come with a price tag: even if that is only courage.

**Magnificent Chatsworth House** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The joy of spontaneity

Spontaneous is not a word that I would generally use to describe myself. Up until now, I was an inveterate planner. Every eventuality had to be accounted for before I set forth. My health situation only amplified this. What if? What if? What if? rotated in my mind until the thought of doing anything became terrifying. Anxiety took hold like a boa constrictor reducing my world to ever diminishing circles.

Then we took small trips on short notice and I survived. Our trips got longer and I became bolder. It helps that we live in one of the most accommodating places on earth. Need a drink? Which cafe should I choose? Need petrol? One is seldom more than thirty miles from a service station. Need a rest? Pick a bench. Really, what was I worrying about?

So when our friends asked us to their 60th birthday bash in the Cotswolds, we said, ‘Why not?’ The party was a great success and it was a joy to meet their now grown-up children. The village where we stayed the night was magical and turned an overnight trip into a holiday. When the same friends called on Bank Holiday Monday to say that they had been offered a flat on Hove seafront and would we like to join them on the beach, you know how we answered.

Because saying ‘Yes’ has enriched our lives in more ways than I can possibly describe in a blog. It is not without risk. Sometimes things will go seriously awry. This same weekend, we saw an absolutely perfect bungalow that would future proof our home-life. We spent almost five days in exhaustive cleaning, DIY and tidying only to find the seller had withdrawn her house from the market on the day we had the agent come to see ours. Am I sorry we pursued it? No!

I realise now that I had lapsed into my trying to pre-empt problems. I don’t need to move into a bungalow yet, and may never need to. So I am just enjoying my newly pristine home. Oh, and Mariia will be fooled into thinking that she has arrived at a very tidy household.

Blackberrying

There are few activities more wonderful than blackberrying. It includes the delights of wandering about in nature, a foodie treasure hunt and the gratification of a sweet reward. The fact that these purple delicacies must be reached at a cost: scratched arms, attacks by stinging nettles, and dodgy footing (I once slipped into a mass of bushes and had to be hauled out) makes them more rather than less appealing. After all, no-one waxes lyrical about picking up a punnet of strawberries at the supermarket.

Like all true pleasures, it is transitory. If we delay, we must wait another year. My blackberry obsession starts around the beginning of August when I note those places where unripe blackberries are starting to appear. Sadly, these spots are often by busy roadsides and therefore not ideal, but I know that blackberrying elsewhere will soon be on the agenda.

Never mind the weather

With the very long, hot spell this summer, I didn’t hold out much hope for this year’s harvest. All fruits need plenty of water to plump and thrive and none more than the humble blackberry. Yet somehow, now they are more abundant and juicy than ever.

**Nature’s gems**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

From plant to palate

Much is made of the farm to table movement (which I applaud) but we needn’t go to a fancy restaurant to eat food that is grown organically and recently picked. We need only go to a local, unspoilt area.

I found an amazing clump at the puppy park and was joyfully eating and collecting them under the watchful gaze of a young lad staring out his window. Perhaps the sight of anyone eating anything that didn’t come from a shop bemused him. I waved hello and he smiled and disappeared back into his room.

Similarly, my husband and I were guzzling blackberries on the way home one day when a child, who went to do the same, was told off by his mother. ‘Don’t eat them; they’re dirty!’ she exclaimed. The child pulled back, chastised and went home, no doubt, to foods intensively doused with pesticides, herbicides and other chemicals.

When we miss the opportunity to show children how their food grows and to introduce them to the abundance of wild foods on offer, for free, we disempower them. When we distance ourselves so absolutely from the natural world, we should not be surprised that so few are willing to take steps to protect it.

**Spread the joy**! Image: Elisabeth Wales on Unsplash

Fortunately, on our berry expedition to Alfriston on Sunday, there was a young family introducing their children to the delights of blackberrying and the sight of it made me very glad indeed.

Some for now; some for later

Once home with our bounty, we needed to find ways to eat them. Since I had some meringues left over from the party, I decided to make mini-pavlovas for my friends. The blackberries provided a striking finishing touch.

**Mini pavlovas**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The rest were added to my cooked apples from the garden and frozen. Wonderful though blackberries are, they have a terribly short shelf-life.

While we were in Alfriston, we noticed that several of the bushes were a week or so away from ripening, so we shall have to make another trip. As for the harvest, I am thinking up all sorts of ways of using them for autumnal treats: jams, pancakes, in yogurt etc. I would like to try drying them like raisins. Who knows? It might work.

But I don’t have long. Probably two weeks at most. So kitted out with my least presentable clothes and ready for purple stained hands, I shall have to get a move on. I hope you will join me.

Party Time

**Jane B’s beautiful bunting.**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

After almost three years apart, my son and his fiancee’s visit seemed all too brief. We crammed in trips to the beach and local beauty spots and arranged to end with a large garden party. Knowing that only a handful of people from the UK would be able to attend their wedding next year in Maine, USA, we decided to have an engagement party here. It would not be nearly so grand, but it would allow all those who knew my son to meet his bride to be and share their good wishes.

Planning such a party for a large number meant starting well before the arrival of my son. I’m sure that I have used several trees with all the lists and notes. As the day grew closer, those notes were put into action and I shamelessly asked for the help of anyone willing to give it.

Preparations

Parties, like ice-bergs, only reveal the very tip of all the effort put into them, as anyone who has hosted one knows. And the trick is to make it look as it has required almost no effort at all. No guest wants to feel beholden to their host nor that they have been an inconvenience, so we practice the trompe l’oeil of hospitality . To do this, everything must be in place; everything ready.

**All set up and ready to party!**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Our first challenge was to find sufficient tables, chairs and places offering shade for up to fifty guests (we had a bit fewer in the end!) My friends came up trumps as always: offering chairs, gazebos and yards and yards of wonderful handmade bunting.

We set up the evening before and just seeing the garden looking so joyful and inviting helped give me the energy for the following day. It also gave me a great opportunity to chat with my future daughter-in-law, Genevieve, as we festooned the trees with colour.

Working together

I’d seriously started baking the week before, storing everything in the freezer as soon as it was cool from the oven. Friends kindly offered to bring their brilliant bakes and I commissioned one particularly able cook to make me some gluten free delicacies. Knowing I had at least a few beautiful cakes to look forward to took a great deal of the stress out of my own efforts.

Multiple shopping trips were made to the supermarket, baker’s and greengrocer’s and when everything was assembled, we were ready.

One couple arrived early and immediately set to making sandwiches and that kindness allowed Greg and Genevieve to say hello to the guests, many of whom had come from afar.

**A very helpful family! Clare, Kevin, Charlotte and Rowan**

In the past, I have always been reluctant to ask for help, but now I say ‘yes’ without hesitation! We can achieve so much more when we work together and for many of us (myself included) participation is half the fun.

Mother’s little helpers

Knowing that there were limits to my physical endurance and that I wanted to see old friends and relatives too, I asked the couple above’s children if they would like a little afternoon job at very competitive rates. They made all the difference. As host, of course, there was still a lot of rushing about and supervising, but their charming and efficient way of running the bar and serving guests made us all feel rather spoilt.

Party time

With at least a bit of time freed for myself, I was able to enjoy the company of my guests. We had friends from my NCT (baby group) days in Twickenham; the leaders of the youth group Greg attended as a teenager and all my old friends who have watched him grow from a toddler to an adult. A cruel twist of fate meant that much of my family were unable to attend – Covid ruins fun once again – but I hope we shall see them all soon.

The stars of the show

But we cannot forget the stars of the show, my son Greg and his beautiful and delightful partner Genevieve. They were full of smiles and I know appreciated the lengths to which some folks had gone to join them.

All the work and all the effort was worth it to see them smiling and happy amongst all those who cared for them. I doubt we shall be throwing a party of that size again, but I’m certainly glad we did this time.

Engagements are such happy occasions, because they are declarations of love. The party was our declaration of love and all those who assisted us in any number of ways showed their love too. Is it any surprise it was such a joyful event?

Farewells

Greg and Genevieve departed the next day and I managed to keep my tears down to a minimum. Knowing that we would be together again next year made it all seem rather more bearable. Genevieve has very sweetly included me in her wedding plans and the venue and event looks quite stunning. I really can’t wait.

A Short Break

As many of you know, my son is over here on holiday from the States. After thee years apart, every moment feels precious. So I shall be taking a wee holiday from my blog for two weeks, but plan to be back on Friday 19 August.

We shall meet his fiancee for the first time next week and then we have the engagement party. I suspect I shall need a rest when they leave!

Enjoy this wonderful summer, wherever you are, and see you again soon.

Love Karen x

An Ending and a Beginning

One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time.
Andre Gide

Arrival

Last weekend, I managed to complete the twelve week journey that is The Artist’s Way. Like many journeys, it has had moments of stunning vistas and moments spent in a traffic jam on the motorway. Yet, strangely, I never felt the urge to give up. Each chapter and exercise brought me new understanding and while working through writing the daily morning pages, I was able to take mastery of that knowledge.

Perhaps this is the ultimate self-help book, because it doesn’t offer any answers only questions to prompt your growth. ‘It is intense,’ as a friend who has also completed it said. It is also, if you choose it to be, life changing.

**A productive twelve weeks : two filled A4 notepads**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Accepting the call

After decades of wandering about with a niggling feeling that there was more that I wanted to do with my life, I came upon this book. I love teaching and I have always felt it my vocation and privilege, but hours preparing and being with students (and my children) didn’t leave a lot of time for anything else and my creative urges were always subsumed by a never ending to-do list.

The Artist’s Way proposes that we are all creative beings and to neglect that element in our lives will lead to unhappiness. Of course, she does not advocate that we all become artists (though her focus is on the creative arts) but that we find a way to live more creatively. For some, that may mean spending more time in their gardens, for others a complete career shift.

When I began the book, I wasn’t sure which path was the one for me. After all, I do love art and music as well as writing. However, as I moved through each chapter and my morning pages, I realised that my happy place was sitting somewhere with a pen in my hand and when I was denied that, I was miserable. Other art forms are my entertainment. Writing is my oxygen.

And so I have accepted the call to write: to think of myself as a writer who also teaches, rather than a teacher who also writes. There, I’ve said it. And it matters not a jot whether I am commercially successful or get publication for the novel I plan to write or if people think I am bonkers or delusional. What matters is getting words on the page (or screen), learning my craft and enjoying the process.

Since accepting the call, my mind has been fizzing with ideas. One poem is already sent off to the local book festival and another is in draft form. Yet more are complete. Novel ideas are piling up in my notebook. I can hardly keep up.

**A room of one’s own**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Fellow travellers

Of course, any journey is more enjoyable with company, and though I didn’t have a group to go through the book with, I have found others who have now embarked on their artist’s way – including my husband.

At the very least, it is vital to have someone respect that you need time and space for the enterprise; however, if you can find folks to discuss your discoveries with, it is even more exhilarating!

And if anyone is tempted to start after reading this, let me know. I should love to hear how you get on.

Sanctuary

A sanctuary is a place of refuge, where no-one can assail you. Artists need a sanctuary too – a place where they can create freely and without distraction.

It doesn’t need to be a large space or a particularly elegant one, mine is in my garden shed. But it does need to belong solely to us and our endeavours. My husband kindly built me a beautiful shelf, which I have filled with books and pens and pretty plants. I also have some delightful lights to cheer me during the dark winter months.

Any space can be made into your creative area – even the corner of a room. Decorate it with things you love from crazy plastic toys to elegant objects d’art. Whatever you choose, let it make your heart sing when you see it.

My shed has a comfortable chair, a small table for writing equipment and a soft-back tray on which to balance my notebooks. It also has a magnificent view of the garden and Hermione can chase her ball endlessly while I write. (Between ball tosses, of course!)

**Decorating to inspire and bring joy**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Begin again

Once I had finished my book, the next task was to reread it, which I am doing, slowly. Progress is seldom linear, as we are so often taught, but circular, spiralling up to ever greater understanding.

I have committed to write daily and to keep up my practice of visiting a place of artistic interest once a week.

Reading my artist’s prayer each morning helps to confirm the commitment that I have made and the hope that others will support me in this venture and I them. Above all, it reminds me to be grateful for the gifts we have been given.

Looking forward

In addition to my written journals, I’m keeping a pictorial one. It is a place to doodle and dream – to visualise new adventures and goals.

**Future travels?** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Somehow, committing them to paper makes them seem that much more achievable. Sometimes we just have to visualise our dreams to make them happen.

The page above reads: ‘”Beware all enterprises requiring new clothes” – or not! When I win my first creative prize money, I shall buy a Gudrun outfit’ (my favourite, affordable designer). The outfit is now hanging in my closet.

Oh the places you’ll go

I love the book by Dr Seuss of this title, because we will all be going places. In an ideal world, we want to go to the places that interest us rather than where we are taken.

Choosing a more creative life needn’t mean abandoning one’s current one, only enriching it. My goal is to do three hours of writing/ creative practice per day. Sounds like a lot? Well, it is considerably less than the amount of time the average person spends on the television or screen.

Put down your phone. Pick up your pen, or paintbrush or needle and who knows what places you’ll go!

Away Days

Sometimes, you just need to get away: from the demands of keeping a home and garden; from work commitments and away, I would argue, from our mundane selves. When we change our context, everything seems possible.

The thing I love most about a holiday is that it gives us time and permission to dream. We needn’t go far or for long, but we do need to enter into an unfamiliar landscape where our senses are challenged and stimulated.

Our few days in Battle did just that. The stunning landscape of the grounds of the hotel provided endless vistas to nourish our very souls; the delightful town offered both history and humour. Here’s a little taste of our days away.

**A place to read, write and muse** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The storm breaks

Interestingly, the high pressure building for days in the terrible heat broke the day before we left. It felt like a metaphor for our lives. All the stresses that had been building over the last few months felt washed away in the thundering rain.

We woke to a new world, bright and fresh and alive.

It was still hot, but bearably so. For once, an outdoor, unheated swimming pool in the UK was tempting and my husband and I took full advantage of it. We also lounged like normal people do on holiday (our family holidays invariable involve death defying activities or cultural investigations), so it was truly relaxing.

**A welcome retreat on a very hot day**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I read a novel, wrote my morning pages and finished The Artist’s Way (more on that next week). We ate fish and chips on the steps of Battle Abbey and I imagined all the history that had passed by this place.

With the exception of checking to see if we had a new prime minister, the news was banished. Our time was taken up instead in watching the world and languid conversations.

Life is more sociable with a dog

Hermione was, of course, a star. She introduced us to so many people that I couldn’t count them all. At one pub, where we were having dinner, I’m sure she was patted and fussed by every single person. In doing so, she opened us up to new encounters with lovely folk, who told their stories and we ours.

Perhaps we need a furry creature to break the barriers of shyness or polite behaviour. The English are normally so reserved, but bring a dog into the equation and they are positively voluble.

One lady, having given Hermione a good belly rub said enigmatically, ‘I needed that.’ Because sometimes, we just need to show affection and have the warmth of a positive response to make us feel human again. Who knows what was troubling her, but I’m glad that Hermione could give her a little respite.

**Great companions!** (Hermione and my husband) Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

A not too perfect life

Our hotel, the weather, everything was verging on perfection. One would expect this to be a good thing, but sadly it was not. Friendly dog patters aside, the hotel had its share of rather grumpy and miserable looking folks: couples who barely spoke to one another; people complaining of the ‘conference coffee’ served at breakfast; and even I fell into grumbling at the buzz of lawn mowers disturbing our peace. I was also feeling a bit frustrated by all my husband’s long walks with the dog and early morning swims in the pool. Why, I wailed inwardly, could I not join him? I hate this stupid disease.

Yes, I had a mini pity party. Then I looked down at my breakfast plate and saw the abundance of delicious food; looked up and saw the glorious grounds; looked across at my super husband and dog. Hmm. How quickly we fall prey to the idea that the world should serve us absolutely. How quickly, when life is almost perfect, does the slightest thing annoy.

It was time to recalibrate, because I realised that the reason the wealthy are often the most miserable is precisely because, like Tantalus, all they want is just beyond. But unlike Tantalus, it is not because they can’t reach food or drink, but rather that no sooner have they grasped it than they want something more, something better. As Westerners, we are all guilty of this to some degree.

Having acknowledged this truth and deciding to keep gratitude always at the centre of my thoughts, I went on a long walk around the lake that very evening. I managed to go much further than I thought possible and unusually did not suffer the exhaustion and burning in my legs that usually follows such exertions. Perhaps, having rested all day, I was better prepared, or perhaps, the universe was showing its approval.

History and humour

One can hardly go to Battle without thinking of history. The place is steeped in it: from the imposing Medieval Abbey to the half timbered Elizabethan dwellings to the elegant, symmetrical Georgian homes. This visit, I had vowed to explore the church opposite the Abbey and of almost equal antiquity. The Abbey had brought considerable wealth and prestige to the area and with it a burgeoning population. This church was where they could go to worship.

Founded 1115, it is classically Norman. It’s beautiful vaulted ceilings with dark beams and plain, pillared arches either side of the nave typify what we think of as an early Medieval church. But I suspect that the churchgoers of the Medieval period had a rather more lively prospect. High above on the left (facing the altar) are faded but once vivid frescoes. No doubt there were more, providing a sumptuous, visual feast for all those attending.

Ironically, the church now provides a respite from the onslaught of image and colour that we all face. The only real touches of colour are supplied by exquisitely executed kneelers with local and historic scenes.

**St Mary’s, Battle**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

**A far from Christian kneeler**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And lastly, I am delighted to note that aside from its seriously impressive history, this small town has a wonderful sense of humour. Each season, the yarn bombers do their best to add a little colour and whimsey. This month, in line with the scarecrow festival, they have produced my favourite scarecrow- Ariyarna Grande.

On a lighter note
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Immersed for a few days in such exceptional surroundings made me focus on the thread of history and how it weaves through all our lives. This history was expressed through creativity: of magnificent architecture, painting, tapestry and yes, even yarn bombing. All took skill, all took mastery of an art form and all took patience. For the events of history are past, but the work of the artist as it responds and responds again to changing times, lives on.

The Garden Meditation

This week, I have been experimenting with meditations. I always do my loving kindness one (setting that intention feels vital for me), but it can be done discreetly while waiting for an appointment or when a free quarter of an hour presents itself.

Finding time for my formal meditation with breathing exercises has become more challenging, however. As my creative life expands, my days contract. I do not want to change that, but I do want to continue meditating. Are there other ways of doing it?

Active meditation

One option is a more active meditation. If this sounds curious to you, or even wrong, be assured that the practise is as ancient as meditation itself. Walking meditations were often performed tracing a labyrinth. There is a beautiful one inside Chartres and within the grounds of the Quaker retreat at Woodbrooke. But you do not need a labyrinth to guide you or even an especially scenic route.

**A walk in the wild**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Meditation is often wrongly assumed to be something one does in a silent space on a cushion with incense. Of course, you may wish to practise this way, but it is by no means necessary. My understanding of meditation is absolute attention to what is. And as we focus on something outside our thoughts: our breath, our footsteps, the details of the surrounding world, we are freed from our inner chattering brain and enter into something more eternal.

I was reading recently of someone who lived in a highly urban area and whose meditation practise was looking, really looking, at his surroundings: a cat at a window, wild flowers pushing through the pavement, the changing colours of the leaves. Such quiet focussing can be done on the way to work and would anchor us fully for the day ahead.

Garden meditation

But as you have probably guessed from the title, my favourite form of meditation is in the garden. The act of gardening, requiring physical and mental effort is an ideal way to meditate and feel virtuous at the same time.

My physical limitations mean that gardening sessions need to be quite short, but I can sit in my shed and admire the view.

**A shed with a view**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

So, on Wednesday, that is exactly what I did. Instead of my usual morning pages, I focussed on the world around me and noted what I experienced. The hour passed in what seemed like minutes and I had many more observations than there is room for here. But here is a taster:

The sky is Hockney swimming pool blue. The clouds so faint, it looks as if they have been lightly erased from the sky with a rubber. Startling in its contrast is the Austrian pine in a complementary green. It is the only plant in the garden to have kept its primo verde shade. The rest, dulled by late summer and a long stretch of baking heat, have turned all military hues: khaki, olive, brown.

At eight o’clock, the traffic behind the house is working itself up to a crescendo of sound, while in the garden the magpies, arguing and clacking with a machine-gun fire repetition add nature’s percussion.

This early, there is almost no scent – only the fresh, clean smell of a pristine day. Later, the gentle breeze will bring the perfume of leaves as they respire in the sunshine.

Gradually, children trickle to the school nearby and add their mix of laughter, shrieks and shouts. I love their lack of inhibition. They voice, fully and roundly, their emotions.

We are predators, so the movement of all the garden’s visitors, above and below immediately catch my eye: the elegant silvered swerve of the seagull; the Dickens’ poor-ragged wing of the crow; the comical ecclesiastical walk of the collared dove as he searches beneath the apple tree for a tasty breakfast.

**Emerging apples** Image: Karen Costello=McFeat

I am very comfortable in my shed, seated upon my Lloyd loom chair, coffee mug at my side. But I am not alone for long. Hermione and my husband return from her walk and she explodes into the room with her usual enthusiasm.

Meditations are seldom possible in complete quiet in my house. But that needn’t be a problem. Life is fluid. The more able we are to embrace that, the easier finding peace amidst activity becomes.

**I wanna hold your hand**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Hermione is a very affectionate creature, who like a small child needs constant attention. One way to satisfy this is to hold her hand – yes, really. An interruption? Of sorts, but I can consider the silky softness of her fur, her gentle breathing and feel gratitude for her company. In a moment, she will be off with her ball.

My garden offered an endless display to enchant all my senses. If you find the idea of meditation off-putting or difficult, I would recommend spending a little time in yours or a place of natural beauty. The aim, after all, is to make our lives a living meditation connecting with the world around us and listening to ‘that still small voice of calm’ within.

The Singing Cure

MS is a bit like the whack-a-mole game we played at fairs. No sooner have you whacked one symptom back into its hole than another pops up. Not long after fulfilling my long term goal of walking to Belle Tout, I met up with the MS nurse. She was kind and helpful but distressingly diagnosed my troublesome night cough as dysphagia. And yes, it is as horrible as it sounds.

Essentially, it means that I do not have the ability to swallow like healthy folks. Taking my daily vitamins is a struggle; talking while eating impossible (it does improve table manners) and frequently waking to a choking cough is tiresome – literally and metaphorically.

Singing for health

Dysphagia is common in a whole slew of neurological conditions and frequently occurs in old age. Not willing to move onto pureed food any time soon, I wondered if there was something that I could do to delay or avoid its progression. Speech therapy (think throat physiotherapy) is one and singing, it seems is another. When I suggested it to the nurse, she enthusiastically agreed, and so my new experiment has begun.

I’d noticed that my cough occurred not long after I had to give up choir. Re-joining is not really an option with Covid still so prevalent, but I love to sing and if I have to do it alone, well, then I must.

In my investigations into the benefits of singing, I discovered that I am not the only one who would do well with more song in my life. Many of my readers, I know, are committed and excellent singers, but if you are not in their number perhaps the benefits listed below might tempt you to join them.

Stress reduction

Having a good sing, usually makes us feel better and certainly less stressed. The reason? Singing causes a drop in adrenaline and cortisone levels. When we sing we regulate our breathing. Taking deep and measured breaths are exactly what we need when life threatens to overwhelm us and singing does that with the added benefit of mood lifting lyrics.

If we can sing with others, the benefits are even greater. When I attended choir, I think there was as much giggling as singing going on and I left feeling ebullient. It is important that the choir is not overly strict. A community choir which meets just for pleasure will reduce your stress; one that meets for a perfect performance is unlikely to do so.

One of my favourites by my choir

Don’t worry, be happy

Most of us think of singing when we are happy, but it is something we might consider when we are in the doldrums. Evidence suggests that if you want to improve your outlook – sing a song. It can increase your dopamine levels and release endorphins which will enhance your mood. Dancing and singing together have additional benefits.

Both singing and dancing are aerobic activities giving the lungs and heart an excellent workout and improving the flow of oxygen around the body. They may also help with cognitive function, which relies on a good supply of oxygen to the brain. Learning new lyrics is another good mental exercise.

Singing has even been shown to increase the amount of immunoglobulin A the body produces (up to 150%). This boosts the immune system and helps ward off those pesky, misery producing viruses.

Five a day

Singing for just five minutes a day can bring some of the benefits above. Increase it to fifteen for maximum impact. Like all good habits, I find it easiest to give it a time slot (after language learning and before settling down for the evening) to keep on track. Having fun things to sing also helps and I’ve found a number of great songs on YouTube with lyrics in addition to my old choir notes. One I especially love is ‘Let it go’ from Frozen. I’ve posted it here if you would like to join in!

Go on! You know you want to!

Lullabies

Finally, singing and listening to song is the perfect way to calm down before sleep. Hermione has lullabies before bedtime and she settles almost instantly. Perhaps your loved ones would like a song too. Why not give it a try?

Source: ‘Singing for health and well-being’ The British Academy of Sound Therapy

A Grand Day Out

If anyone had told me at the beginning of this month that I would win a substantial prize for my writing; have an onstage discussion with two television presenters and end the day with a pleasant chat with a duchess, I would have laughed at such an outrageous fiction. But then, truth is often stranger…

It all began with a friend kindly forwarding a writing competition she had noticed in the Garden Museum newsletter. Fired with enthusiasm from my Artist’s Way tasks, I thought, ‘What have I got to lose?’ For a £10 entry fee, I could quickly establish if my notions of becoming a professional writer had any hope at all.

**Mementos of an extraordinary day**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The work

I haven’t written fiction for some time and short stories for longer still, but the strange topic – Gardening with Secrets – almost spontaneously gave me the title ‘Whispering Grass’ from the old song by the Ink Spots. The cast of characters were soon ushering themselves in.

The deadline was mere days away, so having completed my blog, I set my brain to the task. All weekend I mulled over the story, the back story, my characters’ lives. A first draft was written, scrunched and disposed of, then a second. Time was pressing upon me. Finally, I had to get writing on the computer and wrestle this now mammoth tale down to a mere 1,500 words.

After an extensive edit and with only hours to go, it was sent.

Finding favour

Discovering that I had won first prize was, of course, a delight. Since I was notified so close to the event where I should read my work, I was not compelled to attend. However, the opportunity to visit this great house and be part of a wonderful literary festival seemed too good to miss. Juggling the logistics of dog, work and accommodation stretched our mental resources, but with the help of friends, we somehow we managed it.

And I am so glad we did. The entire day was like a box of delights in which having finished one delicious layer, another presented itself. Chatsworth House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire, was our first treat. Built on a staggering scale, it is many times bigger than the usual pictures of the front elevation suggest and is surrounded by the most delightful gardens – all 105 acres of them.

**A grand house from any angle** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The house is, both architecturally and in content, worthy of museum status. On our visit, it was filled with the surprisingly modern private collection of the Cavendish family. It provided a pleasing contrast to the dark wood panelling and Grand Tour sculptures.

Throughout the grounds, further art was to be found like this whimsical installation of ravens – each unique.

**One of the many sculptures to be found here**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Talks and tastings

Along with the prize money, the entrance to this rather wonderful event was included. Since we were there, we wanted to take part in as many lectures as we could. We listened to a gorgeous one on seasonal writing, another on a once famous Victorian lady gardener and went on a foraging walk, as pictured below.

Our guide was most entertaining; her knowledge of wild plants, edible and otherwise, comprehensive. She revealed to us the feast beneath our feet and encouraged us to sample a few ‘weeds’. Common vetch was my favourite: a tiny legume with adorable, lilac flowers.

The main event

I had been told that I would be asked to read at 4.45pm and I, joyfully, assumed that meant the audience would be composed of me, my husband, the compere and the odd soul who didn’t have much on that evening.

What they neglected to mention was that this was the finale event, with Alan Titchmarsh and a presentation to the Duke and Duchess.

At 4.30, it was not too crowded. By 5pm, when we actually started, it was fairly full. And as the tent filled, my confidence wavered. Yet, having watched the speakers before me give excellent and engaging talks, I knew I’d have to swallow my self-consciousness and do the same.

After a brief conversation between Alan Titchmarsh and Wesley Kerr, it was my turn. Years of teaching had given me the advantage of being used to talking to a large audience; albeit a rather less eminent one than the group before me. I took a deep breath and plunged in.

When I looked up, I saw smiling and encouraging faces and best of all, there was an attentive hush.

**In conversation with Wesley Kerr and Alan Titchmarsh**
Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

Then I was done. The reading behind me, my conversation with the panel was a joy.

Afterwards, I was introduced to the Duchess of Devonshire. We had a lovely chat about Eastbourne – where they have strong links – and thanked the director of the Garden Museum for an amazing day.

A final treat

By now it was drizzling steadily and I mentioned to an elderly lady waiting for a buggy that I was only sorry that I hadn’t had a chance to view the gardens properly. No sooner had I said it than she hailed the next buggy and we were given a complete tour of grounds, which were as varied and splendid as Kew. The perfect finale to a garden literary festival.

**Beautiful Bakewell where we stayed**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Such stuff as dreams are made on

I confess that I am still fizzing from the experience. It was so unexpected and so much greater than my imaginings that it feels quite surreal. Some weeks ago, I opened my creative journal with the famous Walt Disney quote, ‘If you can dream it, you can do it.’ Now is the time for dreaming.