karencostellomcfeat

Swedish Lessons

After years of learning the Swedish language; shopping at the ScandiKitchen and watching more Scandi-noir than is probably good for me, I finally got to Stockholm.

My obsession with Scandinavia started young (I blame my genes) and my son had an Erasmus term at Lund University. Yet, somehow, despite my family’s love of travel, we only managed to stay there for a mere 48 hours. Now was my chance to really explore a country that I admired.

**Folk art** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Getting it right

My love of all things Scandi was not based solely on the landscape and art. It fundamentally rested on the idea that Sweden, Norway and Denmark had finally cracked the code on how to live right. They were more egalitarian than anywhere on Earth – something any woman would appreciate; they valued Nature and worked hard on green solutions; they lived simply and well, accepting that to support a caring society where no-one was left behind would cost them money – a lot of money. Paying 50% in taxes was viewed as a reasonable exchange for an excellent education system, brilliant infrastructure and healthcare.

**A pristine and reliable Metro**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

And our trip to Stockholm bore this out. Everyone was prosperous, the Metro efficient, the boulevards wide and the roads for cars narrow. The only problem for pedestrians was to avoid being run over by electric scooters and bicycles.

Art for art’s sake

As a bonus, the Swedes also saw the value of art to uplift our spirits. I don’t think that I have ever visited a more uniformly beautiful city. Every building had been built with care and few rose beyond four storeys. The area where we were staying was a mix of well designed modern (in concentric circles) and glorious art nouveau with a hint of classical.

Every building had a sense of style, from the triangulated balconies of the modern builds to the embellishments of the older ones. No window, coal shuttle or door was left plain.

Living space

Unlike most cities, one never had the sense of being crowed. If anything, it was rather quieter than most suburban areas in the UK. I know that Stockholm had lost many residents to the countryside for the upcoming Midsummer celebrations, but we arrived well before that.

**Where is everyone? A mile from the centre**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Like London, it was filled with parks – but not the awe-inspiring huge variety of Hyde or St James’, but small ones dotted around the residential areas. And at its edges was the water giving access to miles of forest fringed coastline.

It was a city designed for outdoor living, for appreciating one’s free time to picnic with friends or let the children run free. It was like no other city I’ve seen.

**A private sculpture garden** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Who would not enjoy an evening looking at the fountain at the centre of this very planned development? We looked inside the lower floors to see a communal space with small kitchen for residents to enjoy. Genius.

Except …

Despite all these advantages and unprecedented affluence, the Swedes did not seem overly happy. There is an expression in Swedish, ”En känsla av vemod” or a feeling of melancholy or sadness, which seemed to be manifest in the faces I saw.

For a society that seems as close to a utopia as humanly possible, this was a strange contradiction. When we passed people in the street in our usual smiling, friendly way, we were often met with blank stares or worse, grimaces. My husband and I determined to crack this by smiling and saying hello to everyone. We had very limited success – except with the immigrants who all greeted us in an equally cheery fashion and often looking somewhat surprised that anyone had addressed them.

**Smile … please!**
Image: Austin Wade on Unsplash

Needless to say, these immigrants were doing the jobs that no-one else felt inclined to do: kitchen work, cleaning and manning the Metro. They enjoyed the benefits of a very civilised society, but they were hardly of it. But despite the hardship of their present lives, I’m sure like migrants everywhere, they could see a brighter future for their children.

A puzzle

Perhaps one should not judge a people by their expressions and not smiling may simply be an indicator of taking life seriously or thoughtfulness or a more private approach. Perhaps not smiling is their way of showing that they are happy. Sweden ranks consistently in the top ten of the happiest countries in the world. (See this article for a scholarly approach to happiness: https://worldhappiness.report/ed/2020/the-nordic-exceptionalism-what-explains-why-the-nordic-countries-are-constantly-among-the-happiest-in-the-world/) There are numerous theories as to why Nordic countries are some of the happiest, but the one I most incline to is simply this: the Swedes have enough and are wise enough not to seek more than they need. In the interest of the communal good, they are willing to devote time, energy and income to the benefit of all rather than themselves individually. Life is lived in moderation and, where no-one is left feeling poor or neglected or vulnerable, trust and communal bonds can be fostered and reflected in governance.

**Flowers for everyone to enjoy**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

There is so much that we can learn from such an approach. Shifting from an ego-centric to a community-centric view, we can start a quiet revolution towards greater social equality. Finding more balance in our lives will bring happiness to ourselves and others. Making connections is something that almost always brings joy and if we feel the urge, we can smile about it!

Sick Note

Apologies once again for abandoning my post (pun intended), but the little souvenir we returned home with from Sweden turned out to be Covid. We have enjoyed a smorgasbord of symptoms from fake sunburn to lost voice, fevers to exhaustion. I’ve spent the majority of the last three days asleep – but rest has worked its magic and, unless the virus has yet another surprise waiting for us, I’m cautiously optimistic that we are coming to the end of it.

**Pretty deadly** Image: Fusion Medical on Unsplash

As always, my MS has intensified my symptoms. Fortunately, my husband has managed to keep us fed and watered. Without him, I suspect I may have just shrivelled under the blankets, too tired to even fetch myself a drink.

I very much hope that you are all well and look forward to your company next week.

Much love, Karen x

Solar Power

We’ve been having a heatwave in the South East for weeks now. Temperatures keep climbing and rain (with the exclusion of one dramatic thunder storm) refuses to fall. Such balmy days are a joy, but they also bring their own challenges. Love them or hate them, long hot summers are here to stay.

**The roiling ball of flaming gas that is the sun** Image: Nasa

As a power source, the sun is phenomenal. A good friend has just installed solar panels and I wish I could do the same, but I suspect my roof would disintegrate! (It is rather old.) I shall look into it further though, as free-standing ones are an option, and my garden is always filled with sunlight.

Sun baked

Even without solar panels, we can use the sun’s energy in place of the usual electric source. This week, I have been making sun tea – a most refreshing drink on a hot day. It is ludicrously simple. Find a large jam/Kilner jar and add tea to the strength you want. Fill with water and set outside in the sunshine. In a few hours, it will have infused. Add ice or water if too strong. Since the electric kettle is a greedy consumer of energy, this is a way to save it with minimum effort and expense.

**Refreshing iced-tea for a summer’s day**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Delighted with my tea experiment, I decided to make fruit leather. I still have some apples left over from last year’s harvest and some delicious rhubarb in the freezer. (Thank you Liz and Peter!)

Fruit leather is simply pureed fruit, spread out on a tray and left to dry. However, it is painfully slow and I refuse to turn my oven on for 12 hours (even at a low temperature) to make it. Instead, I decided to try the old-fashioned option and leave it in the sun. Even in these very hot days, it did take a few to dry out completely and had to be left in the shed sometimes. (If flies are a problem, either cover your trays with a cloth ‘tent’ or keep in a well-lit place.)

But I’m delighted to say that it made the best fruit leather ever. You can easily find instructions on how to make it on YouTube, but essentially you only need to cook and puree the fruit of your choice – here apple and rhubarb – then spread in a .5 cm thick layer on grease-proof paper. Leave in the sun. The leather is ready when it lifts easily from the paper. If you find any wet patches, leave to dry further. Cut into narrow strips and roll up. Remember that even a tiny fruit roll contains a huge amount of fruit.

Of course, the other thing to air dry is your clothes. I was horrified to discover that washing lines are prohibited in certain communities in America. This is insanity. Tumble driers, like kettles, devour electricity. Air your clean laundry in public! The Earth will thank you.

Flower power

Biology lessons at school taught us the marvel that is photosynthesis: the ability of plants to transform sunlight into energy. The results are stunning. At this time of year, my garden is overflowing with blooms (and weeds) but they require a great deal of watering.

**Flowers, flowers everywhere, but not a drop to drink**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Sunshine is lovely, but drought is not and I was a little concerned by the number of gardeners recommending drought resistant species to endure our longer, hotter summers. If we want to keep our British gardens blooming, we should consider how to minimise our fossil energy use.

The dark side of the sun

The sun can give all sorts of benefits from helping our bodies make vitamin D to improving mood by stimulating serotonin. Without care, however, it can do much damage too.

After a rather hot day in the sun, I noticed a rather angry red patch on my skin. It had always been a little odd and I had thought nothing of it, but now it was begging for attention.

Dutifully, I toddled off to see the doctor. Yes, it was a melanoma and yes, it would need to be frozen off (yuk) but hopefully it was benign.

With the sun’s ultra-violet rays increasing in intensity dramatically over the last thirty years, the days of sunbathing without sunscreen or as my sisters did, slathered in baby oil, are over. I confess to having been a little blase about applying sunscreen, but now I do that or cover up. Skin cancer is not on my agenda.

Sun and MS

I adore being out in the warm sun and I adore gardening. Sadly though, my MS does not. After an hour of very gentle weeding and deadheading the roses, I was completely washed out. I was even a little concerned that I’d make it back up the garden to the cool of the house and the sofa to lie down.

Fortunately, I made it and collapsed exhausted. It is a very strange state that is not sleep but is not consciousness either. One simply ‘shuts down’ in the same way a mobile phone will if left in the sun for too long. And like the phone, it will return to functioning at its own pace. Such things cannot be rushed.

At late afternoon, I had wrongly thought I would be safe, but the heat persists well into the evening now. I may have to start gardening just before bedtime.

Such irritations aside, these glorious summer days bring me immense pleasure and the opportunity to eat my meals outside and entertain Hermione whilst gardening or reading. The living is easy and delightful.

So while I enjoy the Mediterranean life-style this new normal brings, I am acutely aware that the sun is not always my friend. Like all power, solar power needs to be treated with caution and respect.

Next week there will be no post, as we are off to Sweden for a short holiday. I hope to return with news of all our adventures. Glad Midsommar to you all!

Be a Hero

**Sometimes you have to be your own hero** Image: Denise Jans

On Tuesday morning, Mariia was deeply upset. She had just read the news that the huge hydro-electric dam in Nova Kakhovka, Southern Ukraine had been blown-up by the Russians. The walls breached, water cascaded over the surrounding countryside and towns engulfing all in a swirling mass of liquid destruction.

The human costs are obvious. Houses are wrecked, beautiful buildings flooded and destabilized. Tens of thousands of people have been evacuated in a country already struggling with so many internally displaced persons. And the threat to the nuclear power plant reliant on its water to the north is pending, as are the fates of those further from the site who depend on on the dam for much needed electricity.

The cost to nature

Yet, less often mentioned is the ecological cost. Zelensky referred to this attack as “an environmental bomb of mass destruction” for this area is one of special ecological interest, containing two nature reserves and several zoos. The Russians have already been colonising vast tracts of parkland throughout the occupied areas and the eternal shelling has caused devastating wildfires and consequent deforestation.

A once peaceful haven Image: Balkhovitin – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32652682

Those areas which once provided a refuge for animals, rare plants and fish, have been polluted and mined and burned. Below is an image of what the Russians have left behind.

**From peaceful forest to munitions dump** Image: Ukraineworld

If you are interested in learning more, the following site is excellent, if a little depressing: https://ukraineworld.org/articles/analysis/russias-environmental-crimes?utm_source=flipboard&utm_content=topic%2Fnatureconservation

Defeating despair

In a week or two, the news cycle will move on and we will forget these acts of destruction, though the effects will linger for many decades. So what can we do? Mariia was understandably angry about the assault on her country and I was too. My first task though was to turn that anger to something more positive. If we succumb to hate, the aggressor has won by making us join him in his pursuit of evil. (I do not use that word lightly.)

Yet, the devastation is so overwhelming and so pointless that it is easy to lose hope.

I tried to remind her of all the individuals who are risking their own welfare to evacuate those caught in the floods and to give them shelter. Compared to the small number of those involved in the bombing, a very large number of people are working hard to repair the damage and help those left in the wake of catastrophe.

We can tut and shake our heads about this pointless devastation or we can act. Oscar Wilde wisely said:

The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the grandest intention.
Oscar Wilde

In the UK, we are hardly in a position to rescue people from their rooftops, but there is much we can do from keeping love in our hearts to practical strategies. As Mariia has remarked several times, we have the privilege of living in a democracy. A single vote or a single letter to our MP may not seem much, but with others, we can produce real change.

**From scouring the shelves to spoilt for choice** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

As an example of one person making a difference, I told her about our friend ‘Fairtrade Matt’ who we knew from our Greenpeace days. He toiled for years encouraging individuals and organisations to sell and use Fairtrade products. Other individuals across the country did the same. For years, nothing much happened. Then, it seemed as if everyone was committing to the practice of ethical sourcing. The supermarket aisles that once only had the choice of a single product at the bottom of the shelf now had an abundance. The same happened with free-range eggs. And the same with meat-free products.

Because effecting real, meaningful change takes time and commitment and it starts with the decision to act and empower ourselves.

Choosing to be the hero

That afternoon, Mariia noticed a social media post asking Ukrainians to meet in the town to create posters and raise awareness of the situation in their homeland.

She set off with Hermione (they were also calling attention to the effect on animals) and met up with a few other determined souls to tell their story. As it was at the end of the work day, they were able to speak to a number of people (some of whom had never met a Ukrainian) and explain their cause.

**Gentle persuasion and information** Image: a kind passer-by

Will it make a difference? Only time will tell, but I hope that the people they spoke to left with a greater understanding and a willingness for our government to maintain support for Ukraine.

That same day, I read an article in The Times where many of the Republican presidential candidates in the US referred to the invasion as a ‘territorial dispute’. Really? How easy it is to downgrade events through the manipulation of language. A dispute hardly requires international support: an invasion, which unchecked may well spill over to other countries, certainly does. Language matters and we must be vigilant in avoiding the politician’s trick of misdirection and when we see it, like Mariia, explain the truth.

The hero’s reward

I would love nothing better than to say here that the hero’s reward was consummate with his/her effort. But, I would be lying. In reality, the hero’s path is littered with hardship, challenges, failures and hurt. It is seldom acknowledged (except perhaps posthumously) and just as often ridiculed.

So why bother? Because acting in a way that you think is right and that will benefit others brings its own reward. After a day of looking very glum indeed, Mariia came home smiling and excited by all she had achieved. And that was enough.

Postcards from Battle

There is a reason why my husband’s nickname is Tigger. He quite literally cannot sit still for twenty seconds at a time, but must always be off on some adventure or another.

After my full and wonderful visit with my university friends the weekend before, I had been looking forward to a leisurely bank holiday reading in the garden and stirring myself only to remove the odd annoying weed from the flower beds. Alas, like all best plans, this was set to go ‘agley.’

News of a Medieval fair in Battle came through on my husband’s Facebook feed and, of course, we had to go. That same week, we’d had rather distressing news from Ukraine, so we thought we better take Mariia with us to give her a distraction and cheer her up. I think it worked.

**View from the tower** Image: Mariia Matrunich

The quaint town was filled with folks in realistic costumes (except perhaps for the trainers peeking out under dresses). The canopied stalls also added authenticity to the Medieval market feel and the surrounding buildings played their part. With the exception of the Abbey, few were eleventh century, but most were certainly old.

Living history

We’d allowed two days to fully explore the fair and I’m glad we gave ourselves that luxury. If we missed an entertainment one day, we caught it the next and there was no urgency when talking to the incredibly well-informed historians displaying their crafts.

We learned about how peasants made candles to light their homes (poorly) and Mariia made a beeswax candle. Though beeswax was, of course, the preserve of the rich. The poor made do with reed dipped in tallow or rushlights made from dried rushes soaked in oil.

We saw how nets were made and how different strengths of rope were required to capture different animals. I was fascinated to discover how often nets, rather than weapons, were used to catch everything from rabbits to wild boar.

And no Medieval fair would be complete without knights. Here there were many of them, walking about in their rather sweltering battle gear.

Since it was a very ‘hands on’ event, we got to see and even try on some of their armour. I lifted some chainmail and could barely raise it from the ground. (Mariia tried it on for size) Yet, this was only one layer. First was a heavy, padded cotton jacket, then the chainmail, and then the armour plate. In the summer heat it must have been unbearable and I cannot imagine what it felt like under the scorching sun of the Holy Land. Of course, once you got it on, you needed assistance to get it off again, so knights in battle were unable to change or go to the bathroom. Figures of romance? I think not.

Our knights were rather more 21st century, with male and female combatants. To overcome the barriers of armour, fighting was very close combat. Seeing them wield their huge swords, axes and hammers gave a chilling view of just how brutal Medieval warfare was.

Maypoles and mayhem

As the fair occurred over the Whitsun holiday, it included some lovely May traditions. The Maypole took centre stage in the bull ring. (The ring was used in the past for animal baiting.) We enjoyed the ‘experts’ doing some classic dances before the audience was invited to have a go. Both were joyful.

**Showing us how it’s done**
Image: Mariia Matrunich

We were also treated to the antics of some very professional jesters. True to character, they added a little mayhem to the dancing and teased the crowds.

The juggling and fire-eating at the end was truly spectacular. I suspect that one trained at circus school.

And what would a May fair be without a May Queen? Rather charmingly the May Queen and her court were composed of preteen girls who had all practised the royal wave.

And a little more history

The second day, Mariia charmed her way into Battle Abbey and Jeff and I decided to revisit the beautiful church. It was every bit as glorious as I remembered it, with the surrounding church yard now being cultivated to meadow.

Battle Abbey looks on impassively at human high jinks

Inside, all was cool and still. The ancient door gave way to a place of peace and prayer, which has been used for more than a millennium. More than all the crazy activities of the fair, the brilliant costumes and jolly jesters, this gave me a very real sense of my place in the great expanse of time.

How many people had stepped through this ancient arch before me?

And how many had looked to this now faded fresco for instruction?

The church is still very much in use, though I suspect the sermons are somewhat gentler.

I like to think that I found the column where William’s men dulled the blades of their swords in a symbolic show of peace after victory. Sadly, William’s future actions would suggest that they sharpened them soon after.

Be more Tigger

The weekend was over all too soon and I am very glad that I embraced my husband’s enthusiasm for life. A quiet afternoon in the garden may have been restful, but this was much more fun.

Making Time for Friends

When life is crazy busy, it is easy to fail to make time for our most precious resource: friends. They lift us up when we’re feeling down; provide an anchor when we’re feeling lost and well, just make life much more enjoyable. This post is a little celebration of all my friends and how they have brought me joy.

Faraway friends

As someone who has traversed continents and moved rather more than advisable, I have always had friends who live far away. Some have themselves moved to more exciting places abroad, or other parts of the country, but they are all too valuable to give up.

It would be easy to say, ‘Oh well, they live in America or Australia and there’s no point in keeping in touch.’ But from my experience, that would be folly. My slightly erratic calls to a dear friend in Australia, are always a delight, and I hope she will make it back to England before too long.

My closest friend from graduate school may live four thousand miles away, but we email daily (short silly things) and this spring we finally managed a week’s reunion filled with outings and laughter. She’s already saving up to come again and we’ll meet up at my son’s wedding in the States in September.

**A windy day at Birling Gap with Elizabeth**
Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

My best friend from school lives in Germany, but weekly, letter-like emails keep us up to date with each other’s lives and her regular trips back to Eastbourne are always something to look forward to.

Closer to home

Luckily, most of my friends live within a mile or two. For me, friendships flourish when you meet often, do things together and commit to regular contact.

This certainly applies to my craft club (below left with Elizabeth visiting) and my book group, below right (with birthday visitors).

I am fairly shameless in trying to make the tript worth their while and invest in good coffee and where possible delicious cakes. Bribery? Well, perhaps, but we all need a little encouragement.

School friends

Moving to Eastbourne was the best thing that happened to me. (I used to live in Swindon: enough said.) Here, I found life-long friends who all make the effort to keep in touch as much as possible. Though only two of us remain in the town, a visit from one or both of the others is a great excuse for a lunch out.

Friends that you have known since childhood are a little different from those you made last week. They know you deeply; have presumably forgiven or overlooked all your annoying habits and foibles and are rather more in the manner of siblings than acquaintances. There is no need for pretence or preening. Old friends ground us as no others can. Their company is as cosy and comforting as a favourite woolly jumper.

UKC Friends

I was equally blessed at university to make some very good friends. Liz has named us the UKC Chickadees. I have no idea why. So, I’ve looked it up and think I might have discovered the answer: they are described as smart, tough and friendly (sounds like my pals) but perhaps more likely, it is because these birds are found in the Carolinas where we all spent our third year. My friends were at the very prestigious Duke University, whilst I, who may have been slightly distracted by the opposite sex during my first two years at Kent, was at the University of South Carolina.

Also, being the song birds that we are, we like to chatter a lot. Though this is mainly via WhatsApp, we have committed to an annual reunion. Our most recent was last weekend, when we enjoyed perfect weather for a perfect visit.

Coffee dates

Since not all my friends fall into any particular group, I meet them for coffee. There are always birthdays to celebrate and other excuses, though I seldom need much of one to see them.

**Coffee and tea with friends** Image: Card by Jennifer Timberlake

New friends

And, no matter how many friends you have, there is always room for more. Our Ukrainian adventure has led us to meeting and enjoying the companionship of many wonderful people we would never otherwise have met. And our best new friend is, of course, our guest Mariia, who has taught us so much about the Ukrainian way of life and shown such fortitude in the most impossible of circumstances. She is the lemonade maker extraordinaire.

Mariia in Ukrainian traditional headdress Image: Mariia Matrunich

Correspondence friends

Which brings me to my final group of friends – the ones I am seldom able to visit due to time and distance, but who keep in touch though social media or letter. My very oldest friend, from primary school, still writes long and detailed missives filled with beautiful nature observations and family news. When we do meet up, the time apart falls away in an instant and we blether just as we did when we were ten.

Others keep in touch via my blog or email. Their messages always make me smile.

**Correspondence papers**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

As someone whose life has hardly gone to plan over the last decade, what has kept me sane and on the path to health has been my friends. They were with me when I was diagnosed with MS and again when I had cancer.

I have no doubt that my recovery in both is very much down to their love, care and attention. Chronic illness so often leads to the vicious cycle of depression, deteriorating health, more depression and so on. Though I have undoubtedly had to confront my demons, I did not have to do it alone.

It takes time and effort to keep close relationships, because friendship is like an exquisite flower: it needs nurturing or it will wither and die.

We may be tired or feel we don’t have time to write, but perhaps we can manage a post card for Pen Pal Day on June 1. Or a quick message on social media can be enough to let someone know we are thinking of them.

Whatever you do, make time for friends. I, for one, couldn’t manage without them.

The Price of Novelty

If anything is causing us to rush into the chaos brought about by climate change, it is the very human desire for novelty. In the past, this curious and adventurous spirit has brought humanity unimagined gains, but it is time to rethink how we direct our desire for the new.

We all love objects and experiences that are original and there is nothing wrong with indulging from time to time. However, despite what social media may suggest, we don’t need to do it all the time. Our desire for change can often be satisfied just as easily and joyfully closer to home.

The allure of travel

First, mea culpa. As a young person, I was addicted to travel, saving every penny from holiday and Saturday jobs to fund my next adventure. And I still love to explore new lands and cultures. Abroad, all is new. As someone fascinated by everyone and everything, travel is my cerebral sweetie shop. Since so many of my best memories are from other locations, I would be the last person to say that travel is bad.

However, travel, especially air travel, does have consequences for the planet. My husband recently went on a business trip to the Dolomites in Italy. He sent me this glorious picture below, but when he returned he said the towns near where he was staying were sad places with closed hotels and restaurants, few facilities and many boarded up houses. This region, once a thriving tourist resort for skiers, is now empty. The snow has gone and so too the income that sustained their communities.

Stunning Dolomites – but not enough snow Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

Last year in France, half of the 7,500 slopes closed due to inadequate snow fall and this has been repeated all over the world. Of course, this is devastating for the hotels and restaurants reliant on that trade, but it is also a rather worrying indicator of how our climate is changing.

In contrast, some places like Venice are so overwhelmed with tourists that they have introduced a tourist tax in part to deal with the excessive amount of rubbish. Such fragile and historic places are also put under great strain by the mere footfall of so many people and the services they require. Venice is a unique place, but there are certainly many other equally wonderful cities to explore without feeling that you are in a crowd at a football stadium.

I have probably bored everyone witless with my stories from Scotland, but our country is so rich in history, landscape and culture that one could not exhaust it in one life-time.

Shop till you drop

As the spring sunshine prompts us to shed our winter wear, how tempting it is to celebrate with a new, seasonally appropriate outfit. Gorgeous brochures flop through the letter box, pop ups litter our feeds and unless you entirely avoid anywhere with a retail outlet, we are bombarded with gorgeous possibilities.

Most of us are aware that a desire to buy continuously can be a sign of deeper problems, but even the most well-balanced of souls will fancy something new now and again.

**How much is enough?** Freestocks on Unsplash

But satisfying this desire need not cost the Earth – metaphorically or literally. It takes a little more research, but it is possible to buy goods that support communities without destroying their environments or health. We can choose to buy well-made products that we know will last beyond the next few months. We can choose companies who have strict policies on who makes their clothes and the conditions under which they make them. We can also choose those companies who favour organic materials, thus saving the farmers and locals from the ill-effects of pesticides. In the end, these products will not only make us look good but feel good too.

New for old

For extra virtue points, we can but some of our clothes from charity shops. My husband gets most of his shirts there: many are new with tags and some have only once seen a washing machine. For a few pounds, he obtains designer shirts that look fantastic. (I think I need to start looking in the men’s section!)

EBay offers second-hand goods at super cheap prices and with exceptional choice. Freecycle offers all kinds of things from sofas to children’s toys for free. You only need to sign up to join.

I know many people are reluctant to go down this route from a sort of pride (and it took me a while to get my head around it) but I think it is worth trying to change our attitude. Here are goods we can enjoy and save from the over-flowing landfill sites and help worthy causes at the same time.

And if you’d rather not enjoy someone else’s recycled clothing, perhaps you might enjoy up-cycling your own! On a rare occasion that I was watching The Sewing Bee, they were practising visible mending or the Japanese art of sashiko. Done properly, sashiko aims not only to mend an item but to actually make it more beautiful. The knitwear expert, Flora Collingwood-Norris, certainly achieves this and adds exquisite embroidery to much loved, needing-care jumpers.

**The dog ate my dress**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat on Unsplash

Suitably inspired, I set about making my own repairs to a pinafore I love but which Hermione clearly did not. (As a puppy, she chewed everything and this was just one more casualty.) The tear was L-shaped and difficult to sew neatly. It would need a patch. With the aid of Bondaweb, I made one and used a heart-shaped blanket stitch to attach it. Though far from professional, it makes me smile and has reclaimed my pinafore for another few years of wear.

Avoiding being a dedicated follower of fashion

Although we tend to think of fashion in terms of clothing, it spreads across all aspects of manufacturing from the shape of cars to the colour of appliances. Each month I receive Country Living magazine and often chuckle over the headlines that state that florals are now in a month after extolling the virtue of Swedish minimalism. To be a dedicated follower of fashion, we’d need a very big budget indeed. We’d also need to dispose of everything mere weeks after their purchase, which is hardly a sensible way to behave.

An alternative is to try to avoid being quite in fashion at all – selecting what you love and suits you and your life-style and not worrying too much if it is on trend. Another way is to take advantage of things out of fashion and make them your own. A rather enterprising friend’s daughter used her woodworking skills to take an old wardrobe and transform it into a drinks cabinet.

Older furniture can be picked up for a song and is often made with high quality wood.

**A newly useful piece of furniture** Image: Amy Perkins

In books and on-line there are any number of brilliant folk willing to show us how to use the materials of the planet more wisely. Through following their advice, we may not bring about significant change by ourselves, but we can be part of a larger mind-shift that may, just may, save us all.

Ode to the Humble Earthworm

Random post? Well, maybe a little. But I have been thinking about worms a lot recently – especially since last week when I cleared part of the vegetable patch for planting. For the first time in seven years, the soil was full of worms (and other rather interesting beasties). We have been gardening organically since we moved in, yet it is only now that our soil has recovered its full health.

Whatever chemicals were used before we arrived, I hate to think, but they certainly destroyed almost every creature living in the soil. Most of you, I’m sure, garden as we do, but if you do not, or have friends/relations who do not, let this post be a plea on behalf of the earthworm, to whom we owe so much.

**Pretty? No! Vital? Yes!** Image: Sippakorn -Yamkasikorn on Unsplash

The earthworm’s champion

The greatest advocate of the earthworm was none other than Charles Darwin. He dedicated over forty years to researching their habits and effects on the soil. His book, The Formation of Vegetable Mould through the Action of Worms, with Observations on their Habits (1881) outsold The Origin of the Species.

It may be doubted if there are any other animals which have played such an important part in the history of the world as these lowly organised creatures.
Charles Darwin

Darwin promoted this humble creature because he realised that worms are essential to the health and fertility of soil and thus the health of everything that depends on it from grazing sheep to fields of cultivated wheat.

How do they do this?

These tiny invertebrates can almost move mountains. It is estimated that the worms found in an acre of cultivated land would be capable of shifting up to 8 tonnes of earth. (nypl.org.blog) The import of this? Well, all that moving of earth from under the ground and back up to the top ensures that the topsoil is rich with nutrients. Worms take plant matter into the soil and transform it via their intestines into ‘fertile pellets’. Their movements within the earth also aerate it and improve drainage. They are effectively mini composters who also ‘plough’.

And it is not just the gardener who benefits from this little pink fellow, but other wild life too. Worms are part of the food chain that feeds birds, badgers, hedgehogs, foxes and dozens of others. Take them away and these ‘higher’ animals will be forced to search for food in an ever depleting natural pantry.

**A tasty breakfast** Image: Istvan Hernek on Unsplash

Seagulls are the most ingenious at tempting out their next meal. Since worms cannot survive in water, they come to the surface when it rains. Though they cannot hear, they can feel vibrations, so the seagulls ‘paddle’ the ground in the imitation of rain and then gulp down their prey as it emerges. Evil but effective.

‘Truth is never afraid of mockery’

Poor Darwin was the constant butt of ridicule. His theories of evolution were met with derision and his book on worms also. Punch especially enjoyed mocking this great thinker, but of course, time has more than verified his truth.

Thank goodness that he held fast to his vision and was not cowed by popular opinion, or our understanding of natural history would be so much the poorer.

Sadly, despite the easy accessibility of his knowledge on the positive impact of worms on the soil, there are dozens of products on the market that are designed to extinguish them. Worms leave ‘casts’ or little piles of soil as their food goes through the digestive process. These casts are unsightly on a perfectly manicured lawn, so some folks flood their greens with insecticide. Please don’t. A few tiny earth towers hurts no-one, whereas wholesale destruction of the gardener’s friend hurts us all.

Evolution

My sentiments towards worms have improved greatly as I came to see their value in my garden. What once made me say, ‘Eeww!’ and shy away now makes me smile. However, I like to think that I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for these less than beautiful creatures. My favourite poem from childhood is by Spike Milligan and I shall use it to end this rather whimsical post.

Today I saw a little worm

Today I saw a little worm
Wriggling on his belly.
Perhaps he'd like to come inside
And see what's on the telly!

Spike Milligan

Illustration for ‘Today I saw a little worm’ *A Children’s Treasury of Milligan*

Happy gardening!

The Marvellous Month of May

I love the spring, but it takes till May to get into full swing. And then what a spectacle it provides: frothy blossoms in every shade of pink; the haze of bluebells in the woods, and at last skies unencumbered by charcoal clouds.

It is the month we put away our heavy sweaters and take out our summer clothes, so unfamiliar now, they feel like new.

The lawn experiences its first haircut (or not if you are observing no-mow May) and a sense of joyful anticipation is born. If ever there were a month made for celebrations, this is it.

The darling buds of May

As May begins, my garden becomes a Monet dream: filled with undefined masses of soft colour. Fruit trees erupt into every shade of pink from almost white to a deep magenta. This year, they are especially lush, since the continuous drizzly rain has nourished the trees.

These blossoms, so pretty to observe, also hold the promise of a good harvest – each bloom the base of a fruit. So far, we have been spared the ‘rough winds’ which often terminate these fruits before they form. My ancient cooking apple tree is the last to blossom. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the days will remain balmy or at least gale free.

Walking on sunshine

This year, in rather uncharacteristic fashion, our bank holiday was enjoyed with clear blues skies. Time, at last, to tackle the garden.

Blink and my garden fills with sticky willy (goose grass), bindweed and a tiny blue, forget-me-not type flower. The bind weed is the worst, slithering its way under the soil to pop up again metres away. It also has an unfortunate habit of strangling things.

I don’t have the energy to work in the garden for long (about 20 minutes is my limit), so I’m taking the little and often approach. It’s taken me three days, but I’ve cleared three rows in the vegetable patch and sown seeds in each.

When I’m tired, I work in the potting shed. Filling containers with compost and planting with seeds is workable even for me and some are already giving rewards for my efforts.

**Tiny beginnings** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

My mini sunflowers are looking happy and the cheap dried peas I sowed are now delightful pea sprouts ready for eating. My corn is progressing and so too my salad leaves. Today I need to plant my celeriac and beans to give them a chance to grow sufficiently hardy to put up some defences against the ubiquitous snails.

In the veg patch there is purple sprouting broccoli, some rainbow chard that self seeded, celery from old celery sticks and an abundance of herbs. It isn’t much and would hardly fill an empty stomach, but is it something.

For our ancestors, such bounty would have been a true blessing, for April is the starving month. Winter supplies are almost gone and the first greens only just appearing. Is it any wonder that the 1st of May has been celebrated since Roman times? For it gives the promise of life.

May Day traditions

As a little girl, in Junior school, I remember learning to dance around the Maypole. It was fairly hilarious and nothing as fine as the one below. We had no floral crowns nor white dresses – just the dull uniform of grey and green. Nor did we have a May king and queen. Yet, as below, I believe the boys were excluded from the dancing.

**Dancing around the Maypole with flowers in their hair**
Image: Social History Archive on Unsplash

The tangling of ribbons and the intricacies of steps to avoid such a fate were all we focused on. The unsubtly phallic symbolism of the pole passed us by, as did the ancient beliefs from which it sprang. For the dance, like most May celebrations, centred around love, fertility and ensuing new life.

To ‘Go a-Maying’ was to set off in the evening (preferably with a romantic partner) to gather flowers and the branches of the newly blossoming hawthorn, whose common name is May. One returned at sunrise to decorate the home – no doubt at little tousled.

The Puritans, despisers of all things fun, attempted to squash the pagan and overtly sexual May celebrations, but succeeded only for the time that they were in power. Such irrepressible joy could not be dampened for long.

All across the Northern hemisphere, May is celebrated as an end to the austerity imposed by a brief growing season. Activities range from dancing to jumping fires; rolling cheeses to eating special foods – but each acknowledges that winter is truly passed and abundance about to begin.

Interestingly, May 1 is also International Worker’s Day celebrating the reduction of the working day from sixteen to eight hours: offering a new life to those caught in the chilly clutches of an industrial age.

Party, party, party!

This month is an especially happy one for me. Not only is it my birthday month but also for many friends and relatives – even the dog’s! And, of course, birthdays require gatherings, Prosecco and cake – lots of cake.

**Birthday treats** Image: Robert Anderson on Unsplash

Our birthday commemorates our birth, yes, but it also looks forward. When we wish someone ‘Many happy returns’ we are saying that we hope their birthday celebrations will return next year and thereafter. Like May itself, the colourful birthday of the natural world, we look forward to it returning again next year.

And whatever you are doing this month, I hope you will find time to celebrate in your own way May’s promise of good times ahead.

**Blue and pink Spanish bluebells** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Dolphins, Waterfalls and Other Magical Things -Part 2

Leaving the mythical grandeur of Scotland for the traffic clogged roads of England was pretty demoralising. What kept me cheery was the prospect of meeting up with old university friends in East Anglia.

Gone were the days of tuna bake and cheap booze in our shared house. These were replaced with Liz’s ornate Swedish celebration cake and blood orange G&Ts in their gorgeous home. What had not changed was the pleasure we took in each other’s company.

**Perfect hosts: Liz and Peter Holland**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Though we had left Scotland, it is fair to say that it has not left me. My thoughts continually drift back to those magical days and this post is an opportunity to visit once again.

Last week, I focussed on the beauty of nature in the far north and this week I’d like to turn to more human concerns. For despite the small and often scattered populations of the Highlands, it is replete with cultural interest.

Walking with the ancients

No trip to the Highlands is complete for me without a little visit to the Clava Cairns. We were startled to find that a few other people had discovered them too, but while they disembarked their mini-buses and rushed around the site, we waited to hear the whispers of our ancestors.

**Clava Cairns in its Victorian ‘druidic’ grove.** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The mysterious Picts

The Pictish peoples are said to have disappeared from Scotland, though our DNA would probably tell us otherwise. Though their culture has been largely lost, it is believed that they merely assimilated with their Gaelic and Scots contemporaries. Since the Picts had no written language, it is hard to establish exactly what life was like, but we do have some wonderful archaeological evidence to go by.

They left magnificent carved standing stones and they left the outlines of their villages. In Burghead, we came across a Pictish settlement as shown below, left. The location was ideal for repelling Viking and other invaders and the proximity to the sea ensured a stable food supply. Though the Romans viewed the Picts as barbarians, it seems that, inter-tribe fighting aside, they were a very civilised people, growing crops and maintaining quite complex communities. It takes a little imagination to turn photo one to the imagined settlement below, but it is not impossible.

**The stunning location of the Pictish settlement with deep earthworks for protection.**
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

**An imagined view of Burghead settlement in Pictish times.**

Kinloss Abbey

On our return from Burghead, we came across another beautiful, Romantic ruin. Following the signs, we set off to explore. It transpired that these now tumble-down walls were once part of one of the largest, and most prosperous abbeys in Scotland. The site is huge. Low walls indicate where buildings once stood and a whole section waits to be made safe for viewing.

Though the abbey is ancient (12th century), the place has not stood still in time. Over the centuries, it has continued to be a burial ground. Large, ornate mausoleums press close to the abbey walls, in the hope, perhaps, that their wealthy residents could jump the queue at the resurrection. More poignantly, it is a military graveyard containing a number of much plainer, humbler Commonwealth graves.

**Kinloss Abbey** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Castle Rait and a ghost story

Castle lovers could hardly wish for more treasures to explore than in Scotland. Inverness Shire, where we were staying had 69. Venture into the neighbouring county and there are a further 260. Even my husband would not run out! Indeed, castles are so plentiful that even some of the best preserved haven’t warranted a brown sign. Rait Castle is one such. It is found at the end of a farmer’s track, but is truly a fascinating ruin.

This 13th century castle, like most castles, has a horrible history. According to legend, this ruin is haunted by the handless ghost of a young maiden. The story behind it is part Romeo and Juliet and part clannish betrayal.

Here is a very short account:

There was a young woman, daughter of Laird Cumming, who loved and was loved by the son of a rival clan – the Mackintoshes. Her father hated his enemies and planned to destroy them at a feast.

Learning of his devilish plan, the young woman set off to warn her beloved.

The night of the feast arrived and the Mackintoshes feigned good humour and ignorance of the plot. Yet, when the signal was given to the Cummings to attack, the Mackintoshes pulled their dirks (long bladed daggers) from the folds of their clothes and slaughtered the Cummings.

Realising that he had been betrayed by his daughter, Cummings followed her up to the first story tower room (see above centre) and as she attempted to jump from the window, chopped off her hands.

Whether this story is true of not, I would certainly not wish to linger in the environs after dark.

Bookish times

Despite the above, all was not murder and mayhem in Scotland. It is a country renowned for its excellent educational system and with providing the world with a disproportionate number of great thinkers.

That tradition still holds and I was delighted to find that both Grantown on Spey and Nairn had excellent independent book shops. Nairn even has a book and arts festival at the end of August each year. Not bad for a town with a population of 12,000!

On our visit to Grantown’s bookshop, we discovered that the owner had organised a book event at a local venue. The speakers, Merryn Glover and Linda Cracknell were speaking about their new books: one retracing the steps of Nan Shepherd and the other writing about nature. How could we resist?

**Perfect books for a Highland adventure** Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

It was a wonderful evening, though Hermione could not quite contain herself sufficiently to last the whole talk!

At the same bookshop, we’d found a new favourite author, S J MacLean and now we had two more to add to our shelves. Indeed, we came home laden with books – some old and some new. The clement weather had left no time for reading!

Highland hospitality

And lastly, our stay would not have been nearly so good if we hadn’t been spoiled by the kindness of everyone who helped us. The lovely hotel below, could not have been more welcoming: including providing Hermione with her own bacon each breakfast.

**The Westerlea Hotel** Image: from hotel website

We enjoyed fabulous meals and chats everywhere we went. We may have been strangers, but we were treated like old friends.

From hardship to happiness

Times have more often than not been exceptionally hard in these remote regions. Fishing was the main source of income for those on the coast and it was both desperately exhausting for the women sorting, preparing and selling the catch and dangerous for the men in unpredictable waters.

But now, all that remains of these times is the beautiful statue of a fishwife overlooking a small marina – a symbol that could not be beaten to illustrate the new prosperity.

But the honesty and kindness of the region has not been lost over time. The wee cake shop provides delicious treats and drinks and works on the honesty system. The exquisite peacock that resides in Cawdor had been abandoned by its owners and adopted by the town. His magnificent feathers attest to his good care.

A final touch of magic

I promised you magic in my title and I have one last charm. Though Nessie did not reward us with a sighting at Loch Ness, we did have a little magical incident on our way home from the book talk. I was telling my husband a strange story that I had read in Country Living about MacFarlane’s The Lost Spells. in it, his illustrator had been repeating the owl ‘spell’ poem, in the hope of conjuring one to see. It didn’t work and she was a little disappointed. However, the next day her son phoned to say how, surreally, an owl had turned up on his doorstep. What a gorgeous tale, I told my husband. Five minutes later, his headlights swept the wooded landscape and what should I see sitting regally on a fence post but the ghostly white breast of a barn owl. Coincidence? Perhaps. But I prefer to think of it as Highland magic.