Roy and I scoured the garden and paddock today for the first intimations of spring. And found them. Yay! Bright yellow winter aconite blooming in the paddock; delicate snowdrops in our garden; daffodil shoots on the edges of the frozen pond. Spring is not far behind, though that seems hard to believe when one wakes to a snowy and frozen garden.
At 1.44 a.m. on Wed: a frenzied quacking; Daisy, our pet duck whom we had raised from a fuzzy yellow chirping ball was mauled by a fox. We had the vet put her down. Ducks are intensely social, & her sister, Buttercup would be depressed, so we have donated her to the University’s duck pond. So if you see a fat, feisty, very friendly white Aylesbury duck there, please give her an extra piece of bread for our sake.
04 February at 21:51
We have a duck shed, of course, but had our daughter’s friend sleep-over that evening, and our own Christian history course, and so forget our usual routine of “duck the ducks” in the shed at dusk. I adore ducks and geese, and might get more, but am afraid of the consequences of forgetting to put them away at dusk.
As I walked in our paddock: a quacking. The migratory wild ducks who nest at our large pond every spring (well, for the four years we’ve lived here) flew up with an indignant flapping of wings. Guess they don’t like Jake, our feisty border collie!! “He takes away and gives.” I am mourning for my ducks, who were friendly & full of quirks and personality, but I guess I am going to get to watch ducklings again.
Irene, crooning to me, “Mummy, you’re a mummy, and you’ll always be a mummy, but I am an Irene, and one day I will be a mummy.” Me, “Well, I’m not just a mummy.” She, soothingly, “I know. You are a writer, a Mummy, and a chatterbox.”
Country walk today in Marsh Baldon. Lovely Feb views, but I did not enjoy the stiles that required high degrees of athleticism; thick deep mud; & the over-friendly horses who nuzzled us, hoping for apples & snorted threateningly at our dog. I only like horses at a distance & am a little scared of them–so I guess I will never be a real British country girl, though I’ve lived in the country for 4 years now, & love it.
Reading lovely books. Mary Oliver & Jane Kenyon, American poets. R.T. Kendall, “The Anointing, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow.” A theological book, it looks at God’s supernatural enabling. To continue doing what you once did well, or to step out of one’s gifts out of ambition is to be yesterday’s man. Operating within your call makes you today’s man; the spiritually sensitive person, in training, is tomorrow’s wo/man.
An interview with Young, author of the self-published best-seller “The Shack,” which I own, but have not read. “I really do believe that God is love, one of deep affection and grace and forgiveness and inspiration.” A God of deep affection. Somehow that speaks to me more than a God of love, which is a word we have heard over-used since our childhoods, and which has therefore has lost some of its edginess and meaning.