In An Old Barn

 

 

Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay

O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves,
Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,
Though few flies wander his secluded way.
Through a high chink one lonely golden ray,
Wherein the dust is dancing, slants unstirred.
In the dry hush some rustlings light are heard,
Of winter-hidden mice at furtive play.
Far down, the cattle in their shadowed stalls,
Nose-deep in clover fodder's meadowy scent,
Forget the snows that whelm their pasture streams,
The frost that bites the world beyond their walls.
Warm housed, they dream of summer, well content
In day-long contemplation of their dreams.

~ Charles G. D. Roberts (1860 - 1943 )

No Takers

Even the birds stayed inside today.
Rain washing away Winter's grime.

Winter Days

The recipe books are once again sitting snugly on their shelves, instead of being strewn about the kitchen counter tops.
It's a ritual I go through every holiday. Drag out the recipe books, and yet make the same tried amd tested dishes as the year before.
Tradition prevails.

We're  having a blast of Arctic weather blow through today, there's whispers of the "S" word in the forecast.
I'm leaving the tartan tablecloth in place for a little while longer, the colors warm and inviting, giving dull Winter days, a much needed splash of vibrancy.

It's the perfect weather on a late blustery afternoon for indulging in lots of tea, and enjoying a shortbread biscuit or two.

"Come along inside... We'll see if tea and buns can make the world a better place."

~ Kenneth Grahame, "The Wind in the Willows"

Timeless Treasures

It seems I tend to surround myself with objects that bring back memories of my childhood in England.
One collection in particular is English Staffordshire Ware.
One look at those pastoral village scenes, and I'm transported back to my grandmother's kitchen, where her cupboard displayed shelf upon shelf of these timeless treasures.

I can see the kitchen table covered in a freshly-starched embroidered tablecloth, the milk-jug sitting atop, awaiting the first of many pots of tea served throughout the day.
Treasured memories of gentler times........

 

 

I'm joining up with  Bernideen's Open House today~ http://bernideensteatimeblog.blogspot.com/

Thank you for hosting !

Flowers In Winter

How strange to greet, this frosty morn,

In graceful counterfeit of flower,

These children of the meadows, born

Of sunshine and of showers!

How well the conscious wood retains

The pictures of its flower-sown home,

The lights and shades, the purple stains,

And golden hues of bloom!

It was a happy thought to bring

To the dark season's frost and rime

This painted memory of spring,

This dream of summertime.

Flowers In Winter ~ John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 - 1892)

The Gentle Giant

"The tree which moves some to tears of joy, Is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself."

~ William Blake, 1799, The Letters

Photo taken at The Hermitage: Home of President Andrew Jackson, Nashville, Tennessee.
Click image to see the pheasant in the wood.

Mid-Winter Stroll

 

 

" The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little villages they approached on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow.
Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed through the casements into the dark world without.
Most of the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and moving from one to another, the lookers-in, so far from home themselves, watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log."

Ratty and Mole, In The Village. ~ Wind in the Willows.

Winter Silence

"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the
landscape - the loneliness of it - the dead feeling of winter.
Something waits beneath it - the whole story doesn't show."

~ Andrew Wyeth  

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wait Is Over

The most anticipated television event of the year is here! Downton Abbey Season 3 premieres Sunday, Jan. 6, 2013, at 9pm ET.
Wedding guests descend on Downton Abbey, one being Cora's freewheeling American mother, who tries to loosen up her in-laws. (120 minutes; Check local listings.) 

Make yourself a nice pot of tea, finish off the Christmas cake, be sure to use the best china.
The wait is over.......

Thoughts Of Home

The Manor Farm

The rock-like mud unfroze a little, and rills

Ran and sparkled down each side of the road

Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.

But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun;

Nor did I value that thin glilding beam

More than a pretty February thing

Till I came down to the old Manor Farm,

And church and yew-tree opposite, in age

Its equals and in size. The church and yew

And farmhouse slept in a Sunday silentness.

The air raised not a straw. The steep farm roof,

With tiles duskily glowing, entertained

The mid-day sun; and up and down the roof

White pigeons nestled. There was no sound but one.

Three cart-horses were looking over a gate

Drowsily through their forelocks, swishing their tails

Against a fly, a solitary fly.

The Winter's cheek flushed as if he had drained

Spring, Summer, and Autumn at a draught

And smiled quietly. But 'twas not Winter—

Rather a season of bliss unchangeable

Awakened from farm and church where it had lain

Safe under tile and thatch for ages since

This England, Old already, was called Merry.
 

~ Edward Thomas 1878-1917

Time To Tidy

Oliver has taken to sleeping amongst all the Christmas wrapping paper, ribbon, and bows in the spare bedroom, and now it's time to tidy the chaos, and put everything back in it's place.
He isn't pleased, not even a tiddly-bit.