Updated: Mar 1
It seems as though I cannot let go of the blog, it feels as if something is missing, like the gap left when an old friend leaves.
A conversation over coffee has reminded me that there were reasons for moving here to Bryher, for swimming wild and for writing. It can be so easy to get swept up into the day to day trials of working hard and looking after a family, and although these jobs of course need to be done, the children need attention and feeding and we need to plant, pick and tend to the livestock and fruit and vegetables on the farm in order to make a living, time for myself is also really important.
As the environmentalist, entrepreneur and author Paul Hawken said, “Always leave enough time in your life to do something that makes you happy, satisfied, even joyous. That has more of an effect on economic well-being than any other single factor”
It is no good for anyone around you if you feel overstretched and miserable, so I have decided to try and make time for the blog. Writing has become that good friend, that notebook I can always turn to and write down feelings, plans, frustrations and those poetic notions that run through my mind whilst I am out on the farm, walking Bryher or swimming in the sea. This place is far too beautiful and special for it not to be a creative inspiration. So here were todays ventures into the wild waters of Bryher, and another life lesson learnt……. make time for self- compassion, creativity and don’t feel too guilty about it!
This morning began dull, chilly and damp. A strong south westerly wind whipped up the sea into frenzied waves, scurrying clouds and blowing trees. It brought goose bumps to the skin and a nip to the nose as we fed the animals and picked the produce for the stall. Curtains of grey showers swept across leaving a washed palette of watery greys and blues in the sky.
An hour or so later as we walked down to meet the school boat, the wind still made its presence felt but the sun had broken through and as I sat on the beach at quay, sheltered behind the rush covered bank, the warmth felt soft and cosy on my face. The golden sand was twinkling and smooth as the incoming tide slowly crept its way up the shore. The bay was calm, the wind deflected by the large concrete quay and the little island it sits upon. The girls waited patiently, Martha playing on the beach whilst Lizzie sheltered in the waiting room.
The water was sea glass green and clear, cool calm and silky on my body as I dived down. It tasted very salty today and slightly stung my mouth, but my lungs filled and emptied with great gulps of wonderful fresh air as I swum in rhythmical strokes out towards the first buoys in the bay.
The sun in the east was so bright it was blinding and I almost had to close my eyes when I breathed to the right, Tresco obscured by the dazzle of water. Above the town of Bryher large dark grey clouds gathered, the gulls that danced and glided in the sky were bright white dots against the blackness. A rope that leads out to sea, then submerged, was covered in a feathery green weed, soft and floaty, the weed that gives Green Bay its name as it turns the seabed a bright lush green.
Back and forth parallel to the shoreline I swum, over waving bladder wrack, feeling that wonderful stretch of the shoulders and back in the water. The school boat approached and other children arrived to be jetted off to Tresco, so out I got and quickly put on the towel, jumper and woolly hat to keep the wind at bay.
As I returned to the shore to wave the girls off, the sand was speckled and pot marked by the earlier rain, it makes me think of April showers and rainbows.