It’s been 3 years since I was here, and not walking a river system, free unencumbered by obligation of family (no mother father, husband, child). Here I am, in my adopted family at Maidens. We share familiar stories of our pasts, we know each others ancestors, Uncle John, Elspeth, Barbara making the brandy butter, now Rachel making the Katie Stewart’s red cabbage. As well as familiar there are the new additions, a new kitchen (same Aga), and Theo, aged 2.9, beloved of Tinks, her first grandchild, loved by his doting parents, Alex and Sam, who patiently negotiated tantrums for over an hour going to bed. We all have a view. He is not our child.
One dog less, no Kali, no deaf blind dog, which gives a freedom of being here, as those who remain, are child friendly. (I am still aware of white carpets, and towels to rub down the paws). My dogs, which are tolerated by humans, love the land to run in, know the walks across clay fields, and there is a hint of a love crush between Truffle and Brow.
There is one person less. Tinks takes a photographs of the family to send to Alou, her sister. Her sister who I’ve known for as long as her. Her sister who knew my mother. Her sister who with Alzheimers, no longer knows me. Tinks cannot say at the end of the call, Rachel sends her love. It feels like a little death.
I give gifts of my fathers books that I will never read, jewellery from India I will never wear, passed on to another generation, the lovers of the boys of Tinks. They seem to enjoy the unexpected originality of them.
I’ve enjoyed staying in the cabin, ‘my air bnb’, one long room, my dream architecture as I recall to Tinks the visit to friends of Cathy Dhoogh in Brussels, their flat above a warehouse, one long room. Will I manage to manifest this in the barn on the land? The possibility exists.
Great game of tennis, with Sam and Cat.
Expedition to find the World’s End Black Poplar
Kalikellett 