Rolling Hills and a Tangerine Sunset

Wayne has been able to start his teaching duties, so I (Stefanie) am taking over the blog today. Our deep, hedge-lined lane down to Trethawle is still terribly icy, but Wayne can walk down it and get a lift to school. This he has done twice. The second time he wore his "wellies" for the walk, as his school shoes are both cold and slippery. Farmer Andrew gave him a lift on the back of a tractor on the return walk, the first day.

The rest of us remain at the house, because we cannot drive on the ice in our little Rover car. The primary school only opened for the first time today, anyway, so the children have not missed much. They are lying around reading "Beano" comics, for the most part. I am astonished that these are still published, as they have been around since Adam was a boy, and still have teachers with mortar boards in them.

The girls and I have gone on a little walk up the lane for the past couple of days, to get some fresh air and to check out the animal life. There are several farm cats around the place, but we met a magnificent moggie today, with a chocolate face, lighter brown body, black feet and white toes. It had a very short tail (black), about a hand's length, which I don't know if it can be natural.

Walking towards the highway, we can peer over the fence at one field full of cows. Right near the end of the lane are the (farmed) 'wild' boar. They look just like the ones in the Asterix comics, except hairy/fluffier... sort of like bum-fluff. They have very long snuffly noses, extremely wet at the end. In short, they are not pretty, but are strangely fascinating.

We trudged back yesterday, holding hands; I, in the safe snowy bit in the centre of the lane, the girls happily skidding and sliding on the bit where the wheels of cars go. I thought of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet off hunting a Wurzle or something, probably because we are so rugged up in puffy coats, and trudging in these gum-boots. Nearing our house, Eleanor had enough and went inside, but Annie stayed with me to go to the further end of the lane, where the big girls had taken her sledging. With difficulty (boots, coat) we climbed a fence, and suddenly we were in an open field, looking out onto rolling hills and a tangerine sunset. Some fields looked as if they had been combed with snow along plough lines, others were greener with a light dusting of white. Here and there were little stone houses cosily tucked in the corners. My heart lifted. Defying gumboots, Annie started running, off over the hills, she looked as if she could go on forever. Bits of Dylan Thomas's "Fern Hill" came to mind ... 'it was running, it was lovely... the tunes from the chimneys, it was air and playing, lovely and watery... clear and cold...'

Such moments you live for on exchange.