💚 Living between the Sea and Dartmoor in the S.W. of England

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You are welcome on my blog with journals and slideshows of pictures. I’m enjoying my life, after retirement from working for an income, on an island: Britain called the seat of Mars by Shakespeare. A seat rocked by the storms of change. Even amidst mixed feelings about the attitude of British people in general, that seems to show symptoms of a long-lasting depression and complacency, a numbness almost, it’s part of a learning curve, to come to terms with a different culture. There’s a strong pull of this part of Europe, calling me home. Nature and space to live, breathe clean air. I might move to Cornwall or to Eire, the Republic of Ireland. My very first visit to Galway was in 1989.

I lost my heart here during more than 20 years of happy holidays, on the ferry from Hook of Holland, crossing the North Sea Channel. For the whole month of June, each year. The Isle of Skye in Scotland, the South Coast of Britain, Sussex, and Devon. Cornwall, the YHA in Tintagel, with that magnificent coastline.

The history of the Celts, all seafaring folks of ancient time and the druid culture, the unspoiled nature, woodland and seaside, the presence of coastal paths and the moon-landscape of Dartmoor, grazed by ponies, sheep, and cows, with larks rising in song in unbounded joy, all of this woke up my exploring and curious mind, stirring the beat of my heart. With a close connection to what once was lived in great respect for earth’s wisdom, the natural laws of life, with a pun on nature, my great teacher, I’ve found.

I am in the S. West of Britain, in reasonable comfort, and privacy, at last… Gosh, it took me a while to learn the ropes of sharing a home with others, strangers who live in strange ways, often without any awareness of tidying up. Or living a lie while keeping up appearances. Flakiness is rather common practice and not an exception.

There’s much more British landscape to explore: Cornwall, Exmoor, and the Lake District, Scotland and the British islands: Lundy, the Isle of Man, the Scilly Islands.  Ireland, with a population that might be closer to my Dutch nature and liveliness. A return to The Netherlands is also possible, a break from the UK in turmoil, with a next jump over the North Sea Channel, traveling westward to the coast of the Atlantic. I strongly feel that a return will happen, in a later and better time.

I’m fond of the Cornish and Scottish people, as far as I’ve met a few. They’re more direct, in communication, just like the Dutch. What you see is what you get. Taking initiative too. I’m privileged to find the freedom of adventure, going on trips after ending my working life. Soon with the freedom of conquering the hills on an e-bike! Although those narrow and winding lanes are a challenge, at times. I’m prepared to throw myself in the hedge when danger lurks.

Here’s a short video with an impression of my town: https://vimeo.com/221155578

Here’s a link to my recent journal of July 2019. High summer, a long period of hot weather. It’s the year 2019. The hills are turning yellow and the level of the river turns very low. https://wordpress.com/post/orandasite.wordpress.com/39193

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Move over the images and find the captions.

In this April 2019 Time magazine, you’ll find an excellent summary and diagnose of the conditions within the EU, with Britain leaving. It’s free of sensational shouts, which are unfortunately all over the place in 10 Downing Street, the British papers and on television: https://time.com/magazine/us/5568295/april-22nd-2019-vol-193-no-15-u-s/            

Brexit
On Tuesday, Nov. 5th, 2019 The EU chief Juncker has announced that Britain will leave the EU on January 31, 2020. The naughty kid is sent away from the classroom, Britain is drowning in liquor and drugs, for generations. An escape from reality, with complacency on top, is favored over the use of common sense and true vision. To me, there seem to be signs of collective brain damage. The loss of moral standards and legislative corruption, both hands in glove, the years of scarcity,  homelessness, poverty in sync with opportunism, so many are living in survival mode, often due to a lack of self-reflection. Taking responsibility for one’s choices is a skill seldom shown, for criticism to whom it concerns and saying it as it is, is not done. It’s a disgrace and it makes me feel sad and frustrated, at times. Its why I think of leaving the UK.

Many moves on the global chessboard are observed under a magnifying glass now, or so it seems. At the same time, some are looking through the wrong end of binoculars, losing sight of the larger picture and living only for instant fulfillment. That’s the instinctive reaction to living in poverty and lack of a purpose in life. To me, it’s the attitude of a child, seeking solace. The concept of responsibility hasn’t yet found soil to plant its roots.

Exposure and attempts to disclose schemes and forms of deception, it’s all mixed with the fertilizer for our great need for sensation, an addiction served by the mainstream and social media. The attention-economy is thriving, with many of us living in a screen for many hours a day, or night. Addicted to being liked… receiving a dose of “highs”.

What an adventure, to see the two ends of life’s elastic stretched apart, wider and wider, as I perceive it to be at present. Our extremely polarized world, a battlefield of opinions, shouts without substance and biting each other’s head off, be it in the cloud or in real life. A new religion is born: Climate Change. A fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm. When will the elastic snap?

At one end I see those who choose a virtual reality, assisted by smart devices, Alexa and electric cars which drive by themselves. Lo and behold, the wonders of technology, softly killing our physical connection with a real-world of substance, with our sensuous awareness, our physical bodies in our living space in balance with natural laws.

How many of us are ruled by the number of likes on that faceless book, the daily dose of virtual dopamine? At the other end (of the elastic) I see those who move and choose the tangible world of earth, water, air, and fire, their hands finding the work that needs to be done. On the inner plane as much as in the world out there. We need to be in charge, waking up to our ability to create our reality. Not ruled by virtual reality, in an escape.

Pleased with the expression of our skills, seeing the harvest of goods grown in nature and in our community, our family at large, our circle of friends. I believe that we need to master the embodiment of our soul, present in our senses, our physicality, in order to meet the challenges of technology that is sold to us under the name “smart” and 5G. To me, it’s a deliberate strategy to numb humanity and an attempt to minimize it, softly, without a gunshot. We are living in a velvet prison when we stop paying attention.

Please, study the content of Agenda 21, published by the United Nations. It’s a large document that is freely available online. The same source of the Climate Change report. Notice, when comparing these two documents, how they’re related in the unfolding of a plan to bring humanity under control, and take away our sovereignty in sync with a false sense of identity, offered by Alexa, and other virtual personas created by Big Brother AI.

I myself choose the pleasure of craftwork, works of art and the sharing of it all with others who enjoy the simple pleasures of life and who know how to create a sense of belonging. Fear and the loss of one’s inner compass is equal to living in separation.          An extremely limited state of being, especially when our eyes are wide shut and that becomes a way of life, which is sadly growing fast now. Complacency is rampant here. My present life in Britain shows me the power and value of autonomy, amidst chaos and confusion. Awareness by means of contrast. Okay, but only for a certain length of time.

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My first landscape made in felt of wool

Once our presence is established with trust in life’s rainbow of feelings, colors, its smells, and tastes, our presence in hands, hearts, and feet, when we enjoy our work, alone or in co-operation with others, it shows how we become visible to ourselves and others in full display of our true colors. For that, we’re invited to welcome truth as a friend. Also while in pain, suffering, in trying times and amidst the pushing of our buttons. There’s always a shining diamond in the core of our deepest suffering. In that regard, I’m an experienced human being, when it’s about transformation and creativity on many levels.

The pushing of our buttons can be as much welcomed as the work we choose to begin, moving through our issues, moving from anger, frustration, and indignation to a state of ease, at times in bewilderment, tears and an urge to hide from it all, hurting. Life, the two sides of it, the beauty and the desolation, the path of the wounded hero and the path toward the inner observer, the silent voice within, that knows. We’re free to choose, the more we open our eyes and feel the connectedness with all life, a consciousness that reaches far deeper than the mental level with the whirring windmills of our minds.

The expiry date of many scientific statements seems to be near. The definitions of Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin are turning topsy turvy since scientists find proof of the presence of a conscious web of life’s building blocks, as much in the so-called inert matter as on the level of DNA, our human blueprint. 

Legislation systems begin to tumble down in fraudulent strategies, exposed to the public eye. Attempts to infiltrate governments, to bring powerful honest members down, and bring crooks to power, with the financial system in peril, threadbare in its virtual world. Italian banks are dragging the Deutsche Bank with them when a collapse begins to show up. The box we choose to live in (even when it’s unconscious) is about to burst at its seams. Will it be Pandora’s box? Or graduation day, with presents wrapped in it? A celebration? Or purgatory without the need for a Bible, promising us one after death? It’s what clears and rectifies in our lives before death, I believe. Purgatory while alive so that we can make a new step. We can’t take our baggage with us on that path, as I perceive it.

The agitation-industry is thriving, satisfying many people’s need for instant satisfaction, a quick fix when that’s not found within, with peace of mind. It’s the seed of cynicism, despair, and loneliness. There is hope, for The Grand Wizards of Oz, hiding behind their curtains, are trembling in fear, knowing they’re close to being exposed. Skeletons fall out of the closets on the global stage. Jeffrey Epstein is taken out and more will follow.

Powerful and wealthy people are caught, found out, after a long time of cover-up. Look at the Catholic Church in perilous waters now, look at political moves that can’t be observed in the light of moral standards and service to others. It’s the darkest hour before dawn.

Amidst the disclosure of hideous crimes, no doubt there’s going to be more display of smoke and mirrors, as long as it lasts, but once beyond the point of no return, those attempts are futile. The arrival of that moment seems to be inevitable. There is a force, pushing us all to the limits. Cracks appear in our protective egg-shell, another name for our comfort-zone. Nothing is the same anymore, we’re the changer and the changed simultaneously and therefore we’re witnessing many old paradigms shaken to the core. As within, so without. It is time to welcome the truth as a friend. It’s what I practice.

That goes for collectives as well as for each of our own personal affairs. The machinery of power and money is slowly grinding to a halt due to its own defects built in the construction. A lie to life and love will always be exposed, that’s the law of nature, of life itself. What goes around comes around. I’m not a prophet of doom, for I’m an incurable optimist, you see? To reach the decision to change, one needs to know where one IS.

We need sobriety, optimism, and initiative, the world is turning upside down, bringing an end to old systems for a reason, I believe. The shepherd needs to wake up to his role of a king and the king needs to step down and walk amidst the herd, as a shepherd, knowing the meaning of humbleness, which means the choice for stewardship, equality, and co-operation, together, in the living and loving of life, to each his/her freedom of expression and space to live and breathe fresh air.

A suggestion: How about being the best version of yourself that you know how to be? Wouldn’t that lift the burden off your shoulders, of other people’s expectations and those of yourself? You don’t have to do better ever, you’re simply right where you are, making new choices whenever there’s a need for it, felt within your own mind/heart/body. To me, experiences in sync with understanding lead us toward a conscious choice, with the freedom to choose again. And again, without judgment preferably. That’s evolution, to me.

For myself, I feel it’s helpful to have left the work floor, with the buzz of competition, liberated from its burdens, as a formerly self-employed woman. I’m in favor of sustaining myself, in all sorts of ways, creating the comfort of living in friendship with the elements, in nature and in the company of kindred spirits, both young and old. The voice of children is a joy to my ears in the streets of my town. Sustaining youthfulness.

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I’m reaping the harvest of my life’s adventures and the birth of new initiatives at the same time. That’s the fertilizer for my present moment and future years. I can’t tell others what to do, although I’m inclined to have a point of view about everything and perception of human behavior that goes very deep. Myself included. I’m in training, with my inner voice present as a guide I listen to more often. And less to what my mind tells me, fueled by an old paradigm hidden in my genes, a heritage of my ancestors and past lives, of which I’ve had a few in this lifetime as well. That agility serves me well now.

My role, which is a choice, is to live what I believe and know to be true for me. Outside time as we know it, cleared of past memories that try to keep me deep in the wrong groove.  And to express this in my life in most practical and creative ways, with the use of strong intuition, in gratitude for very good health and creative skills on many levels.

How many of you are familiar with being the changer and the changed both? While conditions of living are transforming with a sharp rising curve in technological evolution and a decline in moral standards, where we’re told lies presented as truths.

As a counterbalance,  much of present-day deception is observed by a collectively fast-growing human awareness, with many of us realizing that nothing is the same anymore. Where’s wisdom to be found? What’s the fertilizer for our ability to know ourselves and the freedom to allow our soul’s purpose to be known, appreciated and expressed?

Moving with change requires gymnastics, flexing the muscles of one’s mind, body and spirit. To me, the wind of change calls forth the separating of the chaff and the grain, as within so without. It’s highly unlikely that we wake up while sitting in our comfortable chair, isn’t it?

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Philosophy has been defined as “the love of and the seeking after wisdom”. Socrates said “Wonder is the feeling of a philosopher and philosophy begins with wonder” This, I guess, sums up who I am and how I choose to walk my path in life, with a mind of my own, doing the work my hands find worthy of doing. Down to earth and artistic in an expression of all sorts, be it in creating a home interior, a garden, or a landscape felted of wool.

Royal rags are my favorite outfit, though some of you may wonder what I mean by that. It’s an aspect of my soul, in love with beggars and royalty both. The freedom to be present with all kinds of people from all walks of life. Despite the bumping against British society’s deplorable condition, showing up at times. Remember Barbara Streisand, the 70’s? In her outfit of 2nd hand clothes on stage? I guess it’s also partly a rebellion against the “establishment”. The dress code that limits equality and prevents a genuine connection.

This nomad loves imperfection and the beauty of a recycling center looking like a gypsy camp, with people who are willing to muck through bags and boxes, sorting the items and placing cuddly toy animals or dancing porcelain figurines between the plant boxes. Or once loved shoes with plants growing in them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The success of this project that started in 1993, is found in growing into a chain of projects with a cafe annex healthfood-shop, a vintage clothes shop in town, since Jan. 2018 and a compost-project, as the start of it, collecting food- and garden waste of the town where it has grown its roots, for 26 years, offering education and materials, be it clothes, building materials, paint, books, toys, kitchen tools, bric a brac and furniture.

I’m talking about Proper Job Chagford here, where I worked, living in Moretonhampstead for a while. Mucking in as a volunteer, with dedicated volunteers, offering their time and energy. Keeping up appearances, like Hyacinth, is futile amidst sorting out bags and boxes, the sea-container with paint, or leftovers of building material, and turning the wheel of the trommel compost sifter, filling bags for customers.

http://www.proper-job.org https://youtu.be/hidSnd1Tfbo

Improvising can be turned into a form of art. After all, I’m an artist at heart and an old hippy. A 60’s rebel. A rebel without a cause? A Calvinistic minister’s daughter, oldest of 9, growing up in the ’50s in The Netherlands, which bottom of clay oozes Calvinism still, that’s fertilizer for rebellion. At times I can see myself going there, although at the age of 68, I do check myself 😊

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On a bike, with high heels. The glamour years in my country of birth The Netherlands, in the early ’70s.

I’ve found, as I move through the recent decade, since 2010, where change has swept like a storm through my life, that I am as much the changer as the changed. Therefore, I can’t expect to know what’s ahead of me, really. It’s a learning curve by surrendering to my experiences and paying attention to what matters and to all that matters not. There’s much to let go of, like a tendency to analyze too much for too long. This page is long!

I’d rather surrender to what life holds in waiting for me and walk with eyes and heart open, in trust and acceptance of how it shows up and what it shows me, also when it’s not enjoyable at first glance. Responsibility is embedded in my actions when free will is at the base of my conscious choices, I believe. Each moment offers such freedom of choice, once I’m disciplined by paying attention and being truthful to myself and the lightheartedness that is in my nature. With joy for nature’s beauty and landscapes.

Getting things done, well organized, resourceful and diligent, with great patience often. I’m a builder, not a squatter among ruins and others build their own reality, be it a sandcastle, a straw-bale house or a cottage of quarried stone with a thatched roof. How can we conduct the whirring windmills of our minds and create harmony?

I love the drops of splashing backwater on my face while standing on the bow. That’s just a description of how I prefer to experience the elements. I need to feel the wind and sun in my face and to be touched by life, by people, taught by Gaia and her nature’s beauty, her wisdom and her nurturing qualities, in unconditional and mutual companionship. It’s why I enjoy taking pictures and making drawings of nature around me. The sea!

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In a dream I’m standing in front of large stone doors, pushing them open with ease, finding a golden cloud of fog behind it. What happens if I jump into it?

Walking in the empty and remote spaces of Dartmoor, or over footpaths through woodland that is largely untouched by people and machines, with gnarled old trees and boulders covered in moss, or walking along the flood mark at sea, picking up pebbles, some with holes in it, feeling the thrill of being a beachcomber, on bare feet without a care in the world. That’s my way of recharging my batteries. How I love to live with the elements. I do enjoy being alive now, learning each day, it’s interesting and intense!

So far my views on life in general and mine, at present. 

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Beesand beach, on the south coast of Devon, where I camped one night, safe with the elements

This text on page 288 of Henry David Thoreau’s book “Walden” sums up my stance in life:

“The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men, and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now”.

And the note at the start of Thoreau’s “Economy” a chapter in that same book, reflects my present approach to my inner “Mother Superior” while sending her shouts in the cloud:

“I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up”

Here’s a slideshow with pictures of my short time in Moretonhampstead, early 2018.      I hope it’s visible, there seems to be a problem to show it here. If that’s the case, please go to my Dutch page “Hollandse pagina… ” and find the slideshow over there,  scrolling down to slightly below the center of the page.

The highlight of my stay in Moretonhampstead is my volunteering at Proper Job Chagford. Here’s what this recycling re-use project, started in 1995, pioneering, is about    http://www.proper-job.org/

Also, the saving of a black lamb was memorable, a few weeks old, abandoned in the snow by its mother who didn’t have enough milk to feed two of her own. Also, the heavy snowfall in March 2018, of which I’ve made many pictures during a long Sunday walk to North Bovey. Over the lanes, without hardly a car in sight. I caught the snow by holding my umbrella, which grew heavy with a cap of snow on top! 

Here’s my first video in black and white 😉   

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQX9YIM80vY

When it doesn’t show up, go to my YouTube channel here: 

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCMFTSiTZ3LXktjvX8K_rCCw 

And now that we’ve arrived in October 2018? What’s on? Early summer of 2018 I’ve returned to where I lived earlier, in 2017. I live close to the home where I rented a room for 7 months, the last year 2017. It was a decision that had to be made, although none of the housemates wanted this. But there was no other way. I’ve enjoyed living in this home much and restored the name of the house on the front door, in gold: Avalon.

I’m thinking about what could be a proper name for the house where I live now. After 3 years living in the UK, I’m more at ease, secured with a long term contract, living as a caretaker of a large house and garden. Living on my own for most of the time. Privacy again and no frustration of having to share the kitchen with filthy housemates. There’s a lovely garden to work in, grow vegetables and flowers, entirely fenced off by old stone walls, with my hammock installed during summer.

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My hammock in the garden. This long warm summer of 2018 it’s used well!
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Here I am, ready to leave Holland in a few days, the end of June 2015. Until we meet again…..  

After 35 years living on my own, in Holland, sharing homes with others, in England, while adjusting to a different culture, where folks often don’t say what they think or feel, either skilled in creating storms in a tea-cup, or withdrawn and lethargic, was at times challenging. I doubt if I will ever step into a house-sharing adventure with strangers again. English people tend to not think things through properly, often immature, with, little awareness of applying self-reflection.

I cherish solitude and my own space, my private room, plus quietude in the home and in nature. During my first years of moving around, I’ve seen different parts of Devon. I’m happy with the nearness of the sea and the Tamar Valley area with Tavistock, Bere Ferrers, with its beautiful river landscape. Calstock, in the S. W. of Devon, has its own unique charm, with artistic and eccentric folks jumping around.

Also Totnes, with the River Dart, the footpath all along this river, towards Ashprington, plus Dartmouth and King’s Wear, the bright light of Brixham’s harbor and the coastal paths, the cliffs of Berry Head. Shaldon beach is one of my favorite swimming spots. Many miles of coastal paths are waiting to be explored in the years to come. Be it while settled in Britain or in Holland, picking up the rhythm of my yearly holidays in June each year. Maybe more often and who knows, in due time, a second jump overseas, for a life in the S.W. of Britain.

I join volunteering work in the community and participate in social events, at times. I’m a craft-woman and artist, creative in many ways. I’m wary of gossip, the recent racist talk coming to the rise more, since before and during the Brexit procedure. It’s shocking at times, how poorly informed some people are, while shouting and screaming, safe in the box of their opinions, with hearsay and ignorance as welcome company.

As a writer, I appreciate quietude much. And also, as is the term nowadays… “me-time” or “cocooning” in order to recharge my batteries. I’m not running after those who don’t “get me” in an attempt to make them change their mind and approve of me, my Dutch directness and frankness. To prove my point and show my true colors. I’m learning and growing savvier in taking care of myself and choosing a nurturing company.

I’m an incurable optimist, at times impatient with lethargy and complacency in others, but, ultimately very patient in the efforts I make to create and improve my living conditions and at the same time co-operating in new ways of living together, at peace. I’m a Capricorn, born on New Year’s day. A sure-footed goat, who jumps from rock to rock and enjoys the views from great heights, like on the Tors of Dartmoor and standing on the hills of Devon, or the cliffs at sea. Britain is a Capricorn nation. Coincidence?

I send my shouts in the clouds, to wake up and shake the dust out of moldy ideas and views, to digest good food for thought. The initiatives to enrich our lives and how we make use of our abilities, is largely our own choice, in the company of our sense of belonging and our being at ease, first and foremost with ourselves. How much do we dare to yield our personal power for the better and create a life in well being? To make peace with our life. Alone and together? With the affinity for ourselves, within the ❤

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Pumpkin in flower, on the land of Huxham’s Cross Farm Dartington,  where I volunteered in the summer and autumn of 2017
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Chard in the light of late afternoon October 2017, at Huxham’s Cross Farm

From the lounge on the first floor of the house, I often enjoy the view on the hills to the South, with brown cows or white sheep grazing the slopes. I celebrate the sunrise in summer, during an early hour, in the highest level of the garden, drinking my first mug of coffee, waking up with a view over the roofs, toward the eastern sky. There are many trees, shrubs and stone walls covered with ivy or other growth. Squirrels too are jumping from tree to tree, harvesting the hazelnuts. Red robins, blue tits and sparrows are present too, in large numbers.

I’ve become friends with an elderly lady who offers me apples from her garden, the end of each summer. We discuss our history and culture, hers is English and mine is Dutch and she shares her 92 years long life-experience as a nurse and midwife with me. Many a grown-up man and woman in town, once were caught by her hands, with a first breathtaking cry.

She’s fond of her independence and she knows exactly how she wants her home and garden like she’s become used to have it. It’s hard for her to let go of taking matters in her own hands as a former nurse and midwife, with a strong sense of duty. Cleaning women and carers, nowadays, don’t always show up with diligence and a perceptive attitude, she tells me. She’s concerned about everybody’s comfort except her own.

I witness the carers in my old friend’s home, acting on automatic pilot, saying things that sound hollow because of their not being present in their words. I am amazed at times, about the negligence of basic qualities in domestic care workers. Stress, underpayment, and work-pressure tend to kill the skill of presence, creativity, and improvisation.

With a Dutch-Frisian background, growing up in the ’50s, with a mother who stayed at home, raising 9 children, including me, her oldest daughter, I’ve learned a few things. Although I am an explorer and curious at heart, even rebellious in asking questions and commenting, at times provoking, my sense of duty and harmony in the home was strong at an early age and it never wears out, for its part of my creative lifestyle, resourceful.

I had to practice self-discipline and the skills of domestic care were taught in those days. Traditions and rules in lifestyle and social traffic were still strong. Amidst a baby boom, the Dutch population worked hard, recovering from WWII. Shut up, do your work! The ’50s.

Monday was for washing and waxing the furniture. Wednesday was the day of minced meatballs and red cabbage and Sunday was a resting day, with 2 visits to church and coffee with cake in the morning after service. Our cake became famous and it drew many a visitor to our home. On Sunday afternoons we had to sing while standing at the organ, where my mother played hymns and psalms.

How we nipped each other, bored and annoyed! No playing in the street, in our Sunday costume! My mother and us children walked inside the church like a row of geese, 10 in total, to the front pew which had “our names” on it. My father, the 11th goose, was ready to climb the pulpit after we had seated ourselves and the organ started to play. I remember, asking in wonder “Why is the life outside the church so separate from the life inside the church?” I found this inappropriate, it showed a glow of false holy shine.

We were obliged to show up as role models, for we were a minister’s family. Imagine growing up in a house made of glass: God’s eyes and the eyes of the congregation were upon us. No wonder I was fond of being outdoors, hiding in nature! This is my background, born in Holland in a small village near Hook of Holland, The Netherlands.

“It was through the feeling of wonder that men now and at first began to philosophize.” 

– Aristotle

Where I live, I’m fond of walking through the narrow alleys with stone walls, to shops and other destinations, avoiding the main road with fast driving cars. On my way to my favorite shop, I often meet a cat-friend. She’s outdoors all day, I’m told and she’s got beautiful whiskers. It’s why I gave her the name “Moustache”. When I call her by that name, most often she runs toward me, mewing and purring. Such a compact and healthy furry cat. At times, I’m tempted to take her home with me, but she’s settled.

July 2019: A miracle happened! End of the year 2019 Moustache will be with me in the home. The owners move to another place and they don’t want to take the cat with them.

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Flowers at a smallholding where I’ve picked up my volunteering work again in June 2018, after leaving in November the year before, feeling sad about it.

Here are a few impressions of where I live since June 2018:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The first walk from Avalon to Dartmoor, end of springtime 2017
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A walk on Dartmoor, May 2017
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Haytor and a group of visitors, plus a climber going up with the assistance of ropes and a buddy 
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High up Haytor Summer Solstice 2017
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Lime Kilns in Buckfastleigh
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A view from high up on Haytor, July 21 2017 Summer Solstice
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A former monastery or priory, very well kept, a beautiful harmony.
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High up Haytor, did you know that the cows come up here as well?
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Rocky stairs, a beautiful design, at the seawall of Dawlish beach
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Red rock and a peculiar structure along Dawlish’ coastal path
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Haytor on a summer day 2017
Ally with view on St. Mary's church Ashburton 06-2017
I love these old winding alleys, with the warmth of the sun, or the cold of frost, radiating from the stone walls and the peculiar acoustic effect, the colourful coverage of flowers in May and June. Red Valerian is most present among them here.
Bluebells walk to the Moors 05-2017 (2)
Blue bells in woodland, May 2017, on my way to Waterleat.
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A former monastery garden reminds me of  the book”The Secret Garden”
Bridge Ashburton 06-2017 (1)
I believe it’s Cow Parsley, at the bridge near St. Andrews Church.
Bridge Ashburton 06-2017 (2)
Springtime is beautiful in Devon!

Going back in time, here are a few impressions of Dartmoor, summer/autumn 2016:

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The area of Whistman’s Wood on Dartmoor
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The area of Whistman’s Wood on Dartmoor
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A stone cross near Moorshop S. West Dartmoor

A few impressions of Wookey Hole, where caves are. My first year in Somerset, 2015, though I didn’t live in a cave 😉

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Walking over Titlands Lane to my home, with a view on the Mendip Hills, summer 2015
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Oswald, a dog I often walked with, through woodland with wild garlic. Each year, end of summer,  I visit  Wookey Hole and meet friends who welcomed me warmly and supported me in my first year in the UK.
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The Wells Bishop’s Palace cat on his high seat. I’ve worked as a volunteer in the communal garden of that beautiful park/garden. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Saved green bird 06-2016

A lovely bird, recovering, after it flew against my door-window in Wookey Hole.

This green bird flew against my window and sat dazed and concussed for 20 minutes on my terrace. I watched it from a safe distance and had to encourage it to make a move when it found its bearings again.                  

It looked at me sideways with a bright eye, moved its wings and…. off it went on its green wings, steady. I felt so relieved, after finding 2 small birds flying against my window to their death. I’ve held them in my hands until they lay silent. It’s a wonder and mystery to me, how small birds, with their fragile structure of bones are able to fly.

See how it looks like near Horrabridge in the South-West of Dartmoor, where I moved to after leaving Wookey Hole in Somerset:

Neighbourhood Horrabridge 07-2016 (4)
Sunlight streaming through the leaves of low hanging branches over a stone wall
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Walking to the Moors near Horrabridge
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Another day on the same spot, this time with Dartmoor ponies around.
Neighbourhood Horrabridge 07-2016 (7)
At times, the atmosphere turns a bit gloomy, on Dartmoor. To me, there’s a charm in all seasons on Dartmoor, with its changing light and colors. An empty vast landscape without a sound is magical to me, also the wide-open sky with massive cloud formations and far views from a high spot, with a glimmer of the sea, at times. And larks rising, while my heart joins their jubilant song and mad ecstasy while reaching for the skies… how high is my Heaven.. on Earth?
Canal near Tavistock 07-2016 (2).jpg
This is a canal in Tavistock, a town in S. West Dartmoor, where once boats were towed by horses, transporting ingots of tin, copper, lime and quarried stone. The granite of Dartmoor is precious.       
Garden near Buckland Abbey 08-2016 (1).jpg
A magical display of light and purple flowers against a South facing stonewall in a public garden near Buckland Abbey. 

And to end with a few, to me, prophetic last words of Henry David Thoreau, in his book Walden: “The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.”

🕉Blessed be, Marian 🕉 

Artistic selfportrait 2011

Article 19 of the Human Rights Charter: “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.”
(The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, adopted by the United Nations General Assembly on December 10, 1948, in Paris.)

 Copyright2012@tHeARTofCare

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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