Photos by Josh

I thought you might like to see some of the genius that is the photography of my son Joshua, aka Falcon Bear. At 12 years of age he exhibits such a confidence in his style and especially his ability to capture a moment or the detail which us mere mortals might pass by. The eye of a child. Enjoy looking through his.

There's more to come

Hey Peeps

Another few videos and pictures to show you all below. We've been rattling along nicely here with the renovations still loving it. Tops. And to add to the joy of our summer Vonnie's aunt Avril, mummy Arlene and baby sister Antoinette came to stay.

I'll let the kids and Vonnie tell you all about it except to say we had a most lovely and energising time. Arlene looking after us all,

picking fresh veggies and herbs everyday and cooking up a storm. Avril got stuck in with helping build the house and fell in love with our clay and Antoinette bought about a Facebook revolution for the kids and enjoyed her time playing self build pioneer with fashion to boot.

Through it all, the title of this blog. We are so utterly thankful for everyday here, it's sometimes hard to contain it. But when we stop, reflect on what we're doing, what we've done in the day, what we've managed to achieve since we arrived in Portugal, it's simply so inspiring. And yet there's something else. Always playing in the background is the drum beats, the music of what's to come.

Now is good. Very good. But the best bit is we know that it's only going to get better. There's more of what we're already been enjoying to come. More opportunities to create, to sculpt, to manifest. More ideas. More building. More planting. More fruit. More flowers. More shade. More parties. More friends. More understanding. More revleations. More of each other. More and more and more. There's more to come. Believe.

Another machine arrives. The first for the house. It's big...

Giant Xisto stone lintels arrive. Oh my days, heavy?...

First stone hoisted into position...

Stone henge style rolling stones...

Timber!!!...

Wind in our Sails, by Memphis and River

I am feeling so full to bits, I could burst. We've started buiding our house. It's been a long long road to get here, but we got there, Thanks Be, and we've set sail. 4 weeks ago in fact. The wind is well and truly behind us and filling our sails, stretched as it were, to their limit for the purpose for which they were made. The ship we're on has set sail from the harbour and is already on the open waves. At a good few knots I'd say from the breeze in our faces. Yet funnily enough, we don't really know where we going. We just know its not the time to do anything else, to take any other diversion along the way. Just let the wind propel us forward for as long as it chooses to blow.

So much so in fact I haven't even had the time to post the blog that would have said I am now a fisherman. Proof. That's a carp I caught with Josh one night and ate for our tea.

I can't properly describe this feeling at the moment, so this blog entry is simply a video one, where you can all see and hear for yourselves what it is like for us here.

The clips below are just snapshots into minutes of our thoroughly enjoyable days. I hope you'll get the picture. But before you do, River is over my shoulder wanting to say a few words. Here you go babe...

Hello there.

We've had such an amazing time these last four weeks. Gratitude, gratitude, gratitude is the wind blowing for me right now, here are a few of my high and low winds...

High winds... The crew that I am working with and all they mean to me. Memphis, my beloved in every way. Joshie, my strong young prince working so hard and being indispensible to Joao and Filipe on the only day we couldn't work with them. Ellie, reminding us that we are loved by baking a cake for us everyday. Joao, Filipe and Eugenia our neighbours, friends and teachers yet again. And the infamous Moses taking a nap in the clay mix bath at any opportunity!

Low winds... about the crew, absolutely none. But I do miss Slinky sometimes.

High Winds...I acutally, with my own two hands, built a substantial proportion of those walls!!!!!

Low winds...anytime I wasn't working on the house, it is an obsession. Am lovin it.

High Winds...Walking around the land with my wheelbarrow and crowbar climbing slopes and kicking down my favourte stones, or digging them out of the ground or even hacking a few out of the hillside. Then pushing said wheelbarrow uphill full of treasure. Yes me hearties, good stuff. Then seing Joao expertly put those stones in the wall, amazing.

Low winds...Bringing back said stones one day, and falling through the floor. Not as bad as it sounds, had already offloaded stones and only my right leg went through the floor. They say your life flashes before you but not with me. Too slow. One minute I was up, next down on my ass looking confused. What happened? Well funny.

High Wind...Michelley bringing us thousands of tiles. Great birthday present. Thanks hon.

Low wind... knowing I'm going to have to take all dem tiles down a steep rocky slope in a wheelbarrow!

High wind...buns of steel.

Low wind...the thighs are growing. Memphis says that's apprently a high wind!

High wind...Waking up one sunny but still cool morning climbing out of "the hole", as our neghbours fondly call our present little hideaway and putting on the corner stones with my Memphis, just me and he.

Low winds...None whatsoever. Joao said it was "tudo bem". All well.

4 weeks ago there were no walls there. Today they are up. Amazing. Awesome. Well happy.

Paz e amor

River

The Oscar for best supporting wall goes to...

Michelle's Terracotta Army...

Bouncey bouncey at the Oleiros Feira do Pinhal...

The walls are up. Praise be...

That's all folks!

GLASTONBURY FESTIVAL….YEAH, WOOOOO! By Von

This is a long one guys as I could not take many photos of this time in our lives and I just don´t want to forget it.

Those of you who have known me in the last five years would not have known that it has been a personal little inscription on my bucket list to go to Glastonbury festival. Well you might think, `that’s not hard to arrange Von, buy a ticket and go’. But for me not so.

Not too long off the boat from Barbados, I first heard of the festival at the tender age of 18 sitting in a room in London watching in consternation as this older girl hauled on her metallic purple Doctor Martin boots and pack an unimaginable assortment of summer, winter, dry and wet clothes as she set off for the festival. Laden down, hot and sweaty but grinning from ear to ear off she went. “Maybe next year, eh Von.” Yes I thought, maybe next year but not with you (another story).

The following year I was asked by my soon to be at the time ex-boyfriend (yes Josh and Ellie, I had a life before daddy), “fancy going to Glastonbury this year with me Von?”, his eyes shifting from my face to the floor. “Yes” I thought, “would like to go, but not with you” and a few days after, an ex he became. Few years later, no can’t go this year pregnant, next year, broke and knackered next year, uh pregnant, and so on and so forth. Every time the timing or the something just wasn’t right and then there were jobs and other jobs and businesses and selling businesses and touring Europe and buying ruins and then finally, when I least expected and when I certainly had thought “oh well, don’t think will be doing that”, along came the right time and the right people.

One sunny afternoon in Lisbon Merle looked at me and said in that crisp musical voice, “Von, do you think you might like to go to a festival and help us this year?” “Yeah sure Merle. I have never been to a festival, I would like that.” Ian’s head snapped around, “What, you have never been to a festival?” “Uh! No.”, and once again I felt 18 and just off the boat. “Well,” said Merle smiling sweetly, “How about Glastonbury?”. Ian at this point sitting forward looked at Merle and me and laughed loudly, quite loudly in fact, “ Straight in there, in the belly of the beast, better think about that, would be great, but it’s the belly of the beast.” ‘Belly of the beast?’, I thought, ‘sounds perfect’. (The guy in the photo here who put in our new telephone line had one of those too by the way!)

How did I know this was the right time and these were the right people? In the same way one truly knows anything. 1. A little help from synchronicity (a theme that kept coming up in conversations at the festival). The night before I dreamt that someone was going to ask me if I wanted to do something and I said yes. The next afternoon Merle was the first person to ask and I said yes. At the time of saying yes I didn’t know that her next sentence was going to tick off a long standing date with myself.

2. I had been experiencing something new on the land. The more I worked on the land the more energy I seemed to have. Yeah physical tiredness would come but another kind of life enriching substance was making itself known and I needed to expend it somewhere else. I think Andy started feeling it first and then his teaching kids English came up. So the opportunity to go to the Festival and work was perfect. It also meant that I could be there before and after the festival, a marvellous opportunity to see the breadth of the festival and not just its length at the weekend. And what work, not cleaning toilets or picking up rubbish but working with the most beautiful simple and elegant shelter, the tipi. Fab! Another date with self, ticked.

3. I was going to be going with Ian and Merle and to avoid the risk of being gushing and school girly, we are big fans. I think I would have gone and cleaned toilets if they had asked me but tipis, yes classy Glastonbury, the only way to go.

So after planting my last sunflower (lost count of how many planted this year), off my Memphis took me to Porto airport. It’s funny how you prepare for something, and you talk about something and you decide something and then when that something is actually happening, you think, shit what am I doing? Walking around the airport with my Memphis it started to sink in that we would be separated for almost three weeks, something that hadn’t happened for a while and I didn’t feel quite so brave anymore. The moment he left the airport I stood in the checking-in queue shamefully dragging Eloise’s pink suitcase (long story) and even more shamefully, crying (yes Michelle I cried in PUBLIC), not sure Glastonbury sounded like such a good idea, belly of the beast, being away from the land, from the kids at the end of term, from Andy, going to be with All Those People, the rain, the mud, the toilets, the the the. But I hate going back on a decision made so, determined to have a good time, checked my bag and boarded the plane.

Merle met me that night at Bristol airport to and while driving back to their home another thing sunk in. I was in England, I am a bit slow, in the summer. England the green and pleasant land. So, before the fun of the festival started I had a few beautiful days walking in the fields and hills of England with (what could be better?), with Ian and Merle’s fabulous dog at my side: Good-Times Perry. Within a couple of days of arriving at their lovely home and seeing Ian, Anna, Eve, Ollie and finally the fabulous Uncle Roger again, I knew this part of my trip was going to be great. New times with new friends, with only one reoccurring shadow being that my old friend Memphis (that’s Andy for those who are new to this blog) was back home in Portugal and not with me.

I had some much appreciated time to warm up to the tipis and get too know them. The morning after getting there Merle and I set off in her enormous British Racing Green Bedford truck, ‘Freddie’, to take down tipis and their hybrid of a yurt the humbly named ‘Squirt’. Driving in that Bedford with that amazing woman, listening to music, staring out the window watching the English countryside roll by. Aah, delicious. I grin even now just thinking about it. Crawling around on in a cool green field taking tipis apart onloading, offloading, onloading, I couldn’t fail to miss the irony that I spent all those years studying and this was the kind of work I most enjoy, physical work. And then it was time to set off for the big one. Glastonbury.

So how does one sum up the biggest party in Britain? Well you can’t. It was brilliant! I loved it! I loved the Hummingbird Crew which actually felt like a family. Despite all the work and time pressures there was always time to stop and have a conversation with anyone who wanted to come by and have a conversation. Despite the few episodes of heavy rain, the sun shone and was appreciated as only the British public can do. Despite the heavy aggressive force of army fighters flying low overhead and police dogs and heavy security there was the softness of the hippees in the tipifield, who at the end of the festival left virtually no rubbish, planted a garden, drank loads of tea and appeared to spend a lot of time talking about how to make the world a better, peaceful more loving place.

Despite the crush of soo many people there were many moments of kind and intimate conversations with a few people or sightings of young lovers cuddling or sleeping it off under the trees or other brief but unforgettable experiences with completely strangers: the young black woman on her way to see the Prodigy; the young guy sitting miserably in the ditch; the two older English women that danced with me to Steel Pulse; the ZZ top look alike who liked jazz; the young Eastender dressed from head to toe in shocking pink, having breakfast and worried about her first time out without her toddler; the crazy dude who asked a 1,000 people if they were awake (only one out of the 1000 said yes!); the young teenager who said what he wanted most in life was to one day be a Father.

Despite the poor music line up on the main stages there were wonderfully sincere generous performances in the smaller tents. To counter the commercialism around the main stage there was the opportunity to experience the work of craftsman and artisans in the Greenfields. There was something for everyone, something that Britain does beautifully, an intricate balance of inclusion and exclusion defined by invisible boundaries but felt strongly all the same. Despite the hedonistic ‘I am just here to have a good time of the weekend’ there was the work with the crew and drinks and chats with all the other stressed out but still smiling 30,000 people who work to make the Glastonbury party happen. In contrast to the trash and chaos that would be left at the end, I was lucky to witness the green and verdant English fields before the weekend started, a reminder that the land would heal quickly helped on by the young people picking up rubbish at the end, working in return for their tickets.

My most memorable night would have to be the Saturday night Hummingbird gang outing (except Uncle Roger but we knew you were with us). It seemed that all night we would be walking against the current of the crowd, always a good sign. Ian, ahead in his Technicolor neon coat and bull hat, walked with Merle in her long black dress overlaid with neon pink velvet patterns, feet protectively clad in mountain boots, together we all cut a path through the masses heading in our own direction. Walking in the dark hedgerows, in the mud, with the people all around, and the security presence and sniffer dogs, we descended from the heights of the tipi fields into the valley of the belly of the beast. I felt us swimming against the current and the most unusual thing occurred, my heart opened to it. Opened to all of these people: all of us, here, doing what? Looking for what? Looking for more of what? I felt firstly a strange compassion for how lost we all are and secondly a total and complete joyous acceptance of all of it, the filth and the beauty, the isolation and the togetherness, the disappointment and the faithful hope. Right there in the thoroughfare for me the party began. I danced and walked and talked to strangers all night long.

In the wee hours of the morning I sat alone on the high hills and watched the sun and the mist rise over those beautiful tipis standing as centuries guarding the battlefields and could feel nothing other than gratitude. Thankful that life, with all its mess, could still be willing to provide me the opportunity to experience this trivial little point on my bucket list. We just never know how new threads will impact the tapestry of our lives. This thread will glow brightly for sometime. Thank you. I went to Glastonbury festival and I had a great time.

Totally prepared to be feeling completely exhausted after the British tour, I returned home feeling completely the opposite, full, full, full of energy and fully expecting a new season for us on the land. So, excited to see the kids and hear all about their amazing successes at school and of course… my Memphis… I arrived to find that after a civilised breakfast in dramatic Porto we would be taking a slow and rebalancing 2 day journey along the coast to home. My hubby really knows how to say welcome home, thanks hon.

In the silence of this place I turned 36 this week. I have been waiting to become 36 for a very long time. I remember my Mum and her friends when they were that age, powerful and energetic, beautiful women. I first met my friend Anna when she was 36 and over the years have watched her grow stronger and more beautiful every year. An ex-boyfriend of mine (yes kids that is the sum total before Dad) once said to me as we were breaking up “I wish I could see you at 36 you are going to be amazing.” I was 17 at the time and thought , “What?” But his comment clearly stayed with me and now here I am. I decided to spend my 36^th Birthday in complete contrast to my 35^th, I spent it quietly alone with my family on the land at Moses and I guess it is a sign that I am getting on but it was a reflective birthday, looking at the difficulties and disappointments of the last year and the healing, loving time we have had here so far. Sitting on our seeing seat looking on the violet to apricot sunset I made a wish and you know what, it came true like 5 days later.

On the 13^th of July early morning when the mist was giving up its moisture in the face of the sun here in Portugal, Memphis and River walked up the hill and decided it was time to rebuild our house. A year almost to the day since we first took off the roof and some internal stone walls, we felt the tide change in our attentions and knew it was time to start rebuilding. We had taken out all we wanted and tidied all we could and there was just nothing left to do. In silent trepidation we walked up the hill. I don’t know what Memphis was thinking but I was certainly thinking, ”We are about to build a house in stone and clay and we don’t have a clue. We are out of our depth, on our own but determined. Then grace came as I looked up to the sound of “Bom Dia” and there, waiting for us, actually waiting for us, was our well loved neighbours Joao and Filipe.

Over the last year we had talked to so many people about rebuilding this house and looked at so many different materials we could use, but eventually we came home to the simple materials of stone and clay which we have in abundance and the desire to work with someone who will have the patience to teach us and who is connected to the land in some way. In essence we’ve always wanted to link into our local community, made up as much out of a respect for the ancestors of our neighbours who carved this landscape before us and our neighbours themselves who remember their childhoods here and have welcomed us at each and every opportunity. Andy had spoken with Joao when I was away but we didn’t know if he would be able to help us. So to see them standing there waiting for us was an incredible feeling.

We have done our first week now and let me tell you it is heavy work. We are working all day in the sun and these guys born and bred on this land and accustomed to its heat, work at a pace. There has been no electrical machinery used so far and our tools consist of a hoe, a wheelbarrow, a few hammers and an endless supply of buckets. Add some clay and water and countless trips up and down the hill gathering clay and hand mixing it, driving around the land and scrambling up the slopes for the best stones ‘with pretty faces’ as Joao puts it and infilling with stones that came out of the house and you pretty much can get the picture of the simple by hand and foot nature in which we are rebuilding.

Once again we are experiencing that comradeship with our Portuguese neighbours, once again they have come to our rescue and they have been so relaxing to work with. Memphis is largely responsible for the inner face of the wall and Filipe, his brother George when he can come and I take turns making the mixes and working on the innerface, none of us would dare touch the outerface as that is clearly Joao’s territory, without a word being said. Andy and I have a private goal running to ensure Joao never has to step away from the wall to get clay or stones and so far we have managed well. The best bit though is that after a wonderful time before Christmas ofrebuilding one house together, we then had a great time gardening together for the first 6months of 2009 and now we get to rebuild another house with the kids.

I always wanted the kids to be there at the beginning of the laying of the first stone and to be involved in the process. Little did I know that they would be fanstastic invaluable members of the team. Josh has been amazing constantly lugging stones and not insubstantial buckets of clay back and forth between us. I am particularly grateful to Joshy for the first two days where I made most of the mixes myself and worked in the sun for the first time from sun up to sun down. At every mix Joshy was there saying well done Mummy, that’s great and such like. You’re a beautiful boy Josh. Our little princess Ellie has been in charge of the smaller stones, tiring work as we need thousands of them in a constant stream. She has been doing the most marvellous job hanging out washing, clearing up the kitchen after breakfast and everyday baking us something yummy to eat and share onsite with Joao and Filipe, the only way we can get them to stop and then only for 5 minutes.

I have thoroughly enjoyed being out there in the sun and the heat sweating and tugging and climbing and carrying and laughing and speaking Portuguese all day and being with the kids and Memphis. But this weekend I have been alone. My beautiful family have been away playing Cricket (a 150 year old 2 day cup match between Lisbon and Porto with my boys playing for Lisbon) and I have had my first weekend alone here ever, cleaning, gardening, reading and generally catching up with all that has happened this summer so far and then doing nothing. It is strange being alone after having such a full time, in England, in the village, and then at home. This weekend no phone calls have been made, no music played except for an hour of reggae, well it is Sunday after all and then a little writing, giving thanks I guess you could call that praise. Being alone on this land is deeply enriching. It is time to rest, to be in the solitude and the silence of this place. It is a time where no projection of personality is required and I can just be and watch and marvel at the miracle of it all and the Life who gives it so generously and abundantly.

I don’t know what next week brings but for this week past, yet again I find myself saying, Thank you we are finally rebuilding our house at the right time and with the people we hoped would teach us, our neighbours people in our community and I am loving it.

I am 36 years old now and for the first birthday ever I do feel, well, different.

P.S. I am not an enthusiastic blogger, in fact I am a little ashamed that I even bother to write a blog because sometimes when I read over it sounds like I am just saying look isn’t life wonderful for me. That is not why I am writing it. I write it because I can’t believe life. I don’t really understand how life works or even what is happening most of the time. Even with all this writing I still find myself here and say, “How did I get here?” I am not special. I have no special gifts or particular insight or brilliance and yet beautiful life is unfolding itself and I am a part of it. So if you want to change something in your life big or small I would say, think about what it is you want for sure, but then just take the next available step towards or on your path and be prepared to dance with life and let it take you down paths you hadn’t expected more than likely these new paths are heading in the same direction as the path you would have chosen.

Paz e amor

River

A few videos for you to see...

While Mummy was away...

River waits for her clay....

The clay arrives...

The work begins. On the way to being stonemasons...

The colour green

School’s out. The kids and I finished term on Friday. Our final week was spent here all by ourselves as Von has popped over to the UK to build tipis with Ian and Merle at Glastonbury. Missing her terribly. But surviving. She is the air we breathe.

In that final week, apart from all the pining obviously, Josh and Eli got their marks from their exams. Both got A’s. National Exams are only in Portuguese and Maths for their years, but twas still an absolutely awesome achievement (note the alliteration in A’s) for the first year in Portugal. Only 1 other pupil in each of their year groups got 2 A’s, so they weren’t easy papers. How proud? Academic achievement isn’t everything in life but they love it and are flying. Both looking forward to being in new parts of their school next year. Eli in the second ciclo (Year 5) and Josh in the third (Year 7). But for now, we have begun the 3 month summer holiday til the middle of September and are busying ourselves pottering around the house and garden, beginning my Portuguese lessons from the kids and swimming as often as possible in various rivers to cool off from the 40 degree sun. Boy it’s been hot.

Today we took Moses for a dip in the River Zezere and the kids swam to the other side and back all by themselves. It’s a big full wide river at the moment and although we have swum it a few times together it took a fair bit of courage to do it on their own. Nice one kids. Anyway, while we were there today, I noticed, probably for the first time, how utterly green the surrounding landscape is. Not just one green either. A myriad of greens. The mass of emerald of the deep slow moving wind rippled river. The dark established, near silhouettes, of the pines and eucalyptus against that perfect blue Portuguese sky. The occasional olive trees with their silvery leaves sprinkled sporadically on the higher parts of the steep folding hills nearer the villages. The golden yellowy mottled foliage of the mato or bush of the forest shrubs. And where the forest stops and the river banks begin, there’s a series of clearly demarked variations aligned in stripes of pea green with vivid bright, almost lime green of young meadow like growth on the banks.

Words just don’t do justice to the spectacle I'm afraid. Nor do photos or videos. It could be painted I guess. Although the experience is one of being surrounded on all sides, above you and below. Yet the most surprising thing for me is that I discerned the greenness of it all in the first place. Remarkable actually. Seeing as I’m colour blind. Mainly in the spectrum of greens oddly enough. So for those of you with non dysfunctional sight, it must be an even more impressive breath-taking display from good old mother nature. Gawd bless her.

On the way back from our afternoon splash, we stopped off at our favourite café. Laurinda’s.

Laurinda’s Café in Abitureira

As you know, many of our neighbours are getting on a bit. And as such, they carry a wealth of knowledge and insight that they are gladly passing on to us, green as we are (sorry, had to keep the topic alive somehow) when we need it. But more interesting than what they can teach us, are the people themselves. Real characters. They’ve seen a thing or two. Sometimes, in our chats over a coffee in their houses, or in a stop off for a quick chinwag in the villages, or longer ones over wine in their adegas, or even longer ones like on our fishing trip to Proenca yesterday (where by the way, Eloise caught over 30 fish, more than a kilo, single handedly – Josh would point out here that he’d have caught more but for the fact that he was at a sleep over at a mate’s house) it feels like there would be some pretty interesting books or screenplays that could be written about the drama of their lives over the years.

The variety of interconnectedness in their families, their work at home and abroad, all lived through the changing Portuguese political dictatorships, revolutions, and wider European, African and other historical conflicts, evoke a mysterious realm outside of our own inculcated cultural understanding and experience.

Our arrival here in the midst of them is just another saga to add to their own rich heritage of existence. We are a phenomenon. The English family choosing to move into their neighbourhood (or more accurately, their forest), while their own offspring have chosen to live far, often very far away. To us they are fascinating, intriguing and alluring. And nice. As I expect we might be to them. Although it is not our differences that warrant any specific mention. Our similarities seem to be the underlying force at play here. Our desire to learn from their ways, learn their language and customs. Our predisposition to converse and to help whenever we’re asked, whenever we can. Our passion (well Von’s actually) for growing vegetables and flowers and all things green (sorry couldn’t resist, won’t mention it again, carry on).

One of these cherished neighbours of ours is Laurinda. And as I just mentioned she runs one of the 2 cafés in the nearby village of Abitureira. Laurinda is 72, sprightly with pretty twinkly eyes and an elegant demeanour. Vonnie says, she would be well happy if she could develop even half the gardening skills and energy that Laurinda seems to have. Her husband, 91, is as you’d expect, quite deaf. But instead of shouting to him, she relays the nature of our conversations, when they concern him, by leaning into his vicinity and tenderly whispering into his oversized ears. “Too sweet” as the Bajans say.

Laurinda’s café probably hasn’t changed much in the last 50 years or so. And as such, is a den of quite charming disposition. We visit her weekly, sometimes more often, since she is also our nearest grocery store, where we buy emergency supplies of milk, juice, tinned food, meat or fish from her freezer, or toilet roll to go along with the obligatory coffee and more often than not, a glass of their home made sweet sloe gin beverage known here as Ginginha. But each time we go in, as those who have visited her café with us will remember, the joy of the experience is in the conversations. Each coffee / shopping trip usually lasts at least half an hour, sometimes twice as long, depending on what we find ourselves talking about. She is always so excited and enthusiastic when we take the kids, and when we take our visitors too, especially when they have babies.

There are no babies in her village now. There are no children either. In fact, the youngest resident must be in her late fifties. It’s a shame as she has recalled many fond memories of Abitureira being full of kids and family life. Even had its own school at one time not so long back. Now bereft, she lavishes her affection on our two, and on us as well. It’s an experience to be savoured and one we’ll miss tremendously when the day inevitably comes for her to no longer run it anymore. But while she is, we relish it. And her. Gawd bless her.

Loads else has happened since our last blog entry including another wonderful joint 30th birthday party for Francisco and Raquel (8 months preggers and looking fabulous) at their place down in Gafete, plus the rather posh and extravagant wedding of Pedro and Inês (they own the bar Calado and run the campsite) with 420 people, was a big one. But nothing more on the restoration work on our other houses. Portuguese builders. Gawd bless ‘em.

This week I’m doing teachers’ meetings at the school where I’m having to write reports on each child in Portuguese. It’s stretching me. And that can only be a good thing. Josh is being terrific in making corrections. Looking forward to a summer of improving the lingo with him and Eli.

Von arrives next week and I’ll be able to breathe once again.

Wild Boar and the Parents

You may think these are totally exclusive concepts, wild boar and parents, but maybe not so. My Mum and Dad came out from London last week for a quick 6 day break with us. It was fabulous to have them stay here. Last September they popped over to see what we were doing but unfortunately we didn’t have the space for them with us at the time so they had to stay in the local campsite in Oleiros. This time though, we prepared our place as much as we could for the royal visit so they could both feel safe and comfortable. They helped us too, enormously, by cutting down young mimosa trees to use as bean poles and a grass cutting compost bin. They cleared a couple more parts of the terraces and planted in onions, aubergines, beans and some more sprouting broccoli. And gave Moses lots of attention and early morning walks. Thanks guys, you can come again. Anytime and stay for as long as you want.

In between sessions of helping us about the place my parents both had time to consider what we are doing here and enjoy the pace of life and connectivity to the natural beauty of this place. It was interesting how the experience seemed to stir up their own childhood memories of living in the countryside. For my Dad that was in rural Kent living with his sister, my Aunt Sally, in an orphanage that their mother helped run during and after the second world war. His reflections were interspersed with naming the calls of the abundant bird life here and once or twice mimicking a cuckoo to entice them a little closer. “When I was a boy I once had 6 cuckoos circling around my head doing this.”

For my Mum, she reminisced about her young life in the village of Wrington, Somerset with her family. She said Vonnie regularly reminded her of her own mother. Maybe it was the fags and the early afternoon G & Ts (or the local equivalent called Ginghina made from sloe berries) or perhaps it was because Vonnie had successfully managed to populate our vegetable beds here with pretty scented geraniums that had once started their life as cuttings taken by my Granny for her own garden, from where my Mum took more cuttings for her garden in London, from where we took further cuttings for our garden in Shardeloes Road, and finally emigrated with us to Amieira in central Portugal. It’s amazing how plants can help you to recognise the interconnected nature of all things.

In the middle of their stay, Angel bought them a present one morning, of a live wild rabbit. Poor scared thing was running around under their bed. Angel regularly catches mice, lizards, snakes and birds, bringing them into the house as gifts. I have no idea why cats do that. Maybe they’re not presents at all. Maybe it’s just that cats like to play with their prey, nay torture them, in the comfort of their on home where escape is an unlikely eventuality. Whatever the motivation, we had a rabbit in the house and didn’t know quite what to do with the poor creature. I picked her up, took her outside and tried to calm her down by sitting down, stroking her and covering over her eyes, while we decided her fate. Option 1, to let her go, might result in recapture by the ever present prowling Angel, unsure why we were being so gentle with her conquest. Option 2, put her out of her misery as she was sporting what looked like an injured, possibly broken, leg. Option 3, keep her and nurture her back to health until we could let her go back to the wild with at least even chances of survival. Option 3 it was. Von ran around clearing out a wooden crate, putting in fresh bedding, food and water. When all was arranged, I carried the little rabbit to her new house cum 5 star recovery clinic. No sooner as I laid her on her new bed, did she have a heart attack and died of fright on the spot. Angel?! Please don’t catch rabbits again. But if you must, definitely don’t bring them back in the house. That was the first wild rabbit I’d ever held. And the first creature to die in my arms. Nature can be harsh. No doubt about that. Life is precious and can go at any time.

This morning, Vonnie and I were taking a stroll passed our Adega (small stone cottage used for storage and particularly pressing and making wine, an ancient and central aspect of Portuguese rural culture – “you do not truly know a man until you have fought him” is a line from The Matrix which I transpose to say …”until you have drunk with him in his adega.”) and along the little river. Suddenly the bushes on the other side of the valley began to shudder and there right in front of us, maybe only 50 yards away, passed a family of wild boar along on old overgrown path. A mum, dad, dark brown, enormous, frightening and powerful, followed dutifully in single file by their 8 smaller, but nevertheless impressive, stripy and incredibly cute youngsters. I’d like to see them again one day. Maybe invite them in for a cup of tea.

Although my parents didn’t get to see the wild boar up close and personal as we did this morning, their presence is a good indication of the wildness of our new home. A wilderness that seemed to inspire and evoke so many memories for Mum and Dad. Our 30,000 square metres here is set in the middle of thousands of hectares of unpopulated pine and eucalyptus forest, home to a vast array of wild creatures and birds, of which the wild boar have the freedom to live without fear. Until that is, the annual barbaric boar hunts, with military type men, not usually from anywhere round here (therefore serves no vested interest for protection of land and the such and is just a cruel brutal sport), their guns and their dogs. We suspect the hunts used to happen on our land in the years when no one was living here. Now we are here, we hope the hunters will now have to choose an area much further away from us. In effect we think we’ve created a little gun free reserve for the boar just by living on the land. Bless. Run free little boars. And by the same token, run free Mum and Dad. Don’t forget what you learned to do here. More time spent doing nothing. The rest is really good for you.

Teaching is still going well. Many of the 6 to 10 year olds are making really good progress with their English. Mainly it appears they are learning to have fun with a new language. There are still a few of them that seem to have written off the possibility of ever speaking English because it is too hard. But more games, more songs, more nursery stories, and very soon, I hope, they will forget they ever thought they couldn’t do it because they will be speaking it. We’ll see. But apart from the occasional shout and now and again having to eject one or two out of the class, they are all lovely. Full of energy and ever so adorable.

It’s hot too. And getting hotter. Yesterday, 40 degrees. So the kids and I took Moses for a swim in the big River Zêzere to cool off. Video below. Which means I have a new phone, but have managed to keep the original number of 00351 96 421 9028. Sorry for the confusion this month. Will try not to lose this one. Promise.

Final video is a quick tour of the work around the house. Quality of videos isn’t as good as last phone. But hope you get an idea of how things are looking now.

Taking another dip in the Zezere...

Quick tour of the grounds...

Just had a call from another stone mason. He’s coming to visit us this afternoon to see the work we need to do to our other 2 houses at the top. Let’s hope he comes. Let’s hope he likes it and wants to help us do it. And can do it soon. Here’s hoping. Although I suspect if he is any good we will have to wait a good long while til he can start. But we're getting used to that. Waiting.

Ta ta for now.