Time out
There’s a lot going on and the list doesn’t seem to diminish. I’m spinning plates, lots of them, as we all are. Trying to keep them spinning, judging the ebb and flow of work priorities, commitments and urgent necessities, is currently all-consuming. It’s hard not to think about the things not being done, losing focus and becoming sidetracked. Time out for good behaviour feels a world away.
Rest and relaxation with children around is debatable, but I have had friends over and we’ve shared and laughed our way through the days. I stepped back and allowed myself to feel their holiday. We went camping for a couple of nights, a holiday within a holiday, back to the mountains.
Back to the mountains and how my heart sings. Our lovely camping site, Quinta do Fontes, nestled into a valley, with a suitably twisting and winding, rough dirt track that takes you there. We lose phone reception intermittently and away dissolve the worries of outside. No war, no climate crisis, no work, no housing or family worries, just earth and water, mist and mountains. A thin canvas to the night and its inhabitants songs, the freshest of fresh air to wake to.
Here our kids can explore and be free. They are quickly covered in mud, plundering oranges from trees, scrambling up and across the old terraced sides of the valley. They are alone, the shrieks of laughter and delight catch our ears every so often, they are alive. I’m reminded of the freedom from one childhood holiday, a log cabin in Scotland. My siblings and I followed a stream, very, very far, to a barbed wire fence and then home. These memories can be profound, they hark to a confidence and comfort in nature, they are the ones which shape us.
We follow the rough track and walk a fresh green path to an idyllic waterfall. The children hold baby frogs and release them into the stony edges. We all experience the cool, refreshing waters, just a large enough natural space for a plunge. There’s a swing and two hammocks; this spot is loved enough, but not too much for it to lose its charm or seemingly disturb the wildlife. Tiny fish swim around us, peacock-blue damselflies rest and reflect the sunlight, the heat of the day is lessened here.
Return to the flatlands and the bright green rice-fields, at the bottom of our gently inclining garden, awaken to frogs croaking at dusk. Spectacular dragonflies zoom around. I rescue one from the water, another chance to study in detail the way its body is constructed, the colours and pattens of its form. We talk for a while before it returns to the skies and is gone.
For a few mornings, there is a morning mist that hangs damply over the land. I hope it transfers some moisture to the ground; old trees are suffering, there is dieback and leaf loss. The beautiful mist, which enfolds and envelopes, caressing each stem and leaf with dewy jewels that sparkle brightly for a short while before returning to the sky.
My friends head home and, alone with the girls again, we head out for blackberries down the lane. An abundance, coupled with a small tree that has fallen roadways in the wind, means we can take advantage of the juicy ones that normally are beyond reach. For a long time, whilst we pick and negotiate the prickles, we hear a busy woodpecker just overhead. It’s not fussed by us and close by, but we cannot see it as it drums away methodically. We make the most purple smoothie and head back in the cool of the day for a second outing.
