Losing Indy came at a bad time for the both of us. Not that there is ever a good time for things like that to happen. She was injured on the Monday, as we were knee-deep in preparations for the arrival of my parents-in-law, a long planned-for visit and one that was already causing me nightmares and dread. They were supposed to arrive on the Tuesday, but apparently my husband had forgotten altogether that they were coming on the Monday instead - we only realised this an hour before they turned up. I’m am glad in some ways my husband was off work to go with me to take her to the vets.

It was very hard to be cheery. They wanted to go off and do touristy things, when I wanted very much to avoid people. Again, I suppose in some ways it’s easier to go off and do those things, but having to spend hours in the car only to be confronted by literal hoardes of people just hours after Indy had died was hard.

Wednesday was a much better day though. We went to visit Cragside and had a really long walk, we saw things we hadn’t seen before and generally enjoyed ourselves. When we got back, we buried Indy in a lovely bit of our garden. It was quiet and she looked so un-lifelike, like dead bodies do. There was no trace of her left in that feathered shell, and I am glad. I knew she’d gone elsewhere. She’s now deep in the herb bed with the sweetest herbs around her and eventually we’ll find something fitting to sit atop her grave.

At Cragside we found a secluded stretch of road and pulled over to take photos and find some peace away from everyone else.  The view of this stunning heather-clad moor was amazing, it was purely purple as far as the eye could see.  Despite everything that has happened over the last week, there are always reminders of how lucky we are, and what a beautiful place this is.  I hoped Indy was with me and staring out over that moor, because I know she would’ve loved it just as much as I.

I didn’t want to write this post. In fact the title of this post was one I’d already written in my head a hundred times, but hadn’t got round to posting. Now unfortunately, the original context has gone out of the window. Little Indy, our darling hen, had survived two bouts of coccidiosis, a horrid prolapse and then being attacked by the other hens, but she survived it with a grace I hadn’t known possible for such a small, young thing. She was living on her own and she was finally getting to be independent as she should be. Hence Indy-pendent.

Then we came to her yesterday morning to see a cat running from her cage and her sqawking madly and then falling and limping. The cat hadn’t touched her, but it had frightened her so much she’d run in panic and broken her leg. Unfortunately it was too bad to be mended. I gave her pain medication until the vet opened today and he said what we’d all feared the most, that she wouldn’t be coming back to us alive. I felt such a traitor as I gave her to him, and walked out of the room, never to see her alive again. It felt the most painful betrayal, even though I was doing the right thing. If I was in her shoes I wouldn’t want to have lived any longer, but having to make that decision was the hardest thing I’ve had to do.

As a smallholder-wannabe I know that this is what has to be done. I know if I had pigs they’d go to slaughter, chickens would get nabbed by the fox and eventually even the ones who live long, happy lives have to die. But I feel she had such a hard life as it was, didn’t she deserve better than this? Didn’t she deserve another chance?

I know if I had 20-odd hens running about my feet it’d be easier, they wouldn’t have names and when one got sick, it would either get treated or it’d have to go. My farmer-friend told me he’d just put it out of its misery. But we are in-between, they are livestock, but they are pets too. They have names and we love them very much, and the thought of being that dissociated from them is unbearable.

And today I felt angry, as well as sad. I was angry because the people we walked past, with our pet-carrier, didn’t realise the animal that lay inside was dead. The guy who sat on the bench and smiled at us as we skulked past. It is such a big thing, but no one noticed. And of all things that was what made me the saddest.

So this is a formal goodbye to our lovely gal, who deserved so much better. At some point, when the wet clouds that gathered overhead the moment we put her to sleep have gone, we’ll lay her body to rest. I hope she is happy wherever she is now.  She was very much loved and won’t ever be forgotten.

Death is nothing to us, since when we are, death has not come, and when death has come, we are not.
–Epicurus 341 BC - 270 BC

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Now playing: Tom Waits - Closing time

When it comes to racing pigeons I like to think I know a thing or two. A few years ago my mother was weeding in her garden when a pretty white and chocolate pigeon - obviously not a wild bird - came and sat between her legs. Her neighbour thinking he knew best, shooed it away, only for it to come back a few hours later when he knew the coast was clear. He was a lovely pigeon, tame as anything - we lovingly caught him and put him into a box until we could find an owner. An Internet search gave me the Royal Pigeon Racing Association, whom I could give the ring number to and they would trace the owner. It turns out the owner was a mere 35 miles away, and would collect the pigeon in a few days time. We kept him warm and fed, and became quite attached to this little pigeon. His owners came and collected him and that was the last we saw of ‘our’ little pidge.

A little over three weeks ago I noticed a racing pigeon walking down our road and knew that racing pigeons don’t tend to do this unless they are either tired or lost. I didn’t think anything of it as there were other pigeons flying around, but a couple of days later I saw the same pigeon on our yard wall, pecking around for food. Knowing that you really shouldn’t feed pigeons until you think they aren’t going home, we left him be. After four days we decided it was probably best to feed him, seeing as he was sleepy and lethargic. We popped grain down for him which he wolfed, as well as drinking plenty. Unfortunately he was far too timid to be able to get his ring number, or even catch him. Until I had the bright idea of using the really good lens of my camera and taking lots of photos of his ring, from which we managed to cobble together his number! He was a youngster, born this year and came all the way from Newark, Notts - he’d been released around Scotch Corner (north Yorkshire - not Scotland!) and instead of flying south, he’d flown north, probably accidentally following some other pigeons. We phoned his owner who was very thankful that we’d been taking good care of our pidge (now named Percival) and advised we do all we could to catch him.  He knew this particular pigeon well, and knew he was a pain to catch!

Cue mad cartoon music (with lyrics like “stop the pigeon, stop the pigeon, stop the pigeon, NOW!” it is perfect!) as we plan traps and devise cunning hide-outs but still Percy evades us!  For now we’ve given up - and continue to feed and talk to our new little charge.  Until we can catch him he will be staying where he is, and to be honest, we’ve become a little bit attached.  He flies off and leaves in the evenings to roost, only to come back and sit quite lovingly on the roof and make eyes at me when I walk out to feed the chickens.  Silly little pigeon!

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Now playing: Dimitri Shostakovich - Jazz Suite No.2 - Waltz 2

I’ve been awarded three times, but I’ve not even mentioned them yet! It’s not only because I’m terribly modest (!), but I am embarrassingly slow when it comes to such things, I really am! But it has long been on my to-do list, so I thought I’d bake you all a cake to say thanks. I hope you like chocolate cakes! It’s one of Helge Rubinstein’s recipes and it has to be the easiest, tastiest and most economical chocolate cakes possible to make. It works wonderfully every time. If you can find her book (simply called “The Chocolate Book” - look in charity or thrift shops, it often turns up there) it’s worth buying.

Firstly I was awarded a Blogger Reflection Award from Ginny over at The Flour Loft - this is very kind indeed, especially her comment that VintagePretty.org is “A blog to make you think with photographs to make you dream”. That is such a wonderful accolade - thanks Ginny!

Next comes a Rockin’ Girl Blogger award, which tickled me pink! Marie over at Marie Chantal Handmade Skincare was very kind to give me this. It’s really nice to know that I’m writing things that are not only useful but enjoyable to read, and the feedback I get gives me the impetus to keep putting it out there!

And last, but definitely not least, the wonderful Kali over at Enjoying the Journey gave me a nice matters award. I was talking to a friend about this the other day, how much nicer the world would be if everyone was a little nicer, kinder and more compassionate. It’s something I try to be, I try to be aware of my actions and their impact on others, though I would very much like some people I know (in the real-world) to be a bit more like that! Being recognised for being nice - it’s what I aim to be and I’m glad others think so too!

Thankyou to everyone who nominated me, you’re all very kind and thoughtful. The thing is, I was thinking about who I’d nominate and I decided that every single blog I read deserves at least one of these awards - every single blog I read makes me reflect, are written (mostly!) by rockin’ gals and they are all written by nice, kind people. So there you go - I can’t pick everyone, but I’m choosing you all!

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Now playing: Ambrose & His Orchestra - Soft Lights And Sweet Music

Walking into a woodland full of quivering trees, drizzle making its way through the seemingly-impenetrable canopy that holds overhead like an umbrella, with holes. Birds calling and the smell of wet leaf-litter on the floor, smells of Autumn are everywhere. And that is what Summer is turning into; Autumn.

We found a circle of silver birch trees, which when the wind blew, made a completely different noise from the other trees. Their high, almost tinkling sound is very similar to milk-bottle tops (as they used to be), on a piece of string. They also lightened the surrounding woodland with their small silver leaves, high canopy and lightly-coloured trunks. But the most amazing things are what you find when you’re not looking for anything at all. I came across these Lords-and-Ladies, or Cuckoopint, the seed-heads of which are an alarming orange-red, I’ll go back in Spring to see the arum-lily-type flower or spathe.

[Lords-and-Ladies 'Arum maculatum', a native plant also called Cuckoopint]

We weren’t planning on this impromptu forage into the woods - far from it, but it was such a wet, dismal Saturday, that we decided to get out of the house somehow. We didn’t know where we were going, I just drove until I remembered this wonderful little place. Not thinking I’d end up in a wood, I was wearing the most unsuitable clothing - especially as it was a wet, grey wood. Sandals and a skirt don’t make the best walking clothes, but it didn’t matter. Overnight the sky had turned from a mackerel-blue sky…

To a grey, wet one…

We wended our way down to a river, down slopes and up them again. By the end of our walk my legs were jelly, but we had a really wonderful time. Despite the fact it’s only August, it definitely feels like Autumn.

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Now playing: Eels - Woman Driving, Man Sleeping