Naughty November

Well, naughty sounds a bit mischievous and so, with the nights drawing in and the clocks having gone back, a bit of mischief to see us through the month seems appropriate.

Not sure what that would look like, though. Perhaps we should have Nice November instead - certainly having a few friends round for meals is definitely nice, something to enjoy. So we did... asking friends old and new on several occasions. And home group, every Thursday evening, is always welcomed and full of laughter.

The weather has been naughty, though. Torrential rain began the first day of half term and barely stopped, with some impressive rain and hail storms every day until mid-way through the month. A corner of the garden, where some topsoil had been removed to form a raised vegetable bed, was under water for a week, the ground remaining soggy for some time afterwards.

The poor bees, who had taken up residence in a hole in the front bank at the beginning of October, huddled inside, sending out only solitary envoys occasionally. We miss them: there were so many buzing in and out, passing us by without a second glance. Hopefully they will survive the winter...

The term wound on, reports ever-looming. There were many light moments: the child who told his rather voluble classmate: "Your mouth is so big it should have its own postcode" caused inadvertent laughter to escape from my mouth. I had to do a lot of reassuring...it is, after all, rather insulting to have such a thing said to you. Then I had one child away ill... it turned out to be appendicitis. Or so the caretaker told me. I didn't hear it from anyone else, though did check with the person who should have told me, as class teacher, if that was true before we sent the get well card...
Then there was the six year old in RE who said we could send money to the poor. "Yes," I replied, "to Guernsey Welfare" (the foodbank charity the school supports). The child looked puzzled. "Australia," he replied...

The weather changed half way through the month, becoming drier. Cycling home was no longer such a chore (some days I arrived, drenched to the skin), providing treats in the dusk of stunning and sunsets and glimpses of owls. One evening, a barn owl flew over the fields on either side, swooping and flying at an astonishingly fast speed along the hedges, its wings gleaming palely in the gloaming as it criss-crossed. Mesmerising. I was grateful for the deserted lane I had chosen to follow home. Especially when my light's battery almost died one evening, so I coasted carefully down the lane in the twilight, barely enough natural light to see by...

And so we roll on towards December...

Fun in February

Well, not really. February is one of those months where the only thing that seems to be going for it is lighter mornings and longer evenings. #rollonspring  It has fled by.  Should rename the post Fleeting February, actually. Half term arrived before we knew it, along with dazzling sunshine and warm days. Sitting outside the front door in the sun sipping a cappuchino - now, that is what I call a real half term.

The welcome mid-term break wasn't all just sitting and reading. A little gardening was done - mainly preparing for some serious vege planting, cutting back a few shrubs and pulling out some ivy. We hosted friends and neighbours for a meal, feasting on the leftovers for days - always good to over-cater. The weekends had been busy with catching up with friends over meals - one particular 24 hours was non-stop entertaining - so it was good to catch our breath and enjoy the Guernsey weather.

A dear friend's death brought memories of decades - at 98, he had lived a long life and was still an intelligent conversationalist, still walking, still intensely interested in the world around him. Friends lost parents, friends passed on... a time of funerals and of reflection on life...

In the meantime, Cara Grace continues to grow and delight. Her eagerness to communicate in smiles, giggles, gurgles and various other unidentifiable noises in response to conversation and questions is completely charming: she already has her passport for her Guernsey visit in April...can't wait to meet her properly, although Skype is truly wonderful.

And February is a time to delight in small things. Daffodils, shouting yellowness in ever-increasing measure; occasional bumblebees venturing around the heather; buzzards calling overhead, competing for air space with the seagulls. Glorious sunsets. A morning of quiet fog, wrapping Torteval in stillness despite the competing roar of surf...And unseasonably warm weather... it could be the Easter holidays. #herebeforeyouknowit

Hibiscus

Daisies...in February, though, not December

Camellia

View from the Corbiere

The Prevote from the Corbiere

Prevote MP tower

Pleinmont sunset

Caterpillar nests

Last days...

We spend our last days quietly, in talking, reading, discussing car repairs at great length and in admirable detail. My heart gladdens at these discussions: how thankful I am that Jonny has his dad’s expertise to draw on, along with Byron’s supportive presence just a short distance away. This is in Tanzanian terms: over one and a half hours’ drive on the other side of Arusha. At home in Guernsey, anything more than 15 or 20 minutes seems like a long safari – how quickly we adjust.

A nearby lodge – Rivertrees, the last convenient tourist stop before Kilimanjaro Airport – is a pleasant venue for an afternoon drink by the river. We marvel at the trees – huge figs sending their aerial roots down in search of water. I spot a ‘first’ – a black-backed shrike, its astonishingly bright red eye peeping out from the bushes next to us.

And, of course, there is the swimming pool. Bees perch busily on the lane dividers, some unwittingly taking dives into the water, swimming furiously to safety. Scarlet dragonflies swoop and dive across the surface, hitting it with a smack before zooming on. European rollers perch atop the tennis court fence, four of them, evenly spaced, waiting for the insects thrown up by the newly cut grass. Wahlberg’s eagles soar and call, settling in the fig near the entrance to the school. Mount Meru plays peek-a-bo behind clouds, thermals constantly forming and re-forming.

Half a dozen arrow-marked babblers invade the garden, chit-chattering, hopping around, venturing at times onto the verandah and into the living room. A couple of immature birds constantly ask for food, jumping on the others. Mouse-birds congregate on a young muringa tree, stripping the new young shoots. It’s a good thing that the muringa grows so quickly...

From the verandah early in the morning we watch a pair of white-browed coucals ponderously flapping on and off the hedge, catching insects and, in one lucky instance, a small toad which has unwarily ventured out on to the grass. Variable sunbirds, with their iridescent green caps and bright crimson breasts, flit around the acacia branches while a fiscal shrike constantly swaps between the lawn and the verandah roof. Never have I seen one for so long at such close quarters. To cap it all, we spot a tiny wren-like bird in the bougainvillea hedge: an African penduline tit. A first.

The birds have been fantastic – so many, such variety all in one place, up-country and dry country birds all in one environment. This, we think, is what Paradise will be like...

We prepare to go home with full hearts, countless happy memories, relationships renewed... and an inordinate number of tsetse fly and midge bites, with the odd small mosquito bite to add in to the mix.

Africa.

And then, it was time to leave. It had been the most incredibly relaxing time, our days filled with reading, swimming and enjoying the bird life.

Yesterday it had rained. Good African rain, first a drizzle then, under a black sky, a heavy downpour. The thunderous noise of raindrops hitting the tin roof brought back memories...

The air was fresh, the soil damp, the atmosphere calm.

Today, a cloudy morning gave way to sunshine. A last swim, while Jonny took his car to have new rear shock absorbers fitted - a somewhat stressful process, in that the wrong type had been ordered and so Jonny had to go back later. #nothingstraightforwardinAfrica

Packed up. Emma's house, where we had been staying, cleaned. A last lunch at Rivertrees Country Inn, on the way to the airport. So relaxed.

I thought I was ready to go home, back to 'normal' life. End of holidays.

But I wasn't. Oh, I had had a great holiday and felt ready for work, but I wasn't ready to leave Jonny and Adele.

Goodbyes could not be lingering. Quick hugs, then we were in the hot queue to get in to Kilimanjaro Airport and then through the long check-in and immigration process. Only an hour from start to finish.

The goodbyes were bad enough... but I was unprepared for what happened as I walked out of the terminal building to cross the tarmac towards the plane. I was overwhelmed by tears. Throwing myself down to claw at the ground, screaming to stay, suddenly seemed like an option.

I didn't, of course. I struggled to contain my tears, dutifully climbing on to the plane, quietly weeping unobtrusively as we took off past Kilimanjaro, the two peaks of Kibo and Mawenzi soaring above the clouds.

I don't understand why my heart is breaking again.