The Cottage - Day 4
A thin layer of clouds hints at a nice day. I can still see the strips of lightness half an hour later when the cold and heavy rain starts again. Sorry dog, we should’ve moved sooner. And we would have if you hadn’t got me out of bed at half 4 in the morning.
A few miles away over the sea and over the village it looks nice. There’s even some blue sky. It could just be raining on my house. The mountains do that. Or I was very bad in a previous life.
I’m okay for milk today, and for bread, but if I don’t cycle to restock then I’ll definitely have to go tomorrow whatever the weather.
The porch is leaking in different places to yesterday. Not simply dripping from different spots but different sources too. Maybe I should attach wheels to my art table.
3 hours later the rain stops, but I can see it on the mountains behind the house and to the west. Quick, Dog-dog, let’s go down to the gate and see if there’s any post.
There isn’t any post of course, because I haven’t told anyone where I live, including the Post Office, but I like the routine of checking. And a 10 minute walk to the gate and back again is just about all we can manage before the rain drops again.
To make up for another promise of a walk dashed, I turn the day into Christmas for the dog. From long-term storage I open the box that houses some things the dog hasn’t seen since America over a year ago. The spikey ball, the holey-ball, and most of all, the burger. The dog is ecstatic and squeaks the burger for a solid, and it must be said, annoying, 10 minutes. Decide not to give her the squeaky duck until another day.
A mile away I see the postman’s van. The postman could be a woman it occurs to me. The post van comes across the bog towards me. I see it turn at the bushes and disappear behind the trees.
It doesn’t come out the other side so I must have post after all. Or the postman or woman has been horribly attacked at my gate.
As the islands recede into the mist the wind picks up. I see leaves 50 feet in the air traveling to a different county. The rain comes up from the ground and pelts the window. Then all is still. For 30 seconds, before with a roar, a range of vegetation I’m unfamiliar with passes the cottage. Judging by the movement the wind appears to be coming from the east. And the west. And the south.
Milk is low. Despite the ferocity of the wind I feel a compulsion to go out there on the bicycle. Or at least to see if there’s a dead postman.
But I also feel it would be unfair to leave the dog alone in this noise. So instead we go for a walk.
About a mile away there are a couple of houses and we come across an elderly couple walking up the hill to their home. They are wrapped in anoraks and several other layers, trying to duck underneath the wind. What a day, gasps the woman to me. It’s beautiful, I respond as her husband is lifted off his feet and deposited in the field behind.
Walking back I point out to Dog-dog the sheets of rain to the west and to the east. Dog-dog points out we are in the middle of that very rain which is why we are both soaking wet and squinting.
A sheep is loose on the road and before I can react the dog realises and goes to give chase. If the sheep knew that the dog would never actually attack it could simply pretend to be a cat and the dog would stop. But instead the sheep leaps through the fence and I heavily scold the dog, particularly in the nose area, before putting her on the leash. Now that the sheep has bolted.
The rest of the walk home the dog cowers when she hears me say the word sheep.
As I sit down from making the tea I see some blue outside. The sand dunes and the islands are dipping in and out of bright sunlight. Gleaming at me. At me personally.
As the tea draws so does the sun. The wind remains but it seems a fair trade off. You keep shining there sun, and me and the bike will be with you as soon as I’ve finished this pot of tea.
The cottage itself and everywhere in view is then bathed in sunshine. For almost as long as the first cup of tea. Then the darkest clouds of the day with the heaviest rain covers everything, and I am down to minimal visibility for the night.
Tomorrow I will cycle to the village. Won’t I?
Read the Next Day at the cottage
Read the Previous Day at the cottage
List of all the Days at the Cottage
More from The Cottage:
• Photos of The Cottage
• Day 1 at The Cottage
• 12 Photos of the Scenery Around the Cottage
• 12 Photos not all Mountains and Islands
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
I’ve enjoyed these posts and photos so much. They make me homesick for somewhere I’ve never been. I don’t miss your ‘bicycle across the US’ posts at all. (OK that’s a lie, I do miss them.)
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks. I think I’ll just post the first 7 days like this, and then, well actually I don’t know what I’ll do then.
Meanwhile the boxes with the Cycle Across America journals are right here beside me no longer in storage. Of course they’re sealed and buried under other boxes, and I no longer have anything that plays tapes, but I just might get around to returning to posting that thing very soon. Especially if this rain keeps up.
I’m envious you know. Of the simplicity and the silence.
I think this will make a cracking good journal and I suppose what ever works in terms of when you write it.
I’m more envious of your dog I think, he’s sorta very much in dog nirvana, fires excepting. I think if I knew I’d have a benevolant owner, I wouldn’t mind coming back as a dog!
You have to wonder how the simplicity might lead to repetitiveness though. That’s fine for living, but a chore to read about.
We’ll see how it goes. Unlike the American Cycle, I don’t know how this story ends.