The Cottage - Day 6
I can’t tell anymore if it’s raining or not. It probably doesn’t matter. With no need to cycle to the village the day won’t be another rainwatch.
But I will need to go look for wood.
A still day, the sounds of birds and of collected rainwater dropping. The sun over the sea is battling with the overcast skies above the mainland.
Leading Long Grass with my right hand, and Dog-dog with my left hand, I go in search of wood. As the bike fills up with scraps I let the dog off the leash and I ride as she trots. We move over for the little white van I see most days, and for the postvan heading to the cottage.
In our 3-mile walk collecting wood there are 2 more vehicles we must move off the road to let pass. All 4 vehicles of the day seem to be driven by the same old man.
With the rain receded I peel down to a t-shirt. Although the sun hasn’t reached the cottage it is firmly over the beaches as well as the islands when we get back.
I am watching the waves come in 3 miles away, maybe 4, when I notice on the bog road 3 women walking towards the cottage. If they were actually walking here they’d be here in 20 minutes.
The sun finally reaches the cottage, and prompts me to take off the camera the photos from yesterday’s cycle to the village. There are no photographs there. 20 are gone. The batteries are dead. Looks like I knocked the camera in my pocket, wasting the batteries and somehow pressing the right combination of buttons to delete everything.
That wasn’t just the best photographs so far; it was the most varied. I suppose I’ll be going to the village another time. And the mountains will look their best again. Won’t they?
While watching the waves bash into the cliffs of one of the near islands, I see a wave crash up from the far side. It has to be 50 foot high, maybe much more.
It’s another day dominated by working out how to fix the roof that was supposed to have been fixed. Although re-roofing is what is needed, and was what I believed was happening prior to me moving in, I’m looking at ways to patch on the outside and to reroute the leaks on the inside.
Once water doesn’t drip on the art table I can paint; the rest of the leaks are a nuisance but I just want to paint.
I hear a distant rumble and go outside. A couple of days I have heard an aeroplane but this is nearer. On the bog road, coming from the gap, is what looks like a rubbish truck. Whose rubbish has it been collecting I wonder. Not mine anyway. Most of my rubbish I burn on the fire. The small amount that doesn’t burn I carried into the village yesterday and dropped in a public bin there. It was less than would fill a shoebox.
After a lot of time up a ladder looking at the roof I respond to the landlord and tell that things are great and I see no reason why I can’t make a home here with the dog. Then I tell him how badly the porch roof is still leaking.
Given that I was only coming here on the basis that the roof was going to be fixed, it really should be reason enough to give up on living in the cottage.
If I retreat into the living space proper to paint, things will get rather cramped. There are only the 2 other rooms here apart from the bathroom. A kitchen/living room and a bedroom with a fireplace.
The dog persuades me to go on an after-dinner walk. Except I haven’t had any dinner. But this is the time you would go for an after dinner walk, had you eaten, so I concede. The dog needs to walk off her dinner anyway.
We go out the gap as the clouds above the mountains slowly shift off to wherever clouds go. We walk for a mile and a half before turning back. No cars pass us. As we go past a cottage the door is opened just so the owner can say hello. And he tells me I have a nice little dog. He is the same old man I’ve seen driving every car for miles.
It is one of those times where I keep reminding myself this is real. The sun is readying itself to go down, but throwing out those golden hues before it dims to orange and pink. I am walking in the most magnificent postcard. The scene is spectacular, stretching for over 20 miles. There is no wind. I listen and all I hear are insects and distant streams gently gurgling in the bog below. Under a blue sky, wave after wave of mountains are softly rendered in paling shades of warm yellows and misty oranges. This is my back garden?
The dog is reluctant to walk back the way we came. At first I assume it’s because she doesn’t want the walk to end, but she is very adamant and then I realise why. We had passed a few cows in a small field and the dog was visibly scared of them. I had to drag her back towards them reassuring her that cows are our friends without even knowing what that means. To illustrate our cross-species comaraderie I chat to the cows as I go past. More than I did to the old man at his door, it occurs to me. The dog hurries past.
A short while later passing back through the gap I pick up a piece of turf and put it in my pocket as over our heads sheep can be heard. Descending towards the cottage I look back and see five sheep on the grassy knoll at the very top of the hill the dog and I had hiked up the other day. Why would I not live here?
The walk up our twisting driveway that normally takes 5 minutes now takes 15. Because I can’t stop looking at the views. The sun is now setting. The wind is still non-existant, as are the cars. There is just a couple of birds, and some distance unseen, a cow. The islands are as if painted with smoke.
Back in the cottage the rotten smell of the last couple of days is overpowering after our walk in the fresh air. Really rotten. Like a dead rodent. Once again I do the cursory look for a small carcass, as always with the expectation that if I find it somehow it will leap straight at my face. Strangely, I find nothing.
After putting the kettle on I get an email from the landlord. He will come to the cottage in early October to have a go at trying to seal the roof.
Towards the village against the pink-blue sky, I see the hundreds of starlings that I have seen most evenings, doing what starlings do before they go to bed.
I fry an egg for a sandwich, and before the tea hits the grease on my lips the dog is sound asleep.
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 Scenery Around The Cottage
• 12 Photos not all Mountains and Islands
• My Cycle Across America
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
The multi-vehicle driver could become your best friend - the local knowledge and the transporter of stuff too heavy for Long Grass. You in turn will end up helping him repair fences and pare hooves.
Too heavy for Long Grass? Shushh, keep your voice down or he’ll hear.
Regardless of the rain coming down on the drawing board, it sounds as if contentment is the order of the day, or all days ,for that matter. I’ve checked American Hell, and there hasn’t been a cartoon for better than a month, so I’m hoping there’s less anger in your life these days. Now, if the phone would ring from Merica, things would be nearly perfect for you, yes? We’re thinking of you fondly and with a certain amount of envy—Kevin just observed that since you now have internet access, WE could be living where ever it is you are. Ah, but the cats, I remind him.
The American Hell pause is purely organisational. When I’m set up it only takes minutes to trot those posts out, but being set up includes having the ability to scan the drawings.
The scanner and other equipment is in the 2nd load of stuff to be transported here in a couple of weeks or so. Even then I have to mess with converting American electrics to Irish format before I can start producing. So the posts are ready; I just don’t have the means yet to publish them.
Once I get to that point though I shouldn’t have these breaks again.
And on that internet business. I’m on the EDGE network, so a long way from Broadband. I’m still trying things out and thinking of alternatives, so I’ll hold back on details of it until that’s settled.
A phone call? Yes. It’s over 6 months now.
Martha,
I think I should just have thanked you instead of rattling on about the mechanics of posting on AH, so thank you both very much.