My Village, my World!

Our Village

This is our village, home for the last 18 years. Our house is in the middle of the photograph. If you click for a closer view you just may see Jo our gander in the garden! We are surrounded by farms and the majority of the neighbours have a large plot, just as we do. Over the next few weeks we will be seeing the fruits of our harvests. 3 apple trees will provide apple wine, cider, chutneys. The Elderberry trees will become our Elderberry wine and winter warmer recipes, the damsons will be used for jam and again wine. My veg plot is coming along too. The tomatoes are coming along well and ofcourse our big addition is going to be the chicken enclosure. I am quite excited about this! Although we have kept chickens in the past it was the taste of our neighbours chicken's eggs which re-kindled the memories of lovely poached eggs for breakfast. I have been looking after their garden whilst they have been away, watering etc etc so it was fun to imagine getting some of our own. There is still a lot of preparation to do, involving fitting some screening wire up, getting the redundant shed looking like a hen des res and I want to build a big composting area at the bottom of the paddock........I will keep you informed! We are quite content in our little spot! It is a wonderful little piece of heaven, so very quiet yet so resourceful.

Home by Edgar Guest It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home, A heap o' sun an' shadder, an' ye sometimes have t' roam Afore ye really 'preciate the things ye lef' behind, An' hunger fer 'em somehow, with 'em allus on yer mind. It don't make any differunce how rich ye get t' be, How much yer chairs an' tables cost, how great yer luxury; It ain't home t' ye, though it be the palace of a king, Until somehow yer soul is sort o' wrapped round everything. Home ain't a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute; Afore it's home there's got t' be a heap o' livin' in it; Within the walls there's got t' be some babies born, and then Right there ye've got t' bring 'em up t' women good, an' men; And gradjerly as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn't part With anything they ever used they've grown into yer heart: The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore Ye hoard; an' if ye could ye'd keep the thumb-marks on the door. Ye've got t' weep t' make it home, ye've got t' sit an' sigh An' watch beside a loved one's bed, an' know that Death is nigh; An' in the stillness o' the night t' see Death's angel come, An' close the eyes o' her that smiled, an' leave her sweet voice dumb. Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an'when yer tears are dried, Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an' sanctified; An' tuggin' at ye always are the pleasant memories O' her that was an' is no more ye can't escape from these. Ye've got t' sing an' dance fer years, ye've got t' romp an' play, An' learn t' love the things ye have by usin' 'em each day; Even the roses 'round the porch must blossom year by year Afore they 'come a part o' ye, suggestin' someone dear Who used t' love 'em long ago, an' trained 'em jes t' run The way they do, so's they would get the early mornin' sun; Ye've got t' love each brick an' stone from cellar up t' dome: It takes a heap o' livin' in a house t' make it home. For more worlds visit here