Well my friends it's been a mixed bag of a week, and that's the truth. Family life seems to swing from rather wonderful to completely hideous at the moment, and I'm left fighting for breath and trying to catch up. Part of me is happy for the rain forecast for today. It means that I can stay at home and potter and do. I haven't slept well for what seems like ages, and my energy levels are low. I'm having a relaxy pants day. I'm planning some comforting food for our evening meal, and I'm already looking forward to an evening bath, clean pyjamas and bed with a book (I'm currently this, and rather enjoying it).
As always in times of strife and woe, the landscape of West Cornwall wraps it's rugged arm around me and pulls me close. Up the hill on Wednesday after tea, I played hide and seek with Olly. It was a glorious evening; warm and still. The sheep and their babies were grazing on the tough grass, and the buzzards were soaring high overhead. We spotted rabbits, and there were a few common blue butterflies flitting over the day-glo yellow gorse.
It occurred to me as I looked down upon the landscape below, that to some it must look barren and rather dull. There are no trees for one thing. They only thrive in the valleys and more sheltered parts of the area. Standing on the hill, you can see the bay of St Ives on one side, and the bay of Penzance on the other. It is a narrow peninsula, and the landscape has been shaped and defined by the weather fronts that come in from the sea, and sweep over it, battering anything but the most hardy into submission. Gorse, ferns and heather dominate here. The wild flowers that thrive are those that can form a carpet of ground hugging and incongruous display; dog violets, spurge, stitchwort, celandines and the like. Their beauty can only be appreciated by close examination, which normally involves laying close to the ground for inspection.
The landscape is strewn with rocks. Giant boulders randomly scattered over time hewn from tough, indomitable granite. These too have been shaped and moulded by the weather over thousands of years. When I lean against these beautiful beasts, or run my hand along them, they are unyielding and yet warm to the touch. They offer up a real feeling of safety when I am feeling scared and undone. I can trust that they will always be there. Standing proud, jutting out from the ground. And although they may look drab, on closer inspection they are a myriad of colours. From bluish grey to sparkling silvers. Their colours change with the light, and they seem to glow in the golden hour of the day's end.
The landscape is scored throughout by the stone boundaries of fields, created by the people who have farmed this area for generations. Some of them are ancient. They are exquisite works of art. They signify toil and labour. They enclose animals and crops. Their construction has always fascinated me, and they too, have this tactile quality that makes me want to reach out and run my hand along them. They support the existence of lichen, ferns, mosses and other small plants. They are a living, breathing thing.
Throughout my life I have always felt slightly out of place. I never felt like I truly fitted in. Being shy didn't help. Nor did the pink National Health glasses with a patch over one of the lenses. Even my skin didn't fit, as I lurched from childhood into adolescence and the free fall of adulthood. I have experienced truly awful periods of blackness and despair, and wondered whether I'd ever function as a human being again. I cannot claim success in any shape or form. I get up and greet the day, and hope that it will be a good one. And oftentimes it is. It is normal and unassuming, and I am perfectly contented and happy with it. But sometimes it isn't, and then I find that I am doubting myself in every conceivable way. It's just not always enough to be a nice person, who just wants the best for others, and a quiet life for herself. It's just not always enough to be who you are.
But this landscape, this adopted home of mine, assures me again and again that what can at first appear to be rather unpromising is actually wonderfully varied with a beautiful honesty. It bows its' head to the incoming storm and has learned to thrive despite everything. And maybe you need to take a closer look to appreciate it. Take your time to see what lies beneath. It's worth it though. There's magic there, and a depth of colour painted in layer after layer. The landscape fits me like a glove, and assures me that all will be well. That I can yield to the incoming storm without fear. I am thankful to be held in its' embrace.
Wishing you all a wonderful weekend.
Leanne xxx
The landscape of the Cornish coast is always breathtaking. How fantastic that you can go and wander in it after tea, it must be wonderful to have it always there. Your photos are gorgeous, your words are in a league of their own. You evoke it so beautifully and express yourself so very well. I had was shy too, and I had the same glasses. I hear you. CJ xx
ReplyDeleteSuch beautiful words Leanne, like you I love the more barren landscapes of Cornwall. We will be moving to a rugged area that others may think is bleak but there is much beauty if you look carefully. I hope your week will be kinder to you. xx
ReplyDeleteGorgeous skies Leanne, been trapped at work for four days missing them. Cricket tomorrow though!
ReplyDeleteHave just read your previous post and this one. Crikey, you're a good writer Leanne. (And I say that as one who has read a lot of very average manuscripts by published authors.) I empathise with all you've written and send you good wishes via the ether. The landscape where you are is marvellous and I'm glad it gives you comfort. Hope you have a super-relaxing weekend. Sam Xx
ReplyDeleteThis post might be one of the best you've ever written, Leanne (and there have been many wonderful ones!). It is a privilege to live in a place that speaks to ones' heart, a privilege we both are fortunate enough to experience. One of the gifts of getting older is becoming more and more comfortable with that slightly out of place feeling you describe. I have lived with it my whole life, but it rarely leaves me feeling discombobulated now that I'm in my late fifties.
ReplyDeleteI didn't have glasses, but I had virtually every reason in the world to feel like you did. I really enjoyed your post today. I think it's beautiful where you live and a lot like where I live in that, at first glance, it seems like a barren, uninteresting landscape. But if you look closer, there's a lot more. I'm glad your home makes you feel good. I think that's the best thing anyone can hope for, that the place where they live brings them comfort and peace.
ReplyDeleteYour writing just keeps getting better and better; and it was good to begin with. I had thick, thick glasses and at times, one side had a patch too and other kids are so kind, NOT. It sounds like you've found where you need to be, a place that feeds you emotionally.
ReplyDeleteWe ended up in a place that once upon a time I hated and now I know I never want to leave.
A really beautifully written and expressive post my friend. Xx
ReplyDeleteHow can you question your blogging when you write such profound pieces as this. Yes the landscape truly puts everything into perspective and how humbling it it. Hope you are enjoying a chill out comfort day. B xx
ReplyDeleteSuch glorious prose, Leanne. I think many of us, myself definitely included, experience that 'failing to fit in' feeling. It's never very nice but these days I try my best to just shrug it off. I like the sound of your relaxy pants day. xx
ReplyDeleteAnother wonderful piece of writing Leanne. Take care and enjoy your weekend. Alex xx.
ReplyDeleteWere it not for the glimpses of the sea I could have believed you'd been on a visit to Dartmoor. It's the sheer weight of that sort of landscape isn't it, the strength of it. The sea ebbs and flows but those boulders will be there much longer than us. It speaks to me too. Great post Leanne.
ReplyDeleteI hear you and feel the same way about my local landscape too. It is part of me. And the strangest thing is I live 25 miles from London but I walk or cycle half a mile up the road and I see no one. I am in ancient woodland and it is wonderful. On Friday I sat on a log close to a well-worked badger sett. It was about 5pm and I hoped I had a chance of seeing badger Cubs. No photographs, just witnessing the natural world going about its daily life with its exits and its entrances. I'm going through a horrible phase - of entirely my own making - and I'm walking long and hard every day and immersing myself in nature which is the only way I know to banish the black. But it will pass. I took a wrong turning, perhaps due to delayed grief after I lost my parents and children (well the children to university, but I still felt bereft) in a little over a year. I've been working so hard to get everything back on track but I'm so tired with the effort of it all. The last seven months have been truly horrible - I'm hoping it will soon be over. I lost sight of who I was - maybe compounded by blogging which is why I'm taking a break from it. To thine own self be true, and I'm not sure if blogging and other forms of social media are particularly healthy for some of us. This is becoming deep and analytical but I would be interested to know more. I've never compared myself to others and always been my own person and sometimes in the carefully edited, cropped and backlit world of blogging we are not really seeing the whole picture and it can make us feel unhappy with our own lives. Life is not perfect - ever. It's how we cope with the imperfect bits than make us real - and happy. I come here for your photos of West Penwith, an area very close to my heart and I'm sorry if this comment is too much. We're heading for the sea today - our exact destination a secret but as its high tide around lunchtime I will be swimming not paddling, waving not drowning.
ReplyDeleteHey Sarah,
DeleteFirstly thank you for such an honest and rather humbling reply. I am so sorry to hear that you have been struggling. It can be truly awful. I have found immersing myself in the natural world has helped me to reconnect with a sense of self as much as anything else. I must say that I have made some real and deep connections with quite a few fellow bloggers. They have become friends in many ways. Even though we don't see each other in the traditional sense, their support, solidarity and humour are very dear to me. I do understand the cropped effect that can come from social media; it has frustrated me from time to time. I made a conscious decision last year to only follow those blogs that were important to me. Every now and again I come across a new one, but I'm content with the community that I've found and feel part of.
I'm glad that you can visit my blog and enjoy West Penwith by proxy. I really hope that you enjoyed your time beside the sea. I wish you love and joy, my friend.
Leanne xx
Looking forwaed to your return to blogging Sarah. I hope you get some relief very soon.
DeleteHi Sarah, (apologies to Leanne for crashing in here!) I love your blog and hope you will carry on when you're ready. I hope you are ok - I had noticed your absence and wondered if all was well. It's an odd thing, blogging, but I think we do make real connections with people which I find hugely worthwhile. Anyway! Sending very best wishes. Sam x
ReplyDeleteYour Cornish landscape that you call home is so scenic and there is so much beauty, even in the barren and rugged parts. No wonder that it inspires you to write so beautifully and just think of the wonderful memories you are making for young Olly. xx
ReplyDeleteHi Leanne. The image of a barren rugged Cornish landscape pulling you close and wrap its arms around you is truly beautiful and will stay with me for a long time. I hope you have been able to enjoy a peaceful weekend. Sending you love, my friend. Christina xx
ReplyDeleteYour writing gets better and better Leanne; don't doubt yourself. Hope you resolve family problems soon.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully written, beautiful description of the sheer bloody mindedness of life and landscape! Bravo, Leanne, bravo!
ReplyDeleteThere is something magical about that landscape and the way it reaches out to you.. it must have been fun playing hide and sick with Ollie there. Sarah x
ReplyDeleteLeanne, I have trouble fitting in now due to going deaf........life gets harder when you can't communicate. I am still managing with hearing aids, but I get so embarrassed by people having to repeat things 3 times. You have such a lovely way with words and I love your photos.
ReplyDeleteI'm always a bit in awe of your local landscape, it's so wild and dramatic. I find I'm missing the ruggedness and rocks of the Yorkshire dales and am learning to appreciate the softer, rolling, wooded beauty of the south downs. Excellent words and photos as always Leanne. And I think you are definitely enough as you are. :-) xx
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