“All in all, it was a never-to-be-forgotten summer — one of those summers which come seldom into any life, but leave a rich heritage of beautiful memories in their going — one of those summers which, in a fortunate combination of delightful weather, delightful friends and delightful doing, come as near to perfection as anything can come in this world.” 

– L.M. Montgomery, Anne's House of Dreams

I put it off as long as possible, this pool thing.  Together with 'planes, trains, and automobiles' water is high on the list of things I abhor.  Being an only child of a non-swimming mother (from an entirely non-swimming clan on both sides) probably took care of any chance I would turn out otherwise.  I have no happy water memories. Cannot even begin to list all the things I dislike and distrust about bodies of water, starting with getting wet. 

I have driven my children to swimming lessons.  I have encouraged them to sign up for camps that involve canoeing and tubing.  Whenever invited, I have happily packed their beach towels and sunscreen and sent them along with friends to swim.  I take pictures of them swimming.  I am a swimming enabler of the highest degree. Just please don't ask me to get in the water. Please.  Especially if you are in the teeniest pink tankini ever made, swaddled in layers of flotation devices, with two bitty pigtails. 

And freckles.  

This time I got in.  It took a good half hour to gradually lower myself into the bracing English water, despite all the directions from the peanut gallery  side of the pool to just jump in. See, I don't generally "jump in" to things easily.  But I do get there in my own time. 

Eleanor Roosevelt said to do one thing every day that scares you. 

Check. 

In fact this has been my motto many days these past two years. The upside being that every day you do that there is one thing that scares you a little bit less. There are lots of ways to die to yourself.  For most of us it is done by this petty martyrdom available to us everyday. Little opportunities to face your fears, to thwart your will, to make someone else happy.  And that it did.  

But it was still cold. 

My ducks in a row.  May you splash with this much joy and abandon all your days. 

We are still trying to figure out the best place to shop for different things.  And how to get there.  And whether or not we can park. I knew I had a couple viable parking options near this particular farmer's market so we made our way to check it out. 

Things we expected to see: 

produce

street performers

flowers

Things we were surprised to see:

Underwear – in nearly inconceivably large sizes and every color of the rainbow.  And not just one vendor either. 

Hardware – like an open air Ace Hardware store. (do they still have those?) Apparently THIS is where you buy that stuff here. 

A duck.  As in what was that?  Oops, excuse me. Oh.  You're a…. duck.  Right there. 

I walked out with a wooden broom (do other people run through metal and plastic ones like we do??) an armful of hydrangeas, and a crepe-y embroidered cotton sundress in a deep rusty color which I hope to pair with a jean jacket as the weather changes.  I may have broken some fashion rules there but I can't pass up Indian cotton. 

Colin bought lunch.  For £3 you can pick up a bacon/egg/double cheeseburger the size of a plate. Kieran tried heroically to finish until I pointed out that he could simply close the lid and carry it home.

Moms.  We solve that sort of crisis just.like.that. ; ) 

"'It was an awkward business, my dear, your spending the autumn at South End instead of coming here. I never had much opinion of the sea air.' 

'Mr Wingfield most strenuously recommended it, sir, or we should not have gone. He recommended it for all the children, but particularly for the weakness in little Bella's throat – the air and the bathing…. Oh my dear sir, her throat is so much better that I have hardly any uneasiness about it… the bathing has been of the greatest service to her.'"

– Emma, Jane Austen

 I have always been intrigued by the way books have portrayed people's hopes and fears about air and water. In some works, from Shakespeare to Laura Ingalls Wilder, there was great suspicion about air quality, particularly night air. By contrast, mountain air and sea air were widely recommended to those suffering from any number of ailments. When all else failed, moving to warmer, coastal climates was often tried when it could be afforded. 

Maybe it is those old books or maybe it is how little time I have spent at the sea in my life that make for my fanciful notions of the shore.  Either way, I had my heart set on an afternoon at the coast now that it is relatively close by.  We ended up at Felixstowe, known for its spa and 'convalescent home' for those seeking therapeutic advantages the local coastal breezes afford. Even today there are wheelchairs pushed up and down the length of the promenade.  Such a difference from our hospital rooms with their sterilized air and tightly secured windows which allow patients to see, but not feel, the air outside.

Anyway, although local opinion seems to be that it is not the loveliest coastal area to visit, I found it all magical. 

Trimming the hedgerow along the farm lane has taken up some days this week. Similar hedges line the country roads throughout this area. They can grow to great heights you can see and are quite dense. A fellow can walk right across the top if he is heading to his favorite roost for the evening. 

Isn't that right, Phil? Phil, the pheasant, of course.  You knew he would be named.

The days have sort of melted into one another lately with 9 of our 10 here.  No time to write during these fleeting moments with my sons. So I am sharing recent street photography til I can catch my breath. : ) 

Fascinated with my new feathered neighbors.