The Gift of CV?

Particularly during this difficult time, when most of us are having to stay at home, or ‘self-isolate’, either for fear of infection, or because of infection, or Government instruction, some will want to seek reassurance in the face of deep anxiety. Some will be working extremely hard – we think of our health workers and shop keepers and assistants. Others will continue to work from home. Some of us will become ill, either on account of this virus or some other disease, and for whom we offer prayer. And some of us will die, as must we all one day. As the Book of Common Prayer says

In the midst of life we are in death;
Of whom may we seek for succour, but of thee, O Lord

Nevertheless, one benefit of our ‘isolation’ is the slowing of life, and with that comes the availability of time. Time. That mysterious quality that invisibly delineates all we do. Relentless and unstoppable, tock after tick in a never-ending movement as we spin our way around our star. So unlike us (unstoppable), and yet like us (unstoppable). Many of us live such ‘fast’ lives these days, by which we mean ‘busy’, that there is little time to pause and experience time. And when we do, it doesn’t take long before many of us are ‘bored’, or at a loss as to what to do. Now we are forced to stop and the experience can be terrifying. We find ourselves at unease with ourselves, and perhaps strangers with those with whom we live and have taken for granted for so long. Excessive time, if unfocussed, can lead to all sorts of negative consequences, such as worry, shortness of temper, increased anxiety, loneliness, and ultimately depression.

But time focussed can lead to enormous benefits, such as the re-discovery of recreation that we once knew as children, in the days when we had time: the intellectual or emotional stimulus of reading, even reading aloud to each other or our children (my 24-year old daughter still asks me to read to her); the inspiration and wonder of good music; dusting down an old instrument and teaching our fingers to remember distant moves; digging out that forgotten painting set or drawing pencils and tentatively touching a blank sheet for the first time since when? Coming into Spring, as we are, means all the birds are starting to sing, so we can listen, and learn to recognise the different birds we’ve heard all our lives, but never known, by their music as well as their colour and jizz.

That’s the wise thrush;
He sings each song twice over
Lest you thought he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture.
(Robert Browning)

The Open University also offers nearly a thousand free online courses lasting from just an hour to in excess of 50. What an extraordinary opportunity to explore and learn and understand. What a gift.

And then there is prayer – that deep well of stillness into which God invites each of us to rest in his presence. Prayer is the Sabbath. It is the Seventh Day of creation – the first day of human existence, and the day of God’s Rest. It is not so much an activity as an abiding. This is the one place where anxiety is quelled, dissipated, and evaporates in the warmth of a love so profound…

Wadi Bani Khalid, Oman (c) Sam Gao 2015

There are a few new pages on the menu above to help those who may be interested in exploring prayer further, especially in the context of this viral outbreak. Please do have a look.

Prayer

A brief summary so far…

It has been a long while since anything was posted concerning our attempts to work with this land on which we live. Silence has been kept through our many and various experiments, which have mainly resulted in disappointment. Of course failure teaches us much about the land, the ecosystem, and ourselves. Perhaps the time has come to briefly review the last 5 or so years. So here is a summary of some of the things we have tried.

The polytunnel is by far and away the most productive space on our land, although it does require a lot of time input. In one sense it is a cheat, since it creates its own eco-bubble, shielded and isolated from the wind, rain, and temperatures outside and intensifying the sun’s heat inside. Temperatures frequently reach the mid-30s, even 40+ degC when outside it is 17-18degC. Of course it is still subject to the same cold at night, day length and sunshine hours, but the difference is sufficient to allow plants to thrive. Nor, of course, is it maintenance free; two years ago we had to replace the plastic covering and most of the wooden frames and doors. That was a lot of work!

All our raw kitchen waste is composted over a year and then spread on the beds in the polytunnel. Throughout the summer, fresh grass cuttings are spread as a 2-3in. mulch over the beds, which is very effective at suppressing weed growth while slowly adding fertility to the soil beneath. We have installed a drip-feed irrigation system that was intended to be driven by harvested rainwater. However, there was insufficient head in the reservoir to drive the water through the pipes, so now it runs off the mains supply. Nevertheless, this allows us to use rings of dry wood ash around young plants as an effective slug deterrent. Lots of strawberries are grown in here, and garlic, leeks, onions, tomatoes, broccoli, courgettes, crooked-neck squash, aji peppers, loads of legumes including peas, sugar snaps, mange-tout, French beans, herbs etc, as well as some flowers. We have a vine in there that is becoming more productive each year – a single gallon of wine is waiting to be bottled, still slowly fermenting. We did have a pond to encourage frogs for slug control but, despite transferring quantities of frogspawn each spring, they rarely took up residence, although there are a few hiding around the place. The pond is now dry.

Outside, we have about 7 apple trees, mostly on (not ideal) dwarfing rootstock that were here when we arrived, and a couple of productive Victoria plums. There are a couple of Bramley eaters, a Chivers, a Falstaff and a few James Greaves. As they blossom at different times it means we usually have a reasonably crop on at least a few of them, although the Chivers, while very tasty, suffers repeatedly from scab, sometimes quite severely. We hold a community apple pressing day each year at the beginning of October for anyone in the area and a number of folk come to that. From our own, and any apples that are given or left over, we make cider using natural yeasts and fermentation, although we do add a keeving stage to produce a medium dry, slightly sparkling cider. This year (2019 harvest) we only have about 20l (~40 bottles) still slowly fermenting in the cool outdoor kitchen, having been racked twice, and waiting to be bottled. It has improved over the years, requiring a degree of commitment to drink the early attempts!

And lots of blackcurrants – they do really well here and are one of the few plants producing edible fruit that need little encouragement. Elderberries used to be harvestable but are now taken by the birds before they have a chance to ripen. We have made wine from these also, although this was more useful as a cooking ingredient!

Jerusalem artichokes grow reasonably well in the outdoor raised beds, as does horseradish and comfrey. Unfortunately the former do not agree with my digestive system, so they continue to grow unharvested! The rhubarb produces abundantly each year as well, thriving in its very sheltered spot behind the tool shed, and giving us a delicious crop for a few months.

We built Hugel beds (after Sepp Holzer – see an earlier post) and tried growing vegetables outside on them, but they were ravaged by caterpillars and we lost everything, despite covering them with netted frames. The asparagus withered in the wet wind, until, several years later, there is one struggling on. The beds have now sunk and the branches in them, which take years to rot down, are an obstacle to planting. They were a lot of work to build and we have not seen any of the claimed benefits.

Last year we had a fantastic crop of hazel/cob nuts on around 10 bushes, almost all of which we planted seven years ago, most nurtured from kernels. It seemed like, at last, something was going to produce in abundance. When we came to harvest in September I found around 5 left, hidden. Grey squirrels had taken the lot before they were even ripe.

We used to have chickens and my wife was very successful at breeding Marans that produced amazing deep brown eggs with a rich orange yolk. So tasty. We gave up about three years ago after almost all of them were killed by stoats and mink, both of which we have seen in our orchard where the chickens roamed. We had endured stoats and foxes over the years, and built a large netted enclosure, both to keep the chickens safe from them and the crows from entering the shed and stealing the eggs (we saw them flying out with eggs in their beaks! Each day they would listen for the hens clucking, signalling another egg had been laid, and land on the roof of the shed, watching to ensure no-one was around, before hopping down and in through the hatch. Such clever birds!). But then the stoats found a way in under the floor and gradually diminished the flock, severing heads from bodies.

We also built and stocked a fish pond (~40yds x 25yds x 9ft) that we are managing naturally and trying to encourage wildlife. The idea was permaculturally based, looking at the land and our climate, and thinking how could we work with it to produce food in a gentle way. We have an abundance of clay and rain = pond = fish. After much research we settled on a combination of species. It was stocked with common carp (omnivorous, abundant and edible, but not very flavoursome) and perch (carnivorous to keep carp population healthy and balanced, small but very tasty) to establish a beneficial, competitive ecosystem, non-breeding grass carp (for weed management), and swan mussels (for water filtration). We have seen some great successes with an abundance of damsel flies, dragonflies, even emperor dragonflies, frogs, toads and newts breeding. We have now well established reed beds (Phragmites australis) and rush beds (Typha latifolia), which has gloriously resulted in sedge warblers taking up breeding residence for the last two years. And otters. These have absolutely decimated our fish population to the extent there is now nothing left. I have spent hours watching for fry, or any signs of fish life. Nothing now for the last two years. So demoralising. The pond is now overcrowded with thick, suffocating carpet of bog pondweed (Potamogeton polygonifolius). The otters don’t visit any more, either…

We kept a couple of old sows for a number of years, one British Saddleback (Rosy) and the other a Gloucester Old Spot/Tamworth? cross (Ginger). The hope was they would eat/uproot the rushes (Juncas effusus), which saturate our land, and prepare it for planting without using fossil fuel. Another permacultural idea. They were delightful characters with whom I loved spending time, and who equally delighted in human company! But the land became an utter quagmire over the winter, lost any sense of soil structure, and all the rushes remained untouched. The pigs were so unhappy sinking into the cold mud. Of course we had to feed them as there was no nutrition in the land and we have no oak trees for acorns. That was very expensive, and as their nutritional requirements are virtually the same as ours only on a much larger scale, made little sense in seeking a sustainable system for living. So we kept them effectively as pets for several years before saying goodbye to them. They were getting elderly, still in good health, but there were occasional signs of arthritis, and we couldn’t afford to feed them, so we had them peacefully slaughtered here on site and they knew nothing about it. We had them butchered but the meat was not great – pork is still seldom on our menu now!

I tried Fukuoka’s ideas for planting wheat (One Straw Revolution) by placing reclaimed cardboard boxes spread out over rushes and grass, embedding the seeds in small balls of soil and spreading them over the cardboard (~20yds x 5yds), covering with manure, compost and soil, topped with 8 inches of scythed and dried rushes. But I was being watched by the corvids. Each morning I would come out and find 20-30 crows, rooks, jackdaws and pigeons sifting through my plot. Despite attempts to chase them off, needless to say, nothing grew. Except the rushes under the cardboard, which pushed back through. Another attempt crossed off the list!

People that know say beans and oats are the best things to grow on heavy, wet soil. Tried it. Nothing. Same with potatoes – plant one, get one! Carrots. Peas. Even turnips! Trying to get anything to grow above hand-dug plot scale in a small field has been a fruitless exercise. Other locals say their grandfathers said nothing will grow north of Hethersgill apart from rushes! Seems they were right.

We have tried so many different techniques with respect to planting, growing, nurturing, but it seems this land has a reluctance to produce anything edible. We have attempted agroforestry, and indeed still have a lot of willow growing, but animals and trees don’t mix until the trees are well established and out of reach of the animals. In the meantime, protecting them from the browsers is very expensive.

We’ve been trying to keep bees in a ‘barefoot’ manner for around 10 years now, (Top Bar Hives, and more recently in Langstroth and Nationals) and they, too, struggle to survive without intervention. I’ve tried Carniolan, British Black and Buckfast bees at different times. I’ve taken maybe 10lbs of honey from them in that time and I’ve lost count of how many colonies have died through the years. Perhaps it’s because the forage is so poor in this area? Perhaps we, as westerners, have overbred our bees and they are now so inbred they have lost the ability to naturally adapt to changing climates? I suspect my one remaining colony (Buckfast) will not have survived this winter as it was so weak at the end of last season. My other colony shockingly starved to death in August last year after I took some honey from them in July – it was too late when I realised and tried to feed them. Who would have thought that was possible in late summer…

Forest gardens are another failed effort, and this list goes on… We have a very particular mix of heavy, poorly draining clay soils (even with field drains installed), a lot of rain and wind, short growing seasons and relatively low summer temperatures that poses a unique challenge. We’re still working on trying to find what works here – apart from rushes and native trees (willow, birch, alder etc), that will provide us with a sustainable food source while being a blessing to creation and allowing it to thrive.

So at the moment we are left with a small flock of Shetland sheep and an ageing Haflinger pony. The sheep are hardy, small, and with wonderful fleeces which we shear by hand (about 3/4 hr per sheep, compared to the 6 minutes of the professionals!). However, because the land is so wet, we have to give them a rotating cocktail of flukicide every six weeks to try and prevent them contracting liver fluke, which is carried in snails eggs and ingested when sheep eat infected grass. We would rather not do this, but two of our three pregnant ewes lost their lambs two years ago because of it, while the third very nearly died after giving birth because she was so weakened by the disease. So routine fluking is essential to help them survive. The reward, however, is the joy of seeing new lambs skipping and chasing each other around the fields each spring, and the best and tastiest lamb in the country 18 months later! Grass does grow here, much more productively than vegetables or plant-based proteins, and sheep are the most efficient way of converting this into an edible food accessible to us all year. Vegetarianism, it seems, becomes more of a consumer lifestyle choice the further north one lives, rather than a way of living from the land, as exemplified in the extreme case of those living inside the Arctic Circle, where the diet is almost entirely meat based.

So we seem to have come full circle round to the way the land is managed here by the local farmers, although still not using herbicides and fertiliser. But even growing grass requires the use of a tractor to harrow out the moss in the spring, cut back the rushes several times a year to allow the grass to find the light, and to cut for hay in our short windows of anticipated dry weather. It takes five days of sun to kill the grass once cut to make hay – a rare phenomenon here, and impossible to do on your own by hand. So, it seems, a tractor (and thus fossil fuel) is essential just to keep sheep.

This winter’s excitement revolves around a barn owl that has taken to roosting here. We have seen it a couple of times but have discovered fresh barn-owl pellets at several locations around our barns. We are very much hoping they will take up residence in one of our two barn-owl boxes. We are watching with the aid of a wildlife camera to verify.

And so we carry on, in search of a way to be a blessing to this land while being blessed by it, as St Cuthbert did before us…

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

Apple Pressing 2018

Everyone seems to have an abundance of apples this year, many of which have ripened early. If you still have apples, our pressing day this year is on Saturday 13th October, 2-4pm in the New Barn at Greenholme, Bewcastle. Everyone welcome. Bring your own apples if you have any you would like to juice, or just come along to help. Refreshments available (apple juice and tea!). Suitable for all ages.

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

Apple Pressing 2017

Another year in the round and another apple pressing day. This year it’s on Saturday 14th October, 1-4pm at Greenholme, Bewcastle. Everyone welcome. Bring your own apples if you have any you would like to juice, or just come along to help. Refreshments available (apple juice and tea!). Suitable for all ages.

Activities

Apple Day 2016

Well what a great time we had! Juice everywhere, sticky fingers, mucky clothes, mashed apple and wasps! It was good to welcome new faces as well as old. Tea and apple cake and music and apple juice for all, and so many apples. We were going constantly, non-stop from 2pm til well after 5pm and we still had hundreds of apples unpressed at the end. Washing, chopping, milling, pressing. Everyone left with bottles and bottles, weary and happy.

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The humble apple, Malus domstica, is traditionally the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden, probably through word association in the Latin – malus is also Latin for ‘evil’ (as in ‘malice’) – during the early centuries of Christianity. Renaissance pictures of Christ as a child often depict him holding, or taking, an apple as a symbol of the sin from which he came to cleanse the world.

Bramantino, Madonna and Child, pre 1508

Here, in north Cumbria, it is one of the few trees that is happy to have have a go at putting down its roots into our heavy, wet soil and, providing it isn’t nipped by a May frost, yielding us wonderful, edible fruit – perhaps this is part of its redemption?

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

Apple Pressing Day – 1st October 2016

Saturday, 1st October, 2pm to 5pm, apple juicing at Greenholme, Bewcastle.

Bring along your surplus apples that you would like to be juiced, and some clean containers to hold the juice, such as empty milk containers. If you have a surplus that you do not want for yourself, bring them along anyway and share the fun!

Even if you don’t have any apples of your own, come along and join us for tea and cake.

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

A success at last? Learning how to sing

Trying to listen to our land and find ways of enalbing it to sing while providing for us is proving to be difficult. Constant rain, heavy waterlogged but thin soils, stiff clay subsoils, cold temperatures, limited sunshine, strong winds, short growing season and rushes with thick, deep roots explain why the only crop farmers attempt to grow around Bewcastle is grass. And even for that, fertilisers and glyphosate herbicides are systematically used. Nevertheless, here we are at the beginning of June, three weeks from the summer solstice, and the farmers have yet to turn their cattle out of the byres after their winter sojourn – the ground remains sodden and the grass reluctant to grow. More wind and rain is forecast.

Numerous experiments we have attempted in trying to work with the land have ended in a failure to produce any worthwhile crop so far. Apart from second-season willows that were coppiced after their first year, the orchard, the polytunnel and the raised beds remain the only ‘productive’ areas at Greenholme. These, of course, are relatively controlled environments where the land has been heavily modified.

In the summer of our first year here (2013) we built three ponds. One (the largest) was a ‘restoration’ of an ancient flax pond that had become overgrown, the second was dug out of an unproductive slope, and the third was little more than a ‘scrape’ in a permanently wet and boggy corner of a field. None were artificially lined, all utilised the natural clay subsoil as the water-impervious barrier. All are filled naturally, either from rainfall only (wildlife pond), or rainfall plus intercepted field drains. We have no flowing water on site (although the River White Lynne flows along our border), but we do have over 1200mm of rain a year (note that is 1.2m of water over every square metre of land!). All ponds were ‘inoculated’ with water and plants taken from a local natural pond a few miles away, to seed the invertebrate and macrophyte populations. The margins of each were also planted with Phragmites australis (common reed) and Typha latifolia (reedmace) obtained from a northern nursery.

Main Pond

Main pond – 3m at its deepest with an island

Middle or 'Nursery' Pond

Middle or ‘nursery’ pond – up to 2m deep

Wildlife Pond

Wildlife pond looking northwest

The third pond was intended for wildlife. We hoped it would fill to the brim, since the site was permanently wet even through the dry summer of the previous year, and overflow down to the nursery pond. In point of fact it has never filled to a depth of greater than about 12 inches, the limit of the clay. Thus the vertical edge around the pond demonstrates the thickness (thinness) of the soil over the clay. Above this level the water seeps into the surrounding soil.

The pond is at the highest point of our land and has no natural inflow other than a few metres around it and the rain that falls on its surface. However, unlike the other two, it suffered from clay in suspension that has never settled. Turbidity remained so high, even after 18 months, that light could only penetrate the top few inches of water. As a consequence, almost none of the introduced macrophytes have survived.

Perpetual turbidity in the wildlife pond

Perpetual turbidity in the wildlife pond – February 2015

Light only penetrates the top 2 inches or so

Light only penetrates the top 2 inches or so

Of all the macrophytes introduced, only Bog pondweed (Potamogeton polygonifolius) struggles on

Of all the macrophytes introduced, only bog pondweed (Potamogeton polygonifolius) struggles on

This was an inauspicious start for encouraging wildlife! Clay in suspension will never settle out due to the nature of the electrostatic charges on the surface of the clay minerals and their incredibly small size. Most solutions to the problem involve introducing a flocculating agent (usually the sulphate of calcium, magnesium or aluminium) that cancels out the electrostatic charges and enables the clay particles to clump together until they are large enough for the force of gravity to act upon them.

One form of organic treatment is by the introduction of hay. As the hay decays in the water it releases organic acids whose free hydrogen ions are thought to neutralise the negative charges on the surface of the clay particles. This allows them to flocculate naturally since they no longer repel each other. The decomposition of organic matter utilises disolved oxygen (DO) in the water, so the process can be detrimental to active pond life. For this reason it is best undertaken over the winter months when, although decomposition of the hay will be much slower due to the low temperatures, there is little organic demand on DO from aquatic life.

Before adding hay we took a sample of the pond water and applied the vinegar test. This simulates the release of organic acids to see if the hay is likely to have an effect. After two to three days the turbidity had not changed, and no settling out had taken place. In other words, it looked like the hay treatment would not work.

Nevertheless, nothing was to be lost, so in February 2015 an old square bale of hay was divided and distributed around both the nursery and wildlife ponds.

For several months, there was no observable difference. But as the temperature slowly increased, so decomposition gradually accelerated. At last, at the end of May, the effects were clearly visible, and, for the first time since the wildlife pond was built, it’s bottom could be seen!

Slowly decomposing hay, and the pond bottom at last visible

Slowly decomposing hay, and the pond bottom at last visible.

Newly introduced common water crowfoot (Ranunculus aquatilis) is beginning to thrive in the now clear water

Newly introduced common water crowfoot (Ranunculus aquatilis) is beginning to thrive in the now clear water.

Common water crowfoot and emerging reedmace (Typha latifolia) cast their shadows on the now visible pond bed.

Common water crowfoot and emerging reedmace (Typha latifolia) cast their shadows on the now visible pond bed.

Newly planted lady's mantle (Alchemilla mollis) next to floating sweetgrass (Glyceria fluitans), emerging common reed (Phragmites australis) and the bog pondweed (Potomageton polygonifolius)

Newly planted lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis) next to floating sweetgrass (Glyceria fluitans), emerging common reed (Phragmites australis) and the bog pondweed (Potomageton polygonifolius).

So now, perhaps, aquatic life will have a chance to establish itself and learn to sing God’s praise in so doing.

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

1st Swallows

Our first swallows arrived today, Thursday 16th April, exactly the same date as last year (2014), and 3 days earlier than 2013 (19th April).

Resting after a long, long journey...

Resting after a long, long journey…

Today also heralded the arrival of the first willow warblers, filling the hedgerows with song, and all travelling from the same part of the world.

The fly honeysuckle is also now in full leaf and the rowan and elder are not far behind. This year we are attemtping to record the first day on which the first leaf on each species of tree is fully opened. This is useful information for helping keep track of trends in changes of seasonality.

The Woodland Trust are running the nature’s calendar survey, an observation record that extends back to the 1600s. It accepts anyone’s observations of key events of several major species of tree, shrub, flower, grasss, bird, insect, amphibian and fungi. We will be contributing to it this year for the first time. It would be good to hear of anyone else who has been doing, or is going to do the same.

Spring recording sheet

Spring recording sheet

Also provided as downloads are a very helpful guide with descriptions and pictures of what to look for and how to identify the index species, as well as a planner that indicates the seasonal window in which to expect to make the various observations.

Spring planner

Spring planner

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture

Easter Hillwalking

There is a mother on a hill. Her brow and back are bent like haggard wiry grass on a wild, wet moor. She stands in a dark place with a torn veil at her feet. A cracked stone is beside her, an old tree is before her, thunder clouds boom and billow far above her. She has spent her whole life walking up this hill. Many are behind her, following in her footsteps. Only one is before her.

She has been following him at a discreet distance, for thirty long years. Along the way he hungered but fed thousands, he thirsted but called to others to come to him and drink, he was weary but in him others found rest. And she, behind him, has carried the burden of a care that she cannot share. When he was lost, she could not find him, because she was lost. When she called to him, he did not hear her, because she did not yet have any words. When they crucified him, she could not save him, because she was already dead. Hers was the sacrifice of a mother who must let sacrifices happen. Because she was most blessed, she was most cursed. She was the mother of a God who was born to die.

Though the world rejoiced with her at his birth, so too was it doomed to weep with her at his death.

The torn veil at her feet is crumpled like discarded swaddling blankets or bandages. Veils like these have always existed. She has always seen them. They are the heavy curtains that separate heaven and earth. They are the misty thin, ethereal gauze beyond which voices whisper but cannot be understood. All through his life, the veils in which the world is draped have been fluttering as the mysteries of the otherworld draw near. They fluttered at the wedding when the wine ran dry and only water could be found. They fluttered when the nets were empty and the silver backed sea erupted with the glittering fins of fish. They fluttered for the lepers, the blind, the deaf, the bleeding and the lame. All these years, heaven and earth have been drawing close, contained in him but not yet released. In his life she has seen glimpses of the true shape of things. She has seen glimpses of things un-severed from their purposes and from one another. At his birth she knew that he contained those two worlds as one within him. Distantly, she always knew that for that miracle to be shared, he would have to be broken apart, like new bread from an oven, or a fresh egg taken from the nest, or a lamb wet from the womb, carried down from the hills and up to the city.

How could such a wonder be slaughtered? How could one cut apart the one place where heaven and earth met, and pull down the one altar that stood uncorrupted in a defiled temple. He who walked freely between worlds, he who alone knew the true dimensions of things, knew their names and their faces, their unspoken words and their precise places. He for whom there were no veils, he, who in equal measure and equal ease, was at one moment standing amid the bells of the lepers where no one would walk, and in the next was wandering in ancient times with Abraham and Isaac as they toiled up that same hill in order to make their sacrifice.

It is the hill we all walk, the mother knew. We climb its crags and steep rocky paths – to find he has gone before us. Pilgrims with our burdens, with our hearts laid heavy with death, each of us walks up the hill at this precise moment, only to find him already here; the sacrifice already made, and the whole world his altar. That was the keenness of the sword in her heart – it was not just his willingness to climb this hill, it was that he climbed it once, a thousand times, and always, so that no creature that ever toiled to the summit would have to raise that knife to cut into their own heart. Every Isaac could live. Every Abraham could rejoice. Apart from her of course. But she, at least, could rejoice in the knowledge that she was the last Abraham that would have to make the sacrifice of a heart, a child, shattered upon the mountaintop.

We toil up a hill. There is a mother before us. Her brow and back are bent like haggard wiry grass on a wild, wet moor. The veils are torn. They are torn and all the world with it. All the world is dying upon this hill.

What is rent asunder is beginning to become one. In learning how to die well, we are beginning to comprehend what it is to live. There was always a fine line between living and dying, a veil perhaps. Living and dying well looked something like the man who gave food while he hungered, who promised water though he thirsted, who comforted though he was afflicted, who brought rest though he wearied, who wiped away tears whilst shedding his own, who, with a whisper, leant a hand to help up those already dead, whilst walking alone up a hill to die.

Emma Brown, Lanercost Priory

Good Friday 2015

Talks

Solar Eclipse 20th March 2015

The view of the eclipse from Greenholme, where we had an eclipse magnitude of 0.93, or 93% of the sun eclipsed at around 09.35GMT.

09.28 20th March

09.28 20th March

09.33 20th March

09.33 20th March

09.34 20th March

09.34 20th March

09.34 20th March

09.34 20th March

09.35 20th March

09.35 20th March

09.37 20th March

09.37 20th March

09.37 20th March

09.37 20th March

09.39 20th March

09.39 20th March

09.41 20th March

09.41 20th March

Greenholme - an experiment in permaculture