Moon, Sand and Snow

It's been a while, blogging has been one of the causalities of too many overlong days, working beyond midnight and then starting again before six. Even the running has suffered, although I have, just about, managed to get out a couple times a week. And there have been some amazing dawns, the moon on the high Quantocks on 25th October [pictured]. And just a month later, I wasn't the only idiot up on Wills Neck in shorts, despite temperatures of -6! Is there a special club for those who wear shorts in the snow, I was asked? I was the first human out after the snow and was following the deer, foxes and squirrels through the woods. This morning, even a week after the last snow fall, I found tracks that no human had ventured, the reason for one un-trod section became clear when my legs [still wearing shorts] vanished into a three foot drift, the first of many. There was then the most amazing steep run though deep snow back down woods.

The second half of the term has been almost overwhelming, incredibly hard work, stressful, great fun, and much more. Would that I had got more done when things were quieter in September and October, but I have managed a few key tasks in the run up to Christmas, and on 8th January have my English and ICT tests, which I need to pass to get Qualified Teacher Status. But despite all of that, I have continued painting, occasionally, always a very good sign, and the headline has been that I have really enjoyed it. And I have managed, just about to keep up cubs and church, time at home and all the rest. As we put in our Christmas Card, who needs to sleep! Next term I'm at Axbridge, which will be a completely different experience, and then back to Bridgwater for the summer.

The Weekend

After a week of running to stand still, and just about managing to keep up with the hectic teaching schedule, but without any train wrecks [thankfully] dawn running is exactly what happened yesterday. Whatever the intense mystery of the pre-dawn dark [and it's still pitch black when I return home, let alone set out], to run into the clarity of the newly risen sun was fantastic. I also discovered Goathurst, Robin Hood's Hut and the Temple of Harmony; for some reason I had never noticed them in the dark. See www.quantockonline.co.uk/quantocks/villages/goathurst/goathurst1.html for photos.

And I've cut down the hedge [you can see out from the terrace] and gone to a Scout Training [which began with a an out of date video on Changes in Scouting!] and even managed to paint! Then there have been fires and wine and food and chocolate brownies and 'stuck in the mud' and all of the other staples of a family weekend.

Back to school tomorrow.

Against the tide

Amidst the mists of the valley,
the roar of the motorway
the haze of the newly risen sun,
the river was at flood tide
and flowing upstream.

Fifteen miles from the coast
the current was strong,
forcing the river against its nature;
flowing upstream.

I only see it once or twice a month [usually consectutive days], but each time it is amazing and transforms the Parrott from a muddy trickle to a powerful river.
And as with running through pitch black woods, there is a certain parallel with the rollacoaster ride of learning to teach.

Unity of the Spirit...

Even the true Welsh castles, Criccieth, Dolbardarn, Dolwyddelan, built by Llewellan the Great and Llewellan the Last, brood over their valleys and coastlines. The Edwardian fortresses, the English castles of the conquest, Conway [pictured], Harlech, Caernarfon and Beaumauris are in a different league; as fine a feat of medieval engineering and archicecture as any buildings in the country.

In contrast, the ancient churches are small, even the great church of Towyn or the cathedral at Bangor are low, sturdy buildings; there is within them a great sense of holiness and history, but they do not have the majesty or magnificence of Durham or Salisbury. Yet however humble the churches of Beddgelert [pictured] and so many other Welsh towns and villages, they are still alive and loved.

So often, after a holiday in Wales there is a thought that remains with me, echoing around my head. In 2009 is was a phrase from a sermon at St Catherine's, Criccieth, 'for Mary, saying yes to God was almost unbearable' [tough, of course, 'unbearable', that was a new thought]. This year is was the realisation that, however small, the churches of Gwynedd are still whole and alive. In contrast the great castles, powerhouses of their nations and their kings, lasted only a few centuries before being reduced to ruins; and ruins they remain. The parishes of the Church in Wales still struggle, as they have struggled down the ages, yet they remain as faithful witness to worship and service though the ages, a living contrast to the ruined fortresses.

There hasn't been much that has surprised me about teaching full time, it has been and continues to be an incredibly steep learning curve, but I'd expected most of it. Yet one thing about a school staff team that I hadn't fully articulated, even to myself, before this term was how incredibly united it could be. There is a very strong unity of purpose, a desire to help, to say yes, to do anything possible to support the children. Even though there are differing theories and different models of teaching, even though there are contrasting personalities, still it works and it is a pleasure to work within such a community.

And then there was a meeting of a number of parishes which I chaired last week where we strugged to agree even why were were meeting, let along whether we should meet again. They were and are good people, but there was tragically little unity of purpose or Spirit. Just as that can also be lacking in individual churches, and, to be fair, in some schools as well.

For all of our faith and faithfulness, the church seems to stuggle to hold together, to serve joyfully to maintain the bond of peace. Those that are 'at one' seem, tragically, to be the exceptions. But, whether struggling within themselves or united, these churches whose representatives I met last week have, just like the churches of Gwynedd, continued to worship and serve through the generations.

Another Dawn

It was an astonishing sunrise; and up on the hills it was autumn already, the braken golden in its death throws, the trees bare and the temperature just a few degrees above freezing. The coombes and the woods were still lush and verdant, not exactly high summer, but warmer and greener; a good place to get lost in. Except that I didn't get lost! At least not in Hodders Combe. For the first time, I managed to find my way though to Holcombe, where, typically, I took the wrong combe back up to the hills and so missed Woodlands Hill. But in so doing I found a pond that I had never before known existed. Big enough but sadly not deep enough to swim in, yet startling and beautiful none the less.

Once in a blue moon

As I watched the star in the south west [Jupiter I think] shining bright despite the approaching dawn I looked and longed for a moon, to give light in the darkness of the pre-dawn if nothing else. And on Thursday it was there, casting its long shadows, bright enough to expose my horrifically slow running up to Kingscliff but not bright enough to outshine Jupiter.

The moon is amazing, watching it rise above the Moelwyn, falling into the heather, and the bog, on Illkley Moor at least until Martin and I were moved on my armed police [who were looking for someone else]; and so many other times and places. Yet it is 31st December 2009 that remains with me. It was one of my last runs in Purton, I took my usual route around the edges of the village and, as usual, I left before dawn under the light and shadows of the moon and watched its spectacular setting. It was only after I had returned, running into the newly risen sun that I discover that I had been running under a blue moon. A Blue Moon is, under one definition, the thirteenth blue moon in a calendar year, which means that the next blue moon will be 2028. Once indeed... under a blue moon.

It's worth rising at such unearthly hours to see the planets and the sun, the rising and the setting. Tomorrow will be another early start, and yet another attempt to work my way west to east across Hodders Combe. I have so far tried three times and got hopelessly lost. Not that it really possible to get lost. You follow the rivers downstream and get to Holford, upstream and you hit the moor, but I haven't managed to head due east to Holcombe. If it does work it will enable the completion of a run which will make the Quantock Beast look like a fluffy mouse.

It's good to continue the dawn running; it keeps me sane. Time will tell whether I can continue to sustain everything on top of the teaching [wonderful but exhausting], but for the time being it's all good. Once in a blue moon, such opportunities do arise.

Return to Dawn

There was only the vaguest glimpse of dawn in the east when I left the house at 5.30am this morning, to the west the stars were still shining and under the trees of Kingscliff the night still lingered. When I reached the top of the woods and looked up over the hills towards Broomfield and then headed back down west the land was grey. It was only back in the fields of North Petherton that the sun emerged in all of its glory, the start of an amazing day.

It's starting teaching and the need to be in school by 8am that's forcing me to rise at silly o'clock; really crazy - 6am used to me my standard. But although I miss the newly risen sun on the trees and flowers [pictured from June], returning to predawn
dusk has it's own very special atmosphere, almost mystery.

It is a good preparation for a day spent in the classroom. Would that I could get exercise and sleep, but with only one on offer, I'll go for a run any day!

BTW - school is great, amazing teachers, children just as good. It's worth the paperwork.