Artist

Alexander Averin

Friday, 22 January 2010

A Home





Dear Diary,

My little Welsh cottage is writing today.

(She writes in Welsh but I have translated).


I am of the riverside, Ty’r Gof is my proper name which means 'home of the blacksmith'. My other half, the Forge is set apart but not far away. Happily I nestle not too near the water’s edge, I know her moods too well and am always prepared for those rare days when she can quickly roar, flood and turn against me. There are sandbags at my door.

Do come and visit me. Everyone says I have an aura of calm and I will surely welcome you in like a long lost friend. The locals used to call me 'little house' in Welsh for I was not much more than a cabin once, if truth be told, but I have been added on to overtime and always very much loved. I am built of river-stone, no-one knows my age but it is over two hundred years at least. A road of the Romans is in my pastures, I may have dwelled here before but in some other form, a past life is highly likely.

No word like property defines my soul (I am a home) and there are no en suites to be found. My mistress would not allow the words master bedroom over my threshold. She is a feminist and she is rather eccentric She cares not that all about me is offbeat and quirky, all is small. But I do have a big heart (but then between you and me she does too).

I am built of ancient heartbeats, there is buried silver in the ghosts of passed children’s laughter and the sound of the blacksmith’s anvil breathes in my rough-hewn walls.

My kitchen has walls of deep red now, she is like a scarlet woman who comes into her own at night. Her bare wood shelves spill over with staples and pots and pans hang over the cooker. Everyone and everything is just comfy here,not grand but comfy. It is a place to eat, to watch birds at the feeder outside the window, to mull and to moodle or to lose oneself in music or the radio, to cook even and to maybe bake a poem from a dream.

My tiny snug is rough-ceilinged but walls of gold adorn her and the view past the river is of an ancient wood. A very old Rayburn lives here. She is an easy-sleeping and a peaceful reading room, I cast a spell on all who enter here as I sit upon a magic spring.

Come into my parlour where fairy lights adorn the walls and crystals dress the windows - like dogs they are not just for Christmas for the angels love them all year round. They love my bright colours, candles, music too.

My bedrooms have not much room for more than a bed of brass with patchwork thrown across them but there is a vast patchwork of green without for the tiny windows open on to a river-view, the tops of the pine trees and a field with hills beyond.

My garden is still sleeping but as if from a dream has been reluctantly emerging from the deep snow which adorned her for weeks. She was beautiful and magical then, I miss it so, we made such a pretty pair. And now she is just a soggy mess. But Spring is nigh and I promise to show you round her then when she is looking her very best.

For now she must not be disturbed……..

Remind me, do.


Bye for now,

Ty r Gof.xx

20 comments:

Peggy Montano & Paintings said...

What a lovely post. I still remember with such pleasure my two visit to Wales.

Elizabethd said...

That sounds such a lovely place to come home to.
Our Breton house name begins with Ty , meaning home/house of. I think Welsh and Breton are so similar.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

Oh, I wandered through this post as if trodding on bluebells. You must let your home speak more often!

Packrat said...

Beautiful post and picture. I'm sending this link to my daughter.

Friko said...

Shh, your typing will wake her, disturb her dreams.

At night, when the ghosts of all the creatures that have lived within your walls, both human, animal and spiritual, come out, keep the lights low and the music a mere breath and invite her to join the reveries.
Or perhaps just to mull and to moodle..........

moodle?

ds said...

"I am built of ancient heartbeats." Worth it just for that. Lovely, lovely post. Thank you.

Decadent Housewife said...

So lovely and hushed. Thank you.

Pondside said...

What a lovely post, Cait. I loved hearing the voice of your house. Would you post a photo of your red kitchen sometime? I too have a red kitchen!
It's hard for me to imagine living in a place so old, so full of the silver of memories....lucky you!

mountainear said...

How idyllic your house seems, warm and welcoming. Very pretty under the blanket of snow too.

elizabethm said...

Oh Cait your house sounds so like ours although you are by a river and we are on a hillside. My house might be the elder sister of yours! Lovely post.

Evening Light Writer said...

What a fantastic idea, that your home is writing to you..inviting you! I like that idea so much that now I'm wondering what my little apartment overlooking the park says..I wonder if it is as happy as I am to be here.

Poet in Residence said...

Ah dear Cait, it's a fine Ty Bach that you have found there in the Land of my Fathers. Enjoy it. best of bardic for Burns Night,
from
Gwilym ap Gwilym (no, it's true!)

Reasons said...

Wonderful writing Cait. Very moving and it does sound so welcoming!

Marcheline said...

I'll let you know when you can expect my moving van...

Pam said...

Oh Cait...how beautiful! Very tea and toastish,lights and laughter,reading and rivers. Thank you so much for sharing this,and I agree that you must let your home speak more often.This post is just delightful!

Cottage Garden said...

I love this post Cait, what an inspired idea to have your wonderful home speak to us. Your writing is sublime and a joy to read.

I love that 'a very old Rayburn lives here' - like a sweet little old lady ever ready with a cup of tea!

'I am built of ancient heartbeats' .... wonderful!

Jeanne x

Vee said...

Delightful...your cottage has a lovely way with words and I enjoyed many of the twists and turns through this piece of prose, but none more than this: "It is a place to eat, to watch birds at the feeder outside the window, to mull and to moodle or to lose oneself in music or the radio, to cook even and to maybe bake a poem from a dream."

CAMILLA said...

Dear Cait,

Oh this post is soo wonderful, I can visualise on just how your adorable sweet cottage looks, and nestling under a blanket of snow, truly magical.

This post would be lovely to be included in This England, you write so well Cait, after reading I now feel a gentle calm is with me.

Beautiful pictures Cait, thank you for sharing with us.

xx

Aunt Amelia's Attic said...

How beautiful, and peaceful, must be your life there....

Bee said...

My idea of perfection.