Rain

In an unwelcome contrast to sunny Cochabamba, the Northumbrian heavens have been open almost all the time since my return, and without a moment’s pause in the last four days. 

The unsightly stables on the side of the house have now been dismantled, allowing an unobstructed view of the river. This in most circumstances would be a highly aesthetic experience, but in the present weather conditions it is a stark reminder of nature’s ferocity. Over twice its usual height and width, the river flows with vertiginous speed towards its confluence only a few hundred yards away. Its usual murmur is a prominent part of our quotidian soundscape, but what we now hear is something different: a roar of intimidating fierceness.   

If I hadn’t come to trust the wisdom of the ancient builders of Northumberland, and if this trust were not often reinforced by the savvy locals - “they knew how to build houses then, and where” - I would be living in fear of being swept away in my sleep, family and dog and cats included. But I have come to trust this place. The weather has changed around here thousands of times before, whipping this land without mercy, but the house has stood its ground. 

I live within yards of a river, surrounded by tall trees, flanked by a hill at touching distance, and with no neighbours to shield me from the forces of heaven. When nature chooses to unleash its power, these are its tools to wield it. They are the executors of its might. Sometimes their actions make me feel nature’s destructive breath on my face, and hear the swoosh of its claws just missing my head. But history suggests that I, my family and our surroundings will survive this test too.

Belated sun

Long time no write. It appears that some of the stories I have been telling have caused one or two of their protagonists  a degree of bother. My use of first initials was intended to protect their identities, but in England's most thinly populated county there are not many of us and recognition is easy. Sorry! I never meant to compromise anybody. I will try to be more discreet, either by using better disguises or, in the last resort, by telling fewer stories involving people; this, I have to say, would be a pity.  

Today's sunny morning is a balm for the eye, but it is hard to accept it with unmixed gratitude. Where was the sun in the summer, when we could have done so much with it? All summer K's barbecue languished in a shed unlit, and the lunches cooked on a fire by the river remained a fading memory of the past. 

Moreover, while I was away in Bolivia this part of Northumberland experienced its worst rain for over 60 years. The river grew to unimagined proportions, flooding the field almost to its middle. K worried that Fluffy might run down his usual route and find himself carried off by the powerful current. She took a couple of pictures to show me. It looks threatening, but even at three times its normal level the river came nowhere near the house. We are safe! The proximity of the river had been a major worry when we were considering this house, but at the time we consulted every local we knew, and their answers were unequivocal: people knew how to build a house in those days, and where. That house has not flooded in living memory, and it is not going to flood now. The worst rainfall in 60 years has proved them right.