Only the stars are still.
So I know it's the weekend, but after that, you've lost me. I’m all discombobulated as to what day of the week it is, as Mr Tweddle and I are just back from a trip to the mountains.
Time moves differently when you're up a mountain. Nothing feels so important that it has to be done right away. And it's a joy to get up early and see the sunrise, and then have an afternoon nap, so you can be awake enough to watch the stars appear in the night sky.
On the first night when we arrived, Mark and I just sat gazing at the stars. The sky was so dark and the stars so bright, the whole picture didn't look real.
“It's crazy to think that the earth is moving,” Mark said. “We think the stars travel across the sky, but we’re the ones who travel, even though it feels we’re standing still.”
By the way, just so you know, I do not want you to think for one moment we were camping. I am absolutely not a sleeping-under-canvas type of person. Ever since I was little, the idea that beasties could crawl into my ears when I’m asleep put me off the idea of roughing it. And when I was about 4 or 5, I remember being taken to see my sister who was out doing some Girl Guide camp. When I discovered they had to poop in a hole, it was all over for me. Though I very much love the great outdoors, I also very much love proper facilities to do your ablutions too. And call me old-fashioned, but going to sleep fairly confident no beetles will set up home in my eardrums by morning is, frankly, a must.
So, Mr Tweddle and I rented a wee house in the mountains with a huge deck that looked over the little town of Idyllwild. It was bloody lovely, though definitely not a house to stay in if you're needing hip replacements. It was a proper climb - especially as I had Arthur and his little legs in tow. But at 7000ft, the view from our giant balcony was totally worth it. We felt halfway between the sky and the earth.
At night, we were just tiny dots underneath a vast dark sky. During the day, we were tiny dots looking down on our beautiful planet. Just stepping onto the balcony was like stepping into a new perspective. It's impossible to ignore how foolish our puffed-up sense of importance is when we can see just how small we are.
The weeks running up to us taking time off to go to the mountains were a shitshow. I had taken on too much work, and the admin fairy had bestowed a bumper amount of miscellaneous bullshittinaria that needed to be dealt with. Then there were graduations, and memorials, and birthdays, and social events. On top of that, and a sprinkling of difficult conversations, and a dollop of complicated challenges, and of course, a randomly antagonistic block party. Point is, I’d felt a bit spent.
It had been easy to decide to go away for a few days. Fergus and Lucy had volunteered to look after the chickens and the rabbit, and Lachlan agreed to water the backyard and keep people away from the bees. Arthur loses his mind when he's more than 6 feet away from me, so we agreed we’d take him with us, and then the rest was just a matter of packing up the car.
But then, at 6am the morning before our trip, Arthur decided he wanted out for his morning ablutions. I was just opening the door and I heard Genghis, our rooster, literally scream. So then I slipped on some shoes and ran out to see a full-sized coyote in the backyard making breakfast of our chickens. It was horrific. I screamed at the beast, and the coyote turned to regard me with a look of disgust, and then, with Veronica in its mouth, ran and jumped over the fence.
Genghis was still howling, so Mark and I took turns to settle him down and to try to find the rest of the chickens in the yard.
At first, I thought we’d lost 5. But then, one by one, they started appearing. When Nuggets - our eldest and biggest - reappeared, Lachlan spontaneously cheered and gave me a tearful hug.
At the last count, two were missing. Lovely wee Margo, who had the sweetest, mildest nature, and Veronica, whom I'd last seen in the coyote’s mouth. It's hard to handle. And yes they’re chickens, but they’re also little personalities who sort of become part of family life.
When chickens gather together after a death, they are silent. Sometimes for days. Genghis and the girls made not a sound. I asked Mark if we should postpone the trip, and he shook his head. He said he would set up the automatic door on the coup so the chickens couldn't free-range till mid-morning, and that would keep them safer from coyotes. But he said we should go.
And he was right. Standing on the balcony of our cabin, breathing the clean mountain air, I could feel the weight of just living through the current global clusterfuck burn off. And though I felt truly sad about Margo, I could accept it was part of Nature - and that sometimes Nature is shit.
As for Veronica, I don't know quite how she managed it, but some time between me seeing her in the coyote’s mouth and the coyote jumping the fence, she must have escaped, because the night before we left for the mountains, there she was in the coop, limping and looking a little worse for wear, but still very much alive.
After a day or so of our mountain hideaway, we took some time away from the balcony to wander into the town of Idyllwild. It is as lovely as it sounds: Little streets dotted with book stores and shops selling wind chimes and crystals. A small coffee shop that, according to Mr Tweddle, does a magic Americano, sits next to a place where they do giant carvings of bears from logs. And a couple of minutes away from there, an independent ice cream store proudly displays their impressive menu beneath a giant Pride flag. It is a warm, welcoming, slightly magical, friendly place.
Soaking up the atmosphere, I head into a place that incongruously sells homemade dog treats and also crystals. I buy a pack of beef jerky for Arthur and pick up some crystals for the kids. I don't know if they work or not, but if carrying a couple of sparkly wee stones around can help my boys throw off the worst the current world has to offer, I'm up for it.
I'm standing waiting to pay for my bounty, behind a quite mystical-looking lady. She seemed to be taking ages, and then it dawns on me that she is not there as a customer, but to interview for a job.
“I get messages all the time,” said the lady.
“Yes, but I just don't know if we have enough custom,” said the woman behind the counter.
“I will bring them. They will come. My messengers tell me, that if I set up my space here, they will come. I know the moment when a person will visit me.”
“You do?” Said the woman behind the counter, her face full of wonder. “Well in that case..”
Then she noticed me. “Oh hello, I can serve you over here.”
The mystical woman moved out of the way, looking surprised to see me standing behind her. Clearly her messengers weren’t that fussed about announcing a big, strange Scottish lady. Anyway, I paid for my stuff and left, while the two women continued their conversation.
“I've been feeling in a bit of a rut,” said the woman behind the counter.
“I know. That is why my messengers sent me here,” said the mystical lady, “I will help you.”
I smiled. Sure, it was an odd interview, but not the oddest I’ve ever heard of.
On our last night, Mark and I sat on the balcony looking up at a cacophony of stars. I told him how our late friend Ashley used to know the names of all the constellations, and whenever we’d go out drinking and making mischief when we were younger, she’d always try to teach me the names of the constellations on the way home. I never did remember them all, but now I think of her whenever I see the stars.
“That has to be a good thing,” he said. “To be remembered by the stars.”
I smiled. “I suppose it is.”
Then, in the stillness of the night, which is not really stillness at all, I said.
“Do you think it's foolish to hope that there really is a place outwith the realms of my understanding, where beautiful souls go, and that Ashley’s there, and Scott’s went there too, and that's where Margo’s just gone?”
“Dunno,” Mark said, “Depends on whether Scott and Ashley liked chickens?”
I chuckled.
“Not particularly,” I said.
“Then yeah, it might be foolish”
I chuckled, “But nobody could not like Margo.”
“Well there you go then,” he said, “It's not foolish.”
And we both laughed. And our laughter rang out into the still dark night, that was not really still at all.
This morning before we left we sat on the balcony watching the sun rise.
“I think we should come back here,” I said.
“Me too,” said Mark.
“It does something to my head,” I said. “It makes me wonder if all the things that I think are so terribly serious aren’t that serious at all. And that the reason the world sometimes seems to have lost its beauty, is only because I’ve forgotten the right places to look.”
“I know what you mean,” he said.
So, I’m not entirely sure what day of the week it is, but we are now back in The Valley. The chickens are no longer silent, and Veronica’s leg seems better.
And another new week is about to begin. It will bring what it will bring, and I will remind myself that nothing really is so big it can stop me in my tracks. Because we are all always moving. Because only the stars stay still.
Lynn
Xo
PS: Just a wee note to ask if you can click the wee heart on this post to say you like it. And also to excuse Mr Tweddle’s video he’s added showing you his time lapse shots of our view. It’s a lovely video but for some reason, he has added weird sort of porno music. Like i say, we’re both a bit weird since we came back, so click like to show you forgive us xo
To support the continuing publication of this work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber, or buy Lynn a cup of tea.
Volume 3 of Notes From The Valley is available in hardback, paperback, audiobook, and eBook: US, UK, Can, Aus
If you do buy anything, please leave a review on the site as it helps people know that I write in proper sentences… erm sometimes xo
P. P. S: If you enjoy talking/listening/stories/ random facts, come and join me and Mr Tweddle at Fish and Bear. For details and booking, go to Fishandbear.net
