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Mutterings, musings and general brain flatulence. |
Here be mushrooms 
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Challenge: What did you like / dislike about where you grew up? What do you like / dislike about where you live now? I grew up on a very rural farm in the West Country. As a young child, it was idyllic; we had an enormous garden with an ancient orchard at the bottom. Mum was a stay-at-home mum and loved crafts and nature, so we were always doing things like making kites, mushroom hunting or blackberry picking. We had a string of farm cats that we tamed (if a farm kid ever tells you to put your hand in deep between bales of straw, don't. Feral kittens have a nasty set of claws and hiss like demons) to such an extent that they'd follow us everywhere. We'd walk across to the next farm once a week to collect fresh milk or climb the hill behind the house in the summer to check on the reservoir water levels (dad tried to keep the farm off the mains as long as possible) and the cats would follow about ten feet behind the whole way. One winter dad brought home three pigs he couldn't foster onto another sow (dad had a real knack for pig farming; he'd get litters of 12-14 piglets from a lot of his sows (context, 6-10 is fairly standard), and if the sow couldn't feed them all, he'd foster them off on another (again, context, a lot of pigs won't take other piglets). Well, it was like Christmas had come early. For several weeks we had these, initially, tiny piglets growing in our kitchen by the Rayburn. They needed constant bottle feeding and although we knew perfectly well they'd end up back on the farm and head off to slaughter once big enough, we adored having the piglets in the house. We used to say goodnight to them before bed every evening and race down to see them before school the next morning. And creep down the stairs late at night to watch when we knew mum and dad were carving up half a pig he'd brought home to butcher. I swear the only reason we weren't allowed to watch was because the kitchen was tiny and dad knew sister and I enjoyed sword fighting a little too much.... But that being said, as we got older living on the farm became a nuisance. We were miles from our nearest friends. There was no reliable bus service and dad was always to busy to provide lifts (mum died before we were teens). Living on the farm became more like a medieval prison than an Enid Blyton novel. We used to walk miles just to get the (extremely unreliable) bus into town and miss on sleepovers because dad worried about our school grades. It took me moving to university and having a city centre campus to realise how much I loved the countryside. I wouldn't trade my uni years for anything, but it's very telling how quickly I moved back to the West Country (unusual for professionals in the UK) after graduation. I now live on the outskirts of a small village; within walking distance of the local town, but surrounded by fields and farms. It's the perfect compromise for Best Beloved who wants to be able to walk to pubs and restaurants (thanks covid) and me who wants zero neighbours. Our house is near the end of a very narrow lane, with fields at one end and the village pub at the other. The church we got married in is a one mile stomp across the fields (Best Beloved and his ushers actually donned wellies to walk to the church. BB's very urban cousin taking a self with some Devonshire Ruby cows is still one of my favourite wedding pics) and the coast is a thirty minute walk the other way. And in between are several pubs and foodie places.  |
Challenge: In your entry today, write about one of the most frightening moments of your life. I'm an arachnophobe. I like most animals and the ones I don't I can normally shrug off with a meh of indifference. But spiders terrify me. For context; I have African sun beetles I've brought on from fruit beetle grubs and handle them without any problem. I have a pet African pygmy hedgehog, and they are insectivores (not obligate insectivores, in that they die without bugs, but they easily become malnourished on even the best kibble and/or meat diet); so regularly have wax-worms, crickets, and locusts in the house. On her behalf, I've also bred cockroaches, mealworms/darkling beetles, and morio-worms/super beetles. None of these bother me (okay, I'll admit I don't pick the roaches and morios up with my bare hands; the morios are supposed to have a horrific bite and the roaches are just to fast.). So spiders really shouldn't be a problem. Right? Right? Nope. Cue my stomach churning and whole body shudders at the sight of a house- or wolf-spider. I can't help it, believe me I've tried. I lived by myself for several years and trained myself to deal with it (I've lived on farms and in rural areas most of my life, another reason I should be fine - by UK standards, I've dealt with some monsters) - but it invariably means death to the many-legged one. Either washing them down the plughole with several litres of water or sucking them up into the vacuum cleaner*. I want to be able to scope them up in a glass and put them outside. Thankfully Best Beloved is more than happy to play gallant knight. Best Friend is also arachnophobic, and she claims she got a lot worse the two years we lived together. In 2015 we went traveling in South America together and got to spend three nights in the Amazon jungle. It was astounding. And more than a little scary. Apparently if you shine a torch in the eyes of a nocturnal predator (like a cat, or as it turns out, a spider) it's eyes glow green. After dinner the first day, we went for a quick night hike around the lodges. There are a LOT of spiders in the Amazon. I cannot even been to describe how many eyes (spiders have eight eyes, but I think only four of them reflect green) shone back at us on that very short walk. Seriously. If I did, you'd assume I was exaggerating. I'm not. Think of a number. Double it. Treble it. How many figures have you got? If it's less than four digits, keep going... Our guide was also insane. In a good way. In a there's-anaconda-in-this-area, that-track-on-the-bank-there-that's-an-anaconda-track, our-little-canoe-is-about-eye-level-with-the-track, let's-jab-the-track-with-our-oar-and-see-if-the-anaconda-is-nearby sort of crazy. Day two of being out in the jungle and he walks us past a small hole in the ground, maybe the size of a golf-hole. It's either a scorpion or tarantula nest, he tells us with excitement as he pokes a stick into the hole to 'see what comes out.' It's a tarantula. Of course. Next day we walk past the hole again and he grabs another stick and asks who wants a go. Everyone steps back smartly. I'm too slow. To transfixed at the idea we're that near a tarantula nest again.I'm an arachnophobe. I'm also very, very stubborn. BF smirks and says I won't be able to do. So I'm standing there, in the freaking Amazonian rainforest, poking a stick into a known tarantula nest because BF said I couldn't. The guide thinks it's hilarious (he knows I don't like spiders) and explains that the stick won't upset the tarantula, it'll either scuttle past and come out the hole (not an option I'm happy with) or it will grasp the stick and pull back. It will what now? So there I am, in deepest, darkest Peru (with no Paddington in sight) playing bloody tug-of-war with a real life tarantula. It was *only* a baby (mama apparently wasn't home), but let me tell you, when that thing appeared my entire body went wet with cold sweat. I can't remember if my heart beat faster or just froze, but I do remember the prickle of sweat on the crown of my head, slicking all the way down my back, and arms, stomach, and legs. It was 34 degrees C and I was so cold. The others all seemed suddenly very far away and my peripheral vision melted away as I found myself focusing on nothing but this tiny circle blackness. At a guess I'd say it was about half to two-thirds the size of an adult, but when it grabbed the stick and pulled back.... I was paralysed for several seconds. The strength of that thing. Sweat was running down my back and legs in rivulets, which was probably just as well, because my mouth was suddenly bone-dry. I remember tugging back at the stick, more out of instinct that conscious thought, and watching not-so-icny-wincy yank on its end. Just writing about this is making me shiver and feel cold. Somewhere, BF has this all on video ("you are the ONLY person in the world I would stand this close to a tarantula for" - hang on, it was you that got me into this mess....), but I've never seen the footage. There's no way I could watch myself do that again. And besides, I'm guessing she was shaking as much as me. * My sister blows me out of the water when it comes to spider disposal; the hot bleach down the sink is bad enough, but it was the freeze-it-with-hairspray-then-use-the-cigarette-lighter-and-spray-deodorant-to-incinerate-it that lost her her rent deposit. |
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