Saturday 20 March 2021
This is the end. The last post of my year-long blog and I feel a little mixed about it; celebratory, satisfied, accomplished, even melancholy. But there is often pleasure in the end of things, and I am focusing on that. The last mouthful from a Sunday roast, the end of the working week, the end of a long car journey or satisfying walk. The final whistle of a football match brings joy or relief, depending on how your team is doing. The last jigsaw piece fitting onto place. Reading the last couple of pages of the book. The last notes of the blackbird before dusk turns to night.
I actually choose some music, anticipating it’s end. The Swan, from the Carnival of the Animals by Camille Saint-Saens, with its twinkling piano and harp after the cello has done it’s very recognisable thing. More contemporary examples that make my hairs stand on end? If I can Dream by Elvis, Blinded by the Light by Manfred Mann’s Earth Band to name two. Coincidentally, the final minute or so of the finale of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. It’s abrupt and impending calm before the climactic deep breaths are exhaled, and an emotional new day dawns. Love prevails, even after life ends.
For me, this blog has become a means of getting closer to the familiar, understanding more about what is always around me, and celebrating my own local patch. It might be my garden, my village, parish, county. It doesn’t really matter. But to celebrate it I have had to get to know it and appreciate it for all that it is. The mud, the rain and the cold. The sun, the warmth and the joy. I have realised that in the past three-hundred and sixty five days I do know my local places and spaces better, but there is still so much more for me to find out. In doing so, however, I have learned much more about myself. Depth rather than breadth.
I have realised that there is nothing more fascinating and beguiling as the back of one’s hand. Every tiny hair, freckle, bump and lump. Veins darken and ligaments lift and fall as fingers stretch and fold. That scratch that appears out of nowhere, here today gone tomorrow. The tiny burn scar from that time in the garden. I have realised that I really don’t know anywhere fully, and consequently there is always more to understand about everywhere and everything.
“To know fully even one field or one land is a lifetime’s experience. In the world of poetic experience it is depth that counts, not width. A gap in a hedge, a smooth rock surfacing a narrow lane, a view of a woody meadow, the stream at the junction of four small fields – these are as much as a man can fully experience.” Patrick Kavanagh, from collected essays entitled The Parish and the Universe/Parochialism and Provincialism. (Thank you, Erica)
So, this is the end. It began a year ago, five sentences and one picture, logging each day, living with the virus. The idea was to document what everyday life was like for us living with the pandemic. A piece of social history to hand on to my kids and possibly grand-kids? But it grew into something therapeutic for me, and a discipline that I felt obliged to continue with. I have also been grateful for the comments and ‘follows’ of others. Not just family and friends (no names needed) but complete strangers too. Nearly nine-thousand views by three-thousand visitors from thirty-five countries. Thank you ‘Sarah the Cat’, ‘YouDeserveGod.com’, ‘AllAboutBabies’, ‘InnerPeace’ and ‘weewritinglassie’ to name but a few. I don’t know you but am grateful that you and others read my words and passed no judgement. There are lots of good people around, just wanting to connect when it has been very difficult for us to do so. I am not a writer, but I have enjoyed writing it.
To be honest, I anticipated it would all be wrapped up by the Autumn, Christmas at the very latest. Part of my post for New Year’s Day had been sat as a draft for several months In readiness to sign off then. But sadly the infections continued to rise and the death tolls around the world increased. They still are, but thankfully in the UK, with the vaccination programme progressing as planned, we might be seeing the sun rising, just as the seasons pass round full cycle.
What shall I do next? Take a break and read more. Every post has taken time to compile every evening and sometimes during the day. I nearly always need to re-read each post after posting it, and then correct spelling mistakes and dodgy grammar or punctuation. I will use this ‘spare’ time wisely; that’s another thing it has underlined for me – how precious time is. I have ideas for other things. Best to sign off with a quote, fitting for the moment and the time of year. I will obviously keep walking, with eyes wide open. I have trained myself to see things and stop…look again and more closely, for just that little bit longer…take it in and really, really appreciate it.
The Bald Birder 
Congratulations Jonathan. What a fantastic journey. What an accomplishment. As an Essex person in exile, it’s been a complete pleasure to watch the steps you’ve taken. Not just the explorations, but how far you’ve come as a writer and chronicler. And yes, there’s definitely something to be said about ‘depth, not width’. Such a small backyard, but such stories and riches. Not sure I’m going to forget the US airmen tragedy in a hurry. But then again, digging into the depths of woods, fields and hedgerows has been just as illuminating. 365 days. The wheel has turned one full circle. And what a very full circle. What I’m going to read now? Cheers bud.
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