Mesmerized me by creatures of the sea.

Summer on Scilly is busy for both it’s human and creature inhabitants. It’s a very social time as friends and guests come and go. Stories of the year past are told and relationships continued.

It’s lovely to see familiar faces and feel the love and appreciation they hold for Bryher. As I was chating to our newly arrived guests, we watched a slight mother sparrow taking her young offspring on a trip out and about. The fluffy, scruffy looking baby, noisy and demanding of its mother. She would hop a little, fly a little and the youngster would follow behind. Every now and then she would fly away and return with a tasty treat to reward the baby.

The farm is just teeming with wildlife. Swallows swoop and dart, teaching the young fledgling the art of aerial display. Bumble bees in their hundreds feed on the echiums and clover.

The sea is also beginning to burst with life, tiny sand coloured crab scuttle along the seabed. Shoals of small, darting silver fish hang around the seaweed, and today the jelly fish have arrived in great numbers.

I swam from Great Par, towards the north end of the long sweeping bay. The late afternoon is bright, fresh and breezy. The sun beams warmly on the skin and the sundancing sea twinkles.

It’s high tide and a noisy swell crashes onto the sand and granite of the shoreline, bringing with it deep purple jelly fish.

As I swim out, I find one. It’s seductive pulsing movement draws my eye to follow it. I float and watch as it’s soft, wobbly form moves gracefully through the green. It’s thin, thread-like tentacles drift in its wake.

The sunlight dances on the sand, I dive down and feel the drop in temperature as I reach the seabed. I look up toward the sky and the light is ethereal. Up I go as my lungs are bursting, the water warming again as I break the surface with a gasp. The swell buffets and swirls me and I keep my eyes peeled for more jellyfish, but until I reach nearer the shore I see none.

Mesmerized me by the green rolling sea, mesmerized me by the creatures of the sea.

A day of challenges on the farm, changes in weather and resetting of the mind.

The daybreak brought cool, crisp air with a rising sun and by eight o’clock it was high in the sky and radiant with heat. To the western horizon, however, were dark skies, threatening and moody. The sea and sky were matching violet blue with only the darker islands to seperate them. Then the rain began. Great drops plopping onto the skin, speckling the sand and rippling the water. The sun still shone intensely and the combination of rain and sunlight made the sea dance with sunbeams and sparkle.

My mind and body felt heavy and weary, the early morning starts begin to sap the energy at this time of year. The beauty of the morning is not lost on me but my senses are dulled by the sleepiness in my head.

As I walk along the sandy track at Veronica, I walk a little taller, feel the heaviness lifting with the anticipation of the swim. When the sleepiness and darkness feel they are becoming insurmountable, being with nature truly helps.

I swam with a friend at Green Bay, the water calm, fresh and clear. We both chat about the importance of taking time to swim or walk or write or paint, whatever activity it is that allows a sense of stillness and calm. Also the importance of not feeling guilty about doing it. As we paddle about I tell her about my swim yesterday.

Yesterday evening I had one of the most enjoyable swims I’ve experienced.

The tide was very low, the sea completely still, Martha and I were at Rushy Bay, the evening sunlight over the rocks of Castle Bryher and Scilly Rock.

We were on a mission to find wildlife and explore. Together we skimmed our way over the sand, our knees grazing against it’s roughness. Slowly into deeper water but still close enough to the seabed to spot hermit crabs in large numbers. Tiny fish, larger fish, topshells moving around and many types of beautiful seaweed.

Back and forth around the bay we swam on our tummies, eyes peeled for darting creatures, feeling the scratchy seaweed, the soft seaweed, the silky seaweed. My heart was lifted as I watched her face light up with amazement at the wildlife around her. Together we explored and it felt like such a special time for us to share.

My swims are different every time. They can be invigorating, calming, challenging, fun, solitary or social. The one constant in them is the beauty of nature and the environment of Bryher. No matter how I feel when I enter the water, I come out feeling better.

So if you need a pick-me-up then get yourself out to some wild space. Sink down into the long grass and watch the creatures or dip your toes into the sea and feel the sand tickle your toes. Nature is the best antidote to many of lifes struggles, take time to experience it.

Todays entry combines my swim of yesterday and today.

Early morning yesterday, dark, grey skies and a watery light, created a faint but wide reaching arc of a rainbow, stretching from Stinky Porth across the bay towards Great Par. The sea on the western side of Bryher was a dark, slate grey, flecked with crisp, white rolling horses.

Despite having been awake for nearly three hours, my head was heavy with a thick blanket of sleepiness that I couldn’t shake. Perhaps a blast of cold sea would help, which of course it did. Nothing like a total immersion into the chilly waters to sharpen the mind.

The rainbows continued through the day, Martha curious about where the rainbow ends and what’s beyond it. Rainbows have the ability to inspire dreams and aspirations.

Today I visited St Mary’s (the largest of the five islands of the archipelago) and met with a friend and fellow sea swimming enthusiast to venture into new waters.

Hugh Town is buzzing with preparations for the Otillo, a world class sporting event that uses the natural environment of the islands to their full potential. It is a gruelling challenge but and inspiring one too. Competitors run and swim their way over a challenging course that covers four of the five islands. There are several different levels of the competition now, even the school children take part in their own mini event.

My much less gruelling challenge today, is to swim out along the little rocky outcrop called Taylor’s Island.

The beach at Porth Loo has the slightly stomach turning stench of rotting seaweed. Sand hoppers and sand flies are thick along the tide line and as we walk down through the layers of sludgy brown weed, it squelches and seeps up between our toes. The tide ebbs and the rocky granite edges of the bay are slowly exposed to the sunshine.

The sky is blue but huge puffs of mountainous culumus clouds drift across the sun periodically. The sea is like liquid pewter, softly and silkily rolling.

We strike out of the bay, the water shallow for a long way, barely a few feet deep, the sand below rippled and dotted with worm casts.

We skim over limpet covered rocks and thick beds of sea lettuce, the seabed turning a bright, grass green.

As we swim further out, the green colour intensifies and becomes ethereal, almost luminescent. We play like wild sea creatures, diving and rolling in joyful freedom.

Further out we go and the sea darkens. Great forests of kelp, writhe, swirl and reach up towards us from the deep. Their long leathery arms brushing against the skin. Periwinkle cling on tightly, as they too are cast this way and that in the gentle swell.

I feel a sense of rising panic as the kelp and thong weed wrap around me, however the wonderful thing about swimming in company, is the distraction it provides from a wild imagination. I soon find that instead of fearing these weeds, I am enjoying their beauty.

We return to the shallows and I am left feeling inspired, enthused and alive.

It is good to challenge ourselves, both body and mind. To leave our comfort zone. We then have to rely on our intuition and inner strength to carry us through.

So with that in mind, and rainbows in the sky that are there to inspire the dreamers in all of us, good luck to everyone who is challenging themselves, either in the Otillo or another venture. Go for it and grow!

The blog has sadly been shuffled to the end of a list of to dos for the past few days. It’s been half term, we have had friends staying, lots of picking to do and on top of all that the bees keep swarming.

There is an old bee keeping saying;

A swarm in June is worth a silver spoon, but a swarm in July is not worth a fly.

I’m not sure what they would call six swarms in May?!

However, I think we are winning with the busy little creatures, we have gone from two hives to four, and have three beautiful new queens, who will hopefully produce healthy, strong colonies to last the winter.

So this afternoon felt like such a treat, to escape and take some time to myself. As I walked down through the farm, the long daisies rattled and tapped against my bare toes. The smell of bonfire smoke stirs memories of summer bonfires and BBQs when I was younger, those long, hot summer days of your childhood that seemed to go on for ever.

Over the bank of yellow flowering Hottentot fig, there sounds a roaring swell, but the wind is warm on my skin and the sunshine is dazzling to the eye. The ground across Heathy is hard sand, with a carpet of dainty, soft pink Sea Thrift, its fragrant smell as sweet as honey. Tiny orchid-like yellow and burnt orange flowers of Birds Foot Trefoil are caught in the breeze and dance tight to the ground.

At Stony Porth the deep blue sea is flurried and sparkling silver, choppy and brilliant, with a powder blue, and wispy white sky above. The high tide smacks and sloshes against the large granite boulders, and as I sit on the strand and listen, I feel my breathing soften.

Sand hoppers bounce along the thong weed that has wrapped itself around the smooth rocks.

I am not prepared to swim, I only intended to walk and sketch, but the water is far too tempting to ignore, so I’m soon tottering over the rocks, rather ungainly and awkwardly, into the water in my underwear. It is exhilarating and empowering to acknowledge and embrace this freedom of a wild soul within me. A land creature, but one who enjoys the thrill of entering this magical, watery world, if only for a short while. Somewhere deep within, this connection with nature on such an immediate level, makes my heart smile and my soul sing.

I know there is a seal out here with me too, it was there as I sat on the rocks, but now I’m in the sea, it has disappeared. The thong weed winds and snakes itself over my arms like long green, silky ribbons. The water is so warm and luxurious on my skin. Oyster catchers peep on the rocks in the distance and a swallow darts along the water’s edge and then away over the land.   

On my return home, the heat of the sun warms my cool, damp back and I feel the business and work of the past few days have been washed away, and I am rejuvenated once again.

The pen smudges as the thick, damp drizzle speckle the paper. The early promise of a blue sky day has faded, along with the islands, into the sea mist.

Down at Great Par the sea is a flat glassy grey and the sky a thick, pale whiteness. Castle Bryher, a towering rock just beyond the entrance to the bay, is shrouded in fog, pale and mysterious looking.

The water laps slowly and rhythmically onto the shore, the tide creeping in. In the distance I can hear the roar of a swell but here on the beach is stillness. A scampering blackbird feeds on the sandhoppers that are buried amongst the seaweed strand.

The cool water flows like satin over my skin and the movements of my body and breath are all that disturb the silky surface. I swim out to the furthest buoy, far enough out to feel far from the land, but not far enough to feel lost in the ocean.

Here I stop, legs dangling down into the abyss, suspended in the brine, not making any movement or sound, barely breathing. I lift up my goggles, staring silently into the distance. It feels beautifully eeiry and once again my mind drifts to thoughts of shipwrecks.

Nearly 120 years ago, on April 18th 1910, a ship called The Minnehaha, en route from New York to London, struck Scilly Rock, just beyond Bryher.

She was not sunk and all of her 64 passengers were rescued by the gigs Czar and Golden Eagle. The cold and shaken passengers were landed here on Great Par, in weather simaler to today’s but in the dead of night.

How incredibly relieved they must have felt, to find this tiny island, as one by one they set foot upon the sand, each wrapped tightly in the red woollen blankets from the stranded ship, and taken into warmth and shelter by the folk of Bryher.

What a witness to history this amazing island has been.

It has been a busy week on the farm as we pick greater quantities of fruit and vegetables to supply the stall and some of Bryhers restaurants. We have also cut our silage and hay, the winter feed for the cattle and horses, always a lovely feeling to have that job done but it is hard work.

So this morning it is a simple pleasure to be wandering down the track on my own, towards Green bay for a peaceful swim.

Although there is activity, boatmen, workers, the island retains a sleepy, quiet feel.

The hedges are bursting with lush new growth, the scent of pinks fills the air and pink campions, towering ferns and hogweed line the track.

A young puffed up female blackboard, not long out of the nest, is hopping and scampering around in this big new world she’s found.

The sound of the doves is a lulling harmony to the chirping sparrows.

Along Green bay several little sailing boats float gently on the incoming tide and the mooring ropes that in winter lay dormant on the sand, are now full of punts and boats to hire.

Soft grey shades are reflected in sky and sea, a thick covering of cloud hides the brilliant blue beyond. The water is cool and clear as glass. I swim towards the quay at the far end of the beach. One sailor is up and on deck, pottering with the ropes, otherwise the sailboats remain in sleepy silence as I swim past them.

These tiny ships that now sail to Scilly for pleasure are descendants of those greater ships that once sailed to and past Scilly in days gone by. Then these islands were feared, the rocks on the horizon that we now adore, were a deadly foe for the sailors.

As I sit, back on the beach, listening to the water lapping in, I wonder how this little island felt to those who found themselves rescued and sheltering on it once their ships had been dashed upon those rocks.

It remains a haven for many, now as it did back then too.

Today has felt like a wonderful balance of work and play, and it feels good. I am reminded of this feeling of balance by a great granite rock that seems to appear as if it has slipped down from the cliff edge and is balancing on a tiny granite stone beneath it.

As the evening light fades and turns to silver and a glaringly bright white, the glassy green sea at Great Par is rolling in deep and strong as high tide almost reaches the bank of rush, marran and the carpet of sea sandwort that covers the soft pale sand. The delicate tiny white flowers are dotted among the green, waxy petal-like leaves.

A little pale blue fishing boat, up from St Marys, has come in search of mullet. As the two fishermen cast out their nets along the arc of the bay, I watch, like a seal in the water. They are, as always, dressed in thick yellow oilskins and woolen hats. I wonder if these men of the sea ever wear anything else, as even in the high heat of summer they are dressed for the mid winter. They call to me and make a comment about how cold the water must be, I know they probably think I’m crazy, but I know better, the pleasure of the swim. Today it’s one of cool relaxation, an antidote to a busy day.

Before I leave this watery world, I look out towards the silver grey horizon, the many islands of rocks are dark silhouettes. Then my feet graze along the rippled sand and I make my way up the shoreline, the perfect end to the day.

I know this little magic isle

And when I’m there it makes me smile

There is this sea of green and blue

And in between each shade and hue

With golden sand and shoreline treasure

I can explore and sit in pleasure

Sea thrift pink and birdsfoot yellow

Colours of nature soft and mellow

The north end can be harsh and bleak

When in winter storms shelter we seek

Breathe in, sigh out the island peace

My love of here will never cease

As water laps, tide line creeps higher

I sit in wander at beautiful Bryher.

Twenty minutes in my day for silence, quiet thought and stillness.

 Over the last couple of days, I have had a fantastic time at workshops held during the inaugural Creative Scilly Festival, one with author Wyl Menmiur and one making books with artist Sue Lewington.

Yesterday, the book making workshop was on St Martins and due to the awkward tides Graham took me across in Enys, our little boat. The sea, whipped up by a strong breeze, was a crazy mass of green, blue and sparkle that dazzled the squinting eye. One rolling wave after another meant my knees became my suspension and I held on tight as we lifted high up and surged back down, like a roller-coaster ride.  The salty spray that stung my eyes and lacquered my hair into a stiff, tangled mess, was as close to the water I got.

However, the workshop was a wonderful day of mindful crafting, and I have soaked up every bit of the inspiring atmosphere as I could and I’m all fired up with creative ideas. I have a pile of little handmade, empty books of promise, just waiting to be filled. In one old book that we were using was a picture of sailors on a yacht and the quote below said “wet to the skin but perfectly happy”. I liked that.

Today, these twenty minutes of swimming are a welcomed break from the continuing planting of young vegetable plants and farm work.

The walk along the little sandy track from the farm to Great Par is just as lovely as the swim. Sometimes I meet neighbors, sometimes I don’t. Maybe I interrupt a pair of arguing male blackbirds in the road, or the hopping, speckled thrush, hunting for snails in the hedges. These tall, green hedges have created a warm pocket of air but as I reach the beach the breeze becomes brisker and cool.

I hear that familiar slosh and wash of the lapping water on the shoreline, the tide just ebbing. A long sigh out and a deep breath in, the heady influx of oxygen to the brain. I can feel my heart rate steady and my mind soften. In all my busy creative enthusiasm it is good to be still for a while.

I swim out to the pink buoy, stretching out the sides of my body in front crawl.  All I can hear is the noise of the water and my breathing.

It gets colder the further out I swim, though not as cold as those harsh winter seas. This is the pleasure of summer swimming, sand that is warmed by the midday sun, which in turn heats the incoming tide. As I make my way back towards the shore the water noticeably warms and I swim, dive and float, alongside the seaweed, drifting in the gentle sway of the tide, looking for seabed treasure. I am wet to the skin and perfectly happy.

“When we come into being with something that touches our heart and connects with our soul, it is a natural human instinct to feel the urge to express this, whether it be through spoken or written word, movement, sketching, painting or making.” Sarah Samuel Mindful Crafting.

My new found joy in writing is inspired by the experiences I have when swimming in the wild waters surrounding Bryher and by the natural world around me on the farm. Writing for me is an outlet for creativity, and I feel a great calm and pleasure when sitting with my pen and notebook, either outside with the elements or snuggled up inside with a cuppa. It is leading me to meet new people, learn and read new things and except experiences that I otherwise wouldn’t have been open to.

As Martha and I reached Great Par a group of artists were sitting painting and sketching, each in their own creative world. It is not so much the finished product that is the important part of being creative, but the chance to be expressive and mindful of the process. So in the pursuit of the creative thread I have tried to ignore my ego and inner critic and have had a crack at a poem. I think the last poem I wrote was under duress at secondary school and I admit it doesn’t come naturally but it was fun to sit at Great Par today in the sunshine and have a go. It’s called “Blue”.

Blue, blue hazy sky

With soft pale wisps of white

No rain or thunder clouds are nigh

No shades of grey to spoil the light.

From way up high fades dark to pale

Shades of blue on horizon meet

Deep indigo sea where white gulls sail

Soaring, gliding, are gracefully fleet.

I swim and play in cool delight

Through the sea with carrageen brown

The magic changes for not a hint of blue insight

As once submerged only shades of green are found.

The clear glass water caresses sandy shore

Ever moving back and forth

Rolls in and out and in some more

We both sit and enjoy Great Porth.