A salute of hailstones welcomed the dawn of Christmas Day just after 8am. I was surprised by the unusual swishing noise from sheets of hail hitting water, as a wintry squall sped toward me across the river from a soaking Beaulieu. I took shelter in time to record the reverberations as they struck the Egg’s shell.
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Everyday Actions (Morning Coffee)
Moon River
My exposed arm and nose felt like ice and the stainless steel of the heater pinged and pinked as its steel case cooled. A curlew called from somewhere stage left. The stove had stayed alight for eight hours, but now at three in the morning the Egg was getting cold. Grey light from the full moon streamed through the main skylight and I took its picture through a growing river of condensation. A triple spatter of droplets fell onto the plastic bag protecting my drawings as I crawled back under the covers.
Living Beside Water
My neighbours Nick and Caroline live in the house at the top of the field and between their home and mine, curved lines of earthworks follow the contours of a hill down to the river and reveal the remains of an iron age refuge.
In Nick’s kitchen a topographical study made in the early nineteenth century depicts house boats beside a creek. The curved bender roofs of the two hulls reminded me instantly of my own situation here in Exbury. Living beside water has long had many attractions.
Sky Light
First light enters the south (smaller) skylight by 7.58am
Other Homes: A Badger Sett
A slightly sunken lane parallels Smugglers Copse down to the river. My neighbour Nick tells me a custom house used to stand at the head of this path at its junction with Inchemery Lane, but all trace (except for a kink in the road) has been lost. Toward the middle of the lane around 100 metres from the river, badgers have made a home in the soft embankment. I could not find any latrines, but there were a few trails into nearby pasture that would provide earthworms for a healthy diet. A few shallow conical scrapes were also noted under the trees above the sett which may be related.
Sun Power
As sunsets have got successively earlier during the last few weeks, it has been a struggle to manage the power of the sun sufficiently to enable the charging of batteries, WIFI and webcam operation. Following maintenance today, the WIFI is back on line and the BLOGs can recommence. In a few days time it will also be clear if there is sufficient energy to restart the cameras too. The solar array may need supplementing with extra panels or with a small wind turbine until the days begin to lengthen and I now also have the ability to recharge batteries using a portable petrol generator (allowing three gallons of fuel to use in emergencies).
Over the next few days new blogs will be interspersed with others prepared earlier but which were unable to be posted live.
Sunset, Thursday 5th December from the Exbury Egg.
The Lamp
I’m writing by the warm light of a paraffin lamp, which hung high inside the curve of the egg, casts long moving shadows in time with its slow rocking. It’s a live flame from a fluttering tongue of yellowish light. The coals in the heater and are spluttering into heat and the air is warming, but my breath is a still visible mist drifting on unseen currents, in and out of dim light and soft shade. Outside the river flows inexorably on.
Everyday Actions (Sleep)
By eleven the moon was sufficiently high for its cool beams to wash through my circular skylight and to transit across the bed. As the night progressed I was bathed in, and scanned by, its glow as I slept.
As the days have got shorter, I have been sleeping a lot longer. The lack of light entails cooking in the embers of the day at around 3.45, being in bed by 4.30 and then sleeping until dawn. I normally have about six hours sleep and I have been averaging thirteen hours for the last two weeks each night in the Egg. I feel finely tuned in to the circadian rhythms of moon and its tides, the shortening day and to the wider weekly, seasonal and annual rhythms of this particular place.
Redbreast
A pair of robins are following me all the time around the Bofors Gun emplacement. As I fuss about rearranging bags of charcoal, bottles of paraffin and meths stored there, they pick up the insects and seeds unwittingly disturbed and dislodged. It’s an unusual symbiotic relationship where the redbreast gives us huge pleasure and we in turn help enrich its diet. I am sure it would not take long for them to feed from my hand.
What a poorer place it would be without these commonplace creatures that are such a feature of the ordinary culture of our isles. It was magical at seven o’clock this morning, to sit with a cup of tea in the thicket, listening to all the calls and songs.
The Exbury Egg 