Dancing with a hoe

Monday, 12 September 2011

There are some who claim they wish that I was dead...

To hide the fact that they wished in truth that they were living.
Join us, it's never too late to start.

Four pictures with rocks in them...

In service to the common good, the betterment of man and the greater glory of God, whether there provably is one or not.

At last, success with the Savoys...

The first of this season's cabbage , we are delighted with the results. We will freeze some for later.

Our first harvest. The small tree,grown from a stone four years ago. Last year it bore us one tiny sample. A tantalising taster. This year it produce two hundred intoxicating sweet delicious fruit. What they cost? Virtually nothing. We pay one Euro tax per year for the land. I don't begrudge it.
We salvaged a few windfalls after a gale the other day. The small bowl of gleanings amounted to more peaches than I had ever managed to afford in the U.K. We will bottle some in syrop and likely make a few jars of conserve. We will eat our fill of fresh. We are happy to give away the excess to our needs. There is more to come, two whole trees full that have not reached the peak of their perfection. The promised anti cyclone will ripen them off. You wont find the bouquet or the flavour by rooting around in the skips, our kid. Home's the place we keep the blessing of our austere abundance.Be there or be square. Wish you were here.

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

There is no such thing as history...

The fabled realm is eternal. It is still only a rough stone sketch. We search for more pebbles, large and small. A hundred tonnes or so of rocks and soil might just do the trick. I still have a long way to go I will save the explanations for later. Key words to ponder on evolutive design , transtemporal, organic architecture. (Honest it does it on it's own, must be magic) All's well in the Izdom of Iz.

Puffball...

What a find, a giant puffball fungus growing beneath the oak trees.

It's fleshy and white inside, you have to catch them before they produce spore. This one is ideal. Anne -So hacks away the inedible bits, the tough root core and a few suspicious looking insect holes.

I prepare the cabbage for a dish my dad taught me.Bhuja The strawberries are another story. They ended up in the conserve.

Voila! Anne-Sophie's Puffball flan. The meal was a masterpiece.

About Izmusic

"My melodies are songs without words, none vocal narrative. Folk have rushed by for years and barely glimpsed the tune. A few hang around and listen for a while, but the street has many distractions. My back is no longer against the wall,this is the first chance I've had in eleven years to unravel my tunes, at present encrypted into a whole tangle of technique excercises. You've missed some wondrous epic sessions sad that most often I was the only person,mortal at least, to hear them.
Eight hours a day playing in the icy chill of city streets through several winters alters the character of your technique to some how transcend the harsh discomforts and "make some good of the day".
MUSIC IZ A MIGHTY MAGIC! The first cathartic offerings were created hastily in a frantic effort to master the production.It's all past time , I make music for the moment the occassion, a kind of relativity fix. A divine conspiracy, a benign heresy. The line of least probability may offer opportunity of greater possibility.
Enjoy my primitive efforts. Plain song busking,"strictly kitchen ". The music of the heart bridges the ambiguity of fumbling words,overcomes cultural barriers. Music like God is personal none vocal meaning in the voice of the unspeakable word. The "You know what I mean nostalgia " space ,whether we've done the daring deed or not, where the mind might put on clean socks and start afresh. Familiar phrasing from our collective vocal tradition triggers epic vision, emotional empathy, mathematical poetry, sympathetic reveries create lifelines to the greater mind. In all styles, in all languages the flute and drum resist the restrictive dogmatic control of state or temple."