Teresa’s been on at me for a good while to make two planters for our two wisteria, and the front door arch she recently got for us.
I’ve been putting it off on account of not having the right timber to hand. We’ve been looking out for free pallets. But failing to find any. So I just went ahead anyway with what was at hand.
The building stage .
I used reclaimed Victorian floorboards we got free (Freecycle!) many years back, for the base. And the sides are made from cladding from one of our pal Ken’s outbuildings. I didn’t really want to use the latter wood. But needs must!
The cross-members over the top of the front planter, in the photo above, help keep things square whilst I add side panelling to the corner braces.
Painting the planters.
They’ve been given a double coat of outdoor paint, had drainage holes drilled (and painted, to hopefully stop or slow ingress of water!), and are lined with weed suppressing fabric, with a bit of gravel for drainage/ballast at the bottom.
We’re hoping the fabric will extend the life of the planters whilst allowing water to flow fairly freely. We’re also hoping that moving the wisteria from their pots into these planters won’t traumatise them. They appear to be growing very well!
Wow! I do love YouTube, for giving us all the chance to stumble across gems such as this. Thanks also to the NFB, or National Film Board of Canada.
Bill Mason, who made this film, and ‘stars’ in it, is Canadian. I have Canadian family and ancestry, on my dad’s side. So these facts set up something of a sympathetic resonance for me.
Then there’s Bill Mason himself, the man: he is, or rather was, an outdoorsman and artist, who made, I’ve subsequently discovered, numerous utterly gorgeous and fascinating films, of which this is one of the best.
The chief charms of this are simple yet kaleidoscopically rich, like the environment in which the film is set, on and around Lake Superior.
One of the things Bill addresses, a vexed issue for me, is spirituality. This was the only note struck in this otherwise perfect reverie of sound and vision, nature and culture, that – if not necessarily jarring – gave me pause for some (Indian!?) reservations.
But I’d like to take this post as an opportunity to consider a few things, and there are many, that this film either touches upon directly, or stirred in me by association.
First there are the ‘renaissance man’ and self-reliance aspects. Bill, who formerly worked as a ‘commercial artist’, was a conservationist, famed canoeist, artist, writer, family man, and all sorts. I love all of that! I have my own aspirations to living a multi-faceted life. Richer, one hopes -not fiscally perhaps, but in other better more important ways – than the monomaniac furrows our society drills us into pursuing.
So, there are many things Bill’s example encourages: to spend more time in, and pay more attention to, nature, and indeed all our environments. Art, get up, and out, and make some. Buy or build a canoe; get out and start messing about in the water!
It was also interesting to learn that Bill’s health wasn’t terrific. A sickly child, he has severe asthma all his life. And yet he didn’t allow this to stop him from adventuring. Maybe his derring-do contributed to his early demise? But then again, maybe not? And at least he lived a rich and inspiring life while he lived.
Some might laugh reading this next bit. And it may indeed sound facile. But I truly couldn’t care less! And that’s the fact that I like his style. And I’ve gone as far as to add elements of it – some were already there, others just a little tweak in already beloved themes – to my own sartorial repertoire.
I already had the neckerchiefs (though mine are too small!), and brown leather walking boots, and many a checked shirt. But the red outdoorsman socks are new! And so too is the very particular red and black check ‘lumberjack’ shirt!
Bill’s particular style of art – he favours palette knives over brushes, and cites J. M. W. Turner as his chief inspiration and influence – is terrific, albeit not entirely to my normal tastes. But that he does it all, is inspiration. It was interesting to see that he, like myself and several artists I’ve known personally, is highly self-critical bout his work, and often destroys what others. Might regard as decent work, because he’s unhappy with it.
Then there’s music. In other Mason films he strums guitar or plays harmonica. It amazingly, one might add. And his family aren’t exactly fulsome in their appreciation (does this remind any of us of our own domestic musical life? Or is it just me!?). But for Waterwalker, the music is supplied by (?) and (?). (?) is a star in his own right. And the music totally suits the subject!
Some of it, such as the actual ‘theme tune’, might induce cringing amongst some listeners. I’d understand why. It has a ‘new agey’ earnestness. But I love it.
Another facet of the whole thing that some might find they react to differently than I do, is the whole tenor of it all. It’s definitely dreamy, romantic, and perhaps even somewhat solipsistic? And it’s no surprise such movies helped created a cult of Bill Mason. But as a ‘fellow traveller’, and sympathetic romantic introvert soul-mate, I love it all. As did critics, numerous of his films, inc’ this one, winning a variety of awards and accolades.
Also interesting to me, is how stuff like this leaches into other areas. For example, I noticed, whilst watching a recent Jack Stratton ‘Holy Trinity’ episode, on YouTube, that he had created a logo and a whole invented Vulf Films thing suspiciously akin to the Canadian NFB (National Film Board) doodad.
Just as Bill Mason’s film is simultaneously about following one’s own individual and sometimes lonely paths, it’s also about connections. Be they to nature, or each other, immediate or indirect. Love it!
I arrived at the point of collecting a few A Little Book of this, that or the other titles, all by Mike Harding, in a roundabout way.
Having adored the Cosgrove Hall animated film of The Wind In The Willows, I was seeking out other similar stuff. This lead to Cosgrove Hall’s much harder to track down The Reluctant Dragon, another Kenneth Grahame adaptation.
It transpired that Mike Harding did the music for the latter. So I wound up checking him out a bit more. And so it was I found the series of Past Times titles from which series this comes.
An alternative edition.*
I got four – on green men, gargoyles, misericords and tombs and monuments – all of which are roughly six inches by six inches square. So far I’ve only looked at this Green Man entry. It has approx 60 colour images of its subject, along with a little explanatory text for them all.
I hope they’re all as good as this one. It’s delightful. Harding speculates on their origins, meanings, etc, and the ways in which green men can be found in many traditions and places. But his main focus is on how these so very pagan images populate so many Christian sites in the UK.
A rare full-bodied green man, St Leonard’s, Linley, Shropshire.
And he also draws some more secular and even up to the minute inferences from the study of his subject; ‘the Green man … has a story to tell – if only we knew how to listen.’ Amen to that, brother Harding, Amen!
A great little gem of a book. Highly recommended.
* A better and nicer cover image and design than the edition I wound up with, which is pictured at the top of this post.
Over Yuletide I watched the Cosgrove Hall animation of The Wind In The Willows. But the version I watched was an augmented and lengthened one, that an enterprising fan had created, splicing in several segments absent from the official release, in order to bring it closer to Grahame’s book, in it’s original unabridged form.
At the time that I’m re-drafting this post (started on my 50th birthday, but totally re-written now, on the 9th), I’m several days into reading this, at an appropriately leisurely pace. And last night, at just gone midnight – a suitably enchanted hour, perhaps? – I read the beautifully titled mid-point chapter, The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn.
The aforementioned ‘extended cut‘ of the Cosgrove Hall production took parts of the TV series they also made, and spliced them into the feature length film that is both a standalone gem, and had also acted as a ‘pilot’, of sorts, to said series. And the insertion of The Piper segment very literally enchanted me.
A watery rural idyll.
Some print versions of the book apparently cut this remarkable chapter. Vandalism, I’d say! And I’m not 100% sure, but I think the version I recall from childhood didn’t have that part. As it all felt wonderfully fresh and new to me. Whereas the remainder of the book, by and large, is all very familiar.
As is the way of my adult self, I want to read around the subject a bit. And I’ve discovered that there’s a great deal of tragedy in the real world back story, regarding Kenneth Grahame himself, and most especially as that relates to Alistair ‘Mouse’ Grahame, the author’s son, and only child. It was out of bedtime stories told to the young ‘Mouse’ that WITW grew.
But I’ll save any further thoughts on that and other extra-literary considerations for another time. This post is intended as a very positive celebration of what’s best and most captivating about this classic of so-called children’s literature. I put things that way because it’s my view that the inner child lives ‘eternally’ within us. Or ought to. And by eternally, in this context I simply mean as long as we live, and despite our ageing.
Mole’s inner child is frequently excited.
One of the many very attractive things about The Wind In The Willows is it’s strongly pagan affinity for nature. This is something it shares with other writers, such as A. A. Milne – whose stage adaptation of Grahame’s work helped popularise it – and, very notably so, for me at least, J. R. R. Tolkien.
Allusions to Christianity do intrude here, however, and more nakedly so than in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth writings (or the Winnie The Pooh stories, for that matter). But when they do, as for example in the carolling of the field mice at Mole’s door, the frankly comically bizarre parochialism that so frequently attends the conflation of myths, as they travel from place to place and culture to culture, is plain to see, as Joseph and Mary seek shelter in what appears to be some snowy English shire!
Another strand, relating once again to nature and the place of living beings within her, is to do with consciousness. Grahame’s animals, whilst rendered in cutely (or ought that to be acutely?) anthropomorphic forms, retain certain ‘animal qualities’. Or rather what we, or more accurately Grahame, think these might be.
Many a bucolic reverie is enjoyed.
So it is that animals are more firmly located in the present moment. And, correspondingly, perhaps, freed from the burdens of anxiety over past or future, they are more subtly attuned to whole ranges of perception – this is delightfully rendered in the chapter Dulce Domum, in which Mole’s home calls to him on the air, via scent – of which we humans are very crudely and ignorantly unaware.
All of this stuff, from the anthropomorphism to the ideas of animal nature, is freighted with all manner of assumptions. And it’s not set about in a rigorously scientific way. But rather approaches things from a poetic angle. Let’s not forget Grahame also wrote The Reluctant Dragon, about a peaceful dragon who preferred poetry to fighting!*
I absolutely adore The Wind In The Willows. And whilst it may magnify or conceal flaws in the whole romantic view of life/nature, or it’s creator’s own character, or the history of his times, it remains a potently charming work of poetic storytelling art. And, for me at least, it’s manifold attractions far outweigh any nitpicking analyses, past, present or future.
A perfect tale for those long winter nights.
It’s interesting that Grahame, like Tolkien, found finding a publisher difficult. And it’s worth noting that TWITW was no overnight success. Indeed, at the time of first publication it received poor to indifferent notices!
Anyway, this post is intended to capture the flashes of enchantment that this terrific little gem of book lit up for me. I’ll leave it there for now, as I still have just under half the book left to read.
* Also brought to our TV screens, and delightfully so, by Cosgrove Hall!
An old-fashioned love of simple homely pleasures.
I ought also to mention the absolutely wonderful illustrations, by E. H. Shepherd, with which I’ve enriched this post. They are pitch perfect.
Teresa and I went for a walk in a nice old woodland that we discovered locally today. Gault Wood is a little over six hectares of land belonging to the Woodland Trust.
Gently forking paths split around a pond.
Teresa wanted to forage for stuff in the woods. Not edible stuff, mind. But rather materials for her art projects at work, like the annual seasonal murals. So she collected yellowing leaves for the Autumn display.
Teresa collects leaves and takes pics, in the woods.
This rather lovely green space is just a five or ten minute drive from our front door. It was particularly nice today, as the sun was out quite a lot. We had the place mostly to ourselves, save a young family and one or two dog walkers.
Verdant surrounds to a pond.
There are numerous little ponds. And a good number of benches. After our walk we sat on one of the latter, and had a flask of hot tea and some oaty biscuits, listening to the birds singing and the wind rustling the leaves. Tranquil and beautiful!
Semi-wild; signs of humanity, but unkept and lush.
