coronavirus | Jillian Sullivan
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Ida Valley Musings – Thirty seconds without blinking – 5 April

In the east, Rough Ridge golden as ever, the tors slanting against a blue sky. On Blackstone Hill, to the west, shreds of cloud murky over the ridges and gullies. Beyond the willows, in their first flush of yellowing, and deep into the southwest, grey clouds mass. The breeze is buffetty from the southwest too. […]

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Ida Valley Musings – Song About the Earth – 3rd April

“Look at this world/spinning for us/even in the dark/ look at this world/spinning for us/ giving us hope and sun…” (Sartori and Quarantotto) On the road to Ranfurly, I play Andrea Bocelli singing Canto della Terra – Song about the Earth. The road climbs past the fields of matagouri and hawthorn, swoops over the Ida […]

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Ida Valley Musings – While we Falter – 2nd April

This morning the mountains are a dusky blue, their curves accentuated by shadows. A low cap of softness, like smoke, hovers over the ridgeline of the Hawkduns, some of it wisps into the gullies. On Mt Ida the cloud hugs tight, hiding the peaks. The cloud grey-blue underneath and on top the newly risen sun […]

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Ida Valley Musings – Creatively Self Soothing – 31st March

Early evening, and the grey cloud has lifted from the flanks of the Hawkduns and the sun lies weakly there, faint shadows and stipples on lightened ridges. On Rough Ridge too, the tors in subdued light. It seems so long since I took it for granted I could climb up there, even in a snow […]

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Ida Valley Musings – Single File – 29 March

A bright morning yesterday, so bright we had to sit with our backs to the sun to read the paper and drink tea. What did the day hold? Planting cabbages for sure. Also, marigolds from my friend Mary in Nelson. She’d sent a box of comfrey roots, lettuces and marigolds home with me, in a […]

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Ida Valley Musings Autumn 2020 Thursday 26 March

Swallows wings outstretched and the sky grey. A band of light over the dark ranges. The road across the paddocks empty. Day one. Yesterday, Mike next door drove up on his ride on and mowed the drive – the stalky dock and yarrow, the tangled rye grass. I gave him a thumbs up, yelled out […]

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