Michael’s cookery club met for the first time in 18 months, safe in Kaliwood. It promised to be a perfect evening, despite my shortness of temper. M had forgotten, I had to unexpectedly fill in for a Forest School facilitator that day, so turn around was 40 minutes. The weather warm September, the light welcoming, the ground dry, the table decked out in white table cloth.
It will become the stuff of stories. Do you remember when Armoal fell in the pond? It was only because of her clear delight in the wilderness, the place that I thought, lets cut across the bund between the ponds. But it was un risk assessed, bramble and hazel came in the way. Armoral slipped, and fell into the green. ‘That’s all I remember of the fall, the green, and not being cold’.
Immediately, without hesitation, John went in probably saved her from going under, and supported her getting up, while I and another pulled from the bank.
Back home I asked her if she wanted to call it a day. No way, I want to come back, she said. What a woman.
Sofka came, stayed two nights. Wearing the same red coat I took an aniversary photo of her on the steps of Clarissa. Last time she was here New Year, 3 years ago. Since then two cancers, lung and breast, the death of John Fox who brought us together in the first place, and the continued silence and absence from her life of her beloved daughter.
Leon left for London, coming to see us at Forest School on the way to the Smoke.
Heritage Open Days, woodland open, and 50 came to the wood, often those who had walked passed it for years.
Kaliwood 