Blunt

Calm, warm and quiet, and no sign of change. Normally an expedition to reach the woodshed when the snow falls at this time of year, only the slippery trodden mud is becoming the hazard at the moment. 
Warmer conditions has made it easier to fire up the chainsaw, noisily breaking the silence with its ever blunter chain making hard work of breaking down the timber into useable chunks to axe. In need of a beginners guide to sharpening chains, I might need to relent once again to the clever hands of our neighbour to graft away on his sharpening tool to bring the chainsaw chain back to life. I'm sure he has been listening to it from the other side of the woodland and is expecting the call. 
There is technique involved with cutting and especially more so with a blunt tool! One such bit of knowledge is knowing which way the timber could close up on the saw when cutting. Whilst this is less likely from cutting small lengths, the longer tree pieces we reduced down to metre lengths it was particularly important to know. This could mean cutting from underneath the fallen trunk, meaning pushing the chainsaw upwards through the wood towards you. I am always relieved when this works and that I have safely not acquired any injury in doing so. 
Soup is ready, the sun is still shining and the half day of cutting to keep the woodshed fuller for another few weeks is done. Bliss.
   

Torn

It is the time of year for repairs. Snow-less but still crispy in the mornings, using the time efficiently to do those little, necessary jobs around the cottage which have been put off time and time again over the last year. 
It is also the time when baby pictures with tacky holly covered borders appear on facebook messages and the same old Christmas related drivel tunes cock up the radio airwaves in supermarkets. Bah humbug! 
Here, it is nice and quiet, with just the occasional 4x4 vehicle stuffed with hunters passing by the front gate. The whimper of far off boar at night the prize for their exploits. The unusually mild daytime temperatures has melted some of the treacherous ice off the exposed track leading to us and has given us an un-seasonal opportunity to do some winter weeding in the garden. 
Tiling the last bits in the kitchen (it was supposed to be finished last October..) in these warmer days, the stove has been sufficient this year to keep us down to wearing just two jumpers. And what of Christmas traditions here? The sour cabbage soup, the fish meal and plenty of homemade biscuits to munch on. A pair of slippers bought for each other. We have enjoyed these simple pleasures.  

'Arties'

To wet our appetite over the wintry months we have the pleasure of adding jerusalem artichokes to the menu. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jerusalem_artichoke) 
An awkward looking vegetable but a useful substitute for the potato if we were ever going to need a substitute for any of the 3 sackfuls of spuds stashed away in the cellar. In the upcoming months I may be writing about all the mashed, chipped, souped and baked 'arties' that we will be putting to the taste test and then all the awkward consequences the next day. Thankfully the toilet is outside! 
Last weekend I found myself in the Old Town Christmas market in Bratislava, and not an artichoke insight! Instead the same wooden kitchenalia stalls, and several hundred food huts consisting of either pancakes, burgers or gingerbread. Not that these are not Slovak specialities, my criticism would be on individuality and choice. In my mind a missed opportunity to either explore something new or to bring back a more unique recent and past traditions. It all felt very safe without the sparks compared to neighbouring countries examples. A glass of artichoke brandy would have been nice.            

Cob

I must write on this blog more often, I must write on this blog more often! It's not as if I don't have anything to say, it's just getting the time as per usual. 
The army trailer has been left standing all year, still so beautiful to look at but sad to see no work has been added to it yet.
With Winter a day or two away, it might not get that T.LC. treatment until the new year. But don't despair, I am fully aware, that it has to be ready for guest accommodation next year!
Tiling has been the priority, cow dung constantly mixed everyday for another gluey and slapped on coat for the terracotta tiles to adhere to. Surprisingly there hasn't been many raised eyebrows or much conversation regarding the usage of shit to cover our cottage walls and floors over the last year, whilst to us it still remains very revolutionary. Just a whisper in conversation would be nice, but the danger would be how we might go into such immense detail on how the cob formula evolved, how it can be used for so many purposes, how this, how that.. Better left quiet then.

      

Cats eyes

A bare mention of being spied on in the last post and what follows is the international sensation of bugged embassies all over Europe. Fortunately this week the only eyes which have starred at us have come from AJ the cat, and his feline conspirer Yabu looking for extra food helpings at our doorstep.
Okay progress report :
Attic room for guests, done.
Vegetables out of the garden before any heavy frost, done.
Laying tiles on the kitchen floor, two more weeks then done.
Orange render on the exterior of the cottage, done.
Seeing the end of the orange has been a long time coming. Not only a focal point for visitors and strangers alike, it always appeared as an unfinished project visually with half the coating missing. There was even some who thought we were in the process of putting the orange render BACK ON to the walls! But now the final orange dust debris is swept away and temporarily filling potholes in the road until any rain washes it away. What now follows is the re-pointing of cob mixture on the north and east facing walls. That's next year to worry about it.
Last week I got the opportunity to wait for a bus to get back home from travels abroad for 87 minutes. This being late at night and all connections keeping to schedule just when I needed a delay! It's very difficult to keep occupied in times like that when living in almost solitude from the different language that surrounds you. Your mind creates illusions on what the few individuals around who are also waiting are also thinking. You are also hoping that no one wants to start a conversation with you. Thankfully for my sake no one did as I doodled and wrote the occasional thought which might one day surface onto a page. 

Eyes

I feel we are being watched and it's not subtle.
As we walk through the town we see heads turn, conversations turn to whispers, and strangers walking past become even more strange when their eyes lock contact to yours. Even when we are in the car other drivers are determined to see your face. 
I laugh it off and smile or even wave.
Back a few decades and this would have been pretty normal here, as pockets of information or mis-information was constantly passed on during everyday life. But it feels like the old habits still exist. Those preying eyes are still out there, be careful how you step and what you say. 
When we see a light aircraft flying over on regular intervals through the day my paranoia now extends to the thought that we are being documented for one reason or another. 
Occasionally a different car passes the front of our gate and slowly drives by, to where it is going we don't know. There are only a couple of houses occupied past our place and they don't own a car. 
I also believe Slovak telecom purposely censor some of the pages we would like to see when using a search engine on the internet. Constantly when we ask a question we only get a vague answer back.
Bizarrely, I got thinking that everybody hides behind the terrifyingly difficult Slovak language and that truthfully everyone speaks English. I even started to imagine the accents all our neighbours may have! Far-fetched? Well maybe, it has been a long day painting floorboards.

Home

Another year's dose of trimming the woodland finished. Not without the scars and  aching limbs. But to make up for any dis-comfort was the journey on the back of our neighbour's tractor pulling our tree load home. Despite the occasional head height branch and thorny hedge on the verge that we barge through, to see all the rich and vivid autumn colours in glorious reality  makes me wonder what sort of holiday this place has become in our lives. The compact camera broke down a few months back, no more snapshots of these memories at the moment, only in our minds will they stick.