A year of Bru

I really can’t believe that its been a year since lockdowns, social distancing and mask-wearing became the norm. A year since I started Bru Diaries, a way to share with everyone what was going on here, since there was nowhere else to go. And this is probably the longest I’ve ever been in one place, I’ve barely left Bruinisse, leave alone Zeeland! Somehow though, the days go by, and luckily I’ve come to enjoy the small things, and the moments with Prune and Suzi that I’m sure I’ll look back on one day and be grateful for.I thought I would share here some of the photos that didn’t make it into the other Bru Diary posts, as well as a few more of my meandering thoughts.

 It was a breezy, bright spring morning. I stopped by the lake, watched the reeds sway, listened to the water lap against the rocks. The sky was empty, until two swans took off, wings flapping with long graceful strokes. Pure white, against the brilliant blue sky. It could have been a KLM ad. Which made me think, and transported me, for a minute to a plane.

Early morning, a pale blue light that seems to fill the cabin when the window is pulled up. The plane’s wing, stretching out across the sky, a blanket of white clouds below. And you rub sleep out of your eyes, your hair is everywhere, and the pillow has fallen under someone else’s seat. Your throat is dry and lips are cracked, you’re hot and cold at the same time. Soon they’ll serve what passes as breakfast, and then the plane will dip lower, and you will cruise below the clouds, and wonder, how the sky is always so blue up there, when you arrive on a grey winters day (because those early morning arrivals always seem to be for Europe). This fleeting memory, of something I’ve done so many many times. Sometimes with a feeling of excitement- maybe when we lived abroad and we were coming home, to visit dad. Other times with a hint of sadness, like after a tropical holiday, or time spent with grandparents.

Which led me to thinking about the reverse. Arriving somewhere warm and tropical. You’re full of crap orange juice and have binge-watched awful films (on other people’s screens), and finally, the captain informs you its time to descend. Its at least 25 degrees, he says, and its past midnight, local time. And when you step off the plane, you’re met with that warm, thick air, and the ads on the walls of the terminal are for foreign phone data plans, and mosquitoes are drifting past, and your legs are heavy as you drag your bag behind you, following the crowd, out into a warm night.

I get reminders all the time, of places, people… from the smallest things. A truck passing here takes me back to a tiny bedroom in a stone cottage in Burgundy, where I’d lie in bed and see the headlights of the giant timber haulers, long before I heard their deep rumble. The wind through the sails by the marina, and I’m back on a boat, somewhere in the mid-Atlantic, searching for dolphins. The snow and clear blue skies- winter sport. Warm September mornings when its dark when you get up- somewhere tropical. I find I can be anywhere, everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time.

I sometimes see old photos, and wonder, did that really happen? It all feels like another life. People we love, places we’ve been… they all fade into memories, and they’re all you have left.

And during this time too, there will be memories. Of the dogs, lying outside on warm summer days. Of Prune, shaking snow from her fur, and sleeping under my chair. Of Suzi, sniffing on her walks, and curling up, her paw on my arm. Of the wild ponies on the hill and the swans flying past the lake, the forests of golden leaves. Different memories. But still, that’s all we will have, one day.

Sorry for my ramblings, I hope it didn’t bore you too much! Btw, in case you are wondering, yes this is the last of the Bru Diary updates, at least in this format. Thanks for following along, if you did, and if you missed any, you can find them all under the Holland tab, on my site.