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annwfynSo, yesterday I went to Devon to join my family in the scattering of my grandfather's ashes.
It was easier than I was expecting, although getting up at 7.30 am on three hours sleep was pretty damn painful. I got the train from Waterloo to Whitchurch, then drove down to Devon with Dad and Penny.
We scattered his ashes on bluebell hill, at Lower Leigh in Devon where he lived until he had to give up farming when he was 80. It's where Grandma's ashes are buried too. It looks out across almost all the farm, even if it is now broken up and farmed by a variety of other people.
I found myself thinking, randomly, about an article I read years ago about pagan burial practices - often people were buried at specific points, often at boundary points, in order to emphasize their group's claim to the land. It was particularly common in Ireland. The idea was that if you were buried somewhere in death, that gave you a perpetual connection to that land, and through that to your bloodline. I think. It was a long time ago that I read it.
I like the idea that Grandad's farm at Lower Leigh - which was a massive part of his identity, and where Grandma's ashes were also scattered - is now his, in some odd way, for ever. He's a part of it, and it's a part of him. His place. And somewhere beautiful and big and open where he can rest, looking down across his place and his space.
That means something.
I got home at around 7 ish and bimbled around the house for a bit. My neck and shoulders are really acting up, so I had a long hot bath, and watched TV. They are worse this morning, and I think I'm getting into a vicious cycle where I get stressed, so they tighten up. Then because I'm in pain, I get snarky and ratty and wind up getting stressed. It's not good.
This morning I'm feeling generally slightly better about the world. I said goodbye to Grandad. And I feel better for letting him go like that.
It was easier than I was expecting, although getting up at 7.30 am on three hours sleep was pretty damn painful. I got the train from Waterloo to Whitchurch, then drove down to Devon with Dad and Penny.
We scattered his ashes on bluebell hill, at Lower Leigh in Devon where he lived until he had to give up farming when he was 80. It's where Grandma's ashes are buried too. It looks out across almost all the farm, even if it is now broken up and farmed by a variety of other people.
I found myself thinking, randomly, about an article I read years ago about pagan burial practices - often people were buried at specific points, often at boundary points, in order to emphasize their group's claim to the land. It was particularly common in Ireland. The idea was that if you were buried somewhere in death, that gave you a perpetual connection to that land, and through that to your bloodline. I think. It was a long time ago that I read it.
I like the idea that Grandad's farm at Lower Leigh - which was a massive part of his identity, and where Grandma's ashes were also scattered - is now his, in some odd way, for ever. He's a part of it, and it's a part of him. His place. And somewhere beautiful and big and open where he can rest, looking down across his place and his space.
That means something.
I got home at around 7 ish and bimbled around the house for a bit. My neck and shoulders are really acting up, so I had a long hot bath, and watched TV. They are worse this morning, and I think I'm getting into a vicious cycle where I get stressed, so they tighten up. Then because I'm in pain, I get snarky and ratty and wind up getting stressed. It's not good.
This morning I'm feeling generally slightly better about the world. I said goodbye to Grandad. And I feel better for letting him go like that.
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Date: 2008-04-29 10:07 am (UTC)