Third time lucky

I scarcely dare write this.  The first time I thought my life was sorted I got chicken pox the next week and took months to recover.  The second time, Steve had a stroke.  The third time?  I'll take the risk.  I keep exclaiming to Steve how good our life is.  Little things.  Butter in a butterdish and not in the fridge.  Daisies and clover in the lawn.  Food from our garden.  A butcher who farms his own pigs and makes bacon.  Neighbours who bring over fat juicy flathead.  The smell of the sea.  Foraging.  It starts to sound a bit coffee-table bookish, but it's true.  As I said in the previous post, I've been indulging in a beautiful book about the pilgrim trails through France to Santiago de Compostela in North West Spain.  Yesterday Steve, Sis and I took a walk on the track along southern Spring Bay.

Steve looking pilgrimish.

Maria Island in the distance.

The fish processing plant.

May it continue.