Why I'm Here

"Why am I here?"

I don't mean in the philosophical sense, but why here in a half-restored old farmhouse on the edge of a small Czech village. I have talked about this in the past and regular readers of this blog will know the various answers I could proffer, but I suspect that there are new readers who might not know and also, more importantly, I have had reason to ask that question again over the last twelve months.

One reason has gone. The only reason I am in the Czech Republic is/was the fact that a dear friend, Hannah Kodicek, moved back here and then more importantly moved to Cesky Krumlov. If she had stayed in Prague I have no doubt that I would not have bought a house here. As you may know we are approaching the anniversary of her all-too-early death and sitting here in my living room I am surrounded by memories of her. A photo of her is above my desk, it's of her looking back at me as we walked on the hills above Cesky Krumlov. She's saying something to me. I remember the walk because we had been delighted to see carpets of purple buttercups in the woods presaging the arrival of spring. But I do not remember what she was saying.

I checked the date when I chose the picture for this blog: it says 30th March 2005. In September 2005 I found the farmhouse and two months later I was legally a temporary resident of the Czech Republic. On the 2nd April 2011 I was walking in the woods on Petrin Hill, Prague and enjoying the flowers. Hannah had taken me there too. I rang her in the hospice and told her about them. At the end of the call we said goodbye.

Squirrels

If you visit Cesky Krumlov Castle grounds you might see this little fellow or some of his family. As you can see from photo he has the ear tufts of a red squirrel, which is what he is - a black mutant of the red squirrel (the American black squirrel is a mutant of the grey squirrel).

This one ran up a tree in the walk beside the castle gardens and chattered and clattered at me - very angry that I had disturbed his foraging in the flower beds. I first saw a Czech black squirrel (there are lots of them) in the park that covers the slopes of Petrin Hill in Prague. The black squirrels there were far more cautious than the Krumlov ones and certainly wouldn't have entered into the exchange this one did.

I have a soft spot for squirrels, even though the grey ones in England are little better than rats with tails. When I was a small child (under three) I lived in a flat in the mill house near to a large pond and we often had squirrels come to the bird-table in our garden. I can remember the thrill I felt when my mum pointed them out to me. There were no black squirrels, though, but there was something better than that - a white one, an albino squirrel. It was a beauty.

Then we moved to the local small town. I was very sorry to leave behind the squirrels and the swans that I fed every morning. My mother tried to console me. On my third birthday I was standing at the window of my new bedroom, when I saw them - three or four squirrels playing in the garden. I called for my mother, who told me that the squirrels had come to wish me happy birthday. I was delighted, although sad that the white squirrel hadn't come. The squirrels did not come again.