The company of old friends

Unpacking our boxes can be such a pleasure if we're in the mood to receive it. Some of our boxes we packed back in April prior to embarking upon our South Pacific idyll. As we sift through them, we rediscover our kinship to these things. And as much as I like to think of myself as against materialism, my things are old friends to me and really comfort me.

Having rediscovered my trusty old pots and pans, gourmet knives and roughened cutting boards, I've been indulging in a lot of cooking for a week now. The mere feel of a familiar handle, the crunch of a sharp blade through new ingredients, collards and country ham, have made me feel at home. The memories these items carry transport me, the cutting board that used to live at Sarah's place, the handcrafted Mark Jones knife (thanks Wendy!) or the cleaver that had to leave the vegetarian household (thanks Alison!).

Today was also my first ride on Jet in this new place. Having finally cleaned and oiled my saddle, which sprung back to life, I tacked up this glorious warm afternoon for an introductory ride. We set off for a short reconnaissance, Emmett bounding from one shock of grass to the next, Jet unsure about all the new elements: the rustle and crackle of leaves, the dive-bombing of birds, expanses bocked by thickets and lush trees. The three of us are out of shape and new to everything here, but the familiar plaiting of the reins, jingling of the dog tags, the fit of the saddle, we're home too.