The Country Celebrant and The Country Carer

Winter is, hopefully, over and the wedding season is fast approaching. At the moment, those of us involved in weddings are invited to attend showcase events - glitzy affairs where outfitters, cake makers, planners and venues vie for business. The brides to be are schmoozed with bags of goodies, samples of this and that to whet their appetite and empty their pockets. Celebrants too are invited to attend these fairs and I wonder why?  You seldom meet a vicar or a registrar at a wedding fair. The vicar is safe in the knowledge that should a couple wish to be married in a specific church then he will get the gig. The registrar hides behind the legalities of a civil wedding - rolling out humdrum ceremonies in ghastly offices or worse still, fleecing couples for the same prosaic ceremony in a fancy location for an extortionate fee. Hand-fasting Ceremony The Celebrant has to work very hard at getting to know the couple they are working for, researching music and poetry tha...

Today has been an extraordinary day.  I have never written or delivered a ceremony for an animal before.  I would not normally do so, not because I am anti pet ceremonies.  I am an animal lover and I fully appreciate the joy of owning an animal. Mabel was a border collie cross, she came into the life of her owner as an adult dog and they shared everything for some 15 years. Mabel's owner is a lady in her 60's who has been on her own since her parents died when she was in her middle age.  The lady is alone, she has additional needs; mainly anxiety but also profound loneliness and some autistic tendencies. Mabel was her rock, when things got bad she would press her body against the lady's leg and look up at her with that wonderful smile that collie dogs are so good at giving.  Mabel knew if she was the subject of the conversation; she would thump her tail on the floor and squirm with pleasure, joining in with all that was being discussed. For the last 15 y...

I like to think that the seeds that we sow will grow and flower and in due course set seed themselves. It was thus last weekend; a young man, the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends, asked me to conduct the Naming Ceremony for his daughter. The family now live in New Zealand and so we seldom see them in England.  It was magical to be in an English country garden on a sunny afternoon in June with four generations of the same family enjoying a glass or two and a slice of delicious homemade cake while the newest member of the family, chewing meditatively on a dibber, was named. We added thumb prints to a fantasy tree to mark the occasion and a wonderful time was had by all.

The Country Celebrant  So here we are, the middle of January already; the United Kingdom has been buffeted by a series of storms that have swelled the rivers until they burst, leaving people with a deluge of mud and silt and detritus to clear away. We have lost icons of the stage and film and on a personal level we have, undoubtedly, lost people who mean the world to us; ordinary people who made no momentous contribution to the world but who shaped us by the very fact that we knew them. I was told the story of a cowman who taught a child to care for calves, to rear those orphaned, by hand - dipping her hand into a bucket of warm milk and allowing the calf to suck her fingers until it got the hang of how to drink.     I remember doing that as a child, I remember the rasp of the tongue on my fingers and the anticipation of a bite.  A calf does not bite, he does not have the teeth to do so. I am preparing for a new journey in my life; I have one son living on the ...