Daniels Mill

Daniels mill is a watermill hidden within the Shropshire countryside.  The mill still produces flour in the traditional way.  I first visited a couple of years ago and I was quite dismayed after setting out on my travels to realise that I had left my camera at home.  Most unlike me…  I did manage to capture a few photos on my camera phone, but it was nice to go back recently with a real camera in hand.

The water mill is virtually unaltered since the 18^th century and has been in the ownership of the same family for over 250 years.  The current mill wheel was installed around the middle of the 19^th century to replace an earlier wheel on the same site.

Disastrous floods in 2007 caused major devastation to the mill and the surrounding area, but luckily the mill building was not structurally damaged.  It is amazing to see the mark within the building that shows how far the flood water rose.

The earliest reference to the Mill and land surrounding it appears around the late 15th century, when it was known as ‘Donynges’ or ‘Dunnings’ Mill. It remained in the hands of the estate until the 18th century, and in the early centuries was probably worked by a Journeyman Miller, who would visit the mill when there was work for it to do.

More history can be found here.

A quote from the official website:

The present mill worked until 1957 grinding all kinds of grain for animal feed, but ceased operation on the death of the Miller, the present owner's Father. A great deal of work has been required to restore both the Mill and the house to its present condition. Great care has been taken with this work (which has been undertaken solely by the owners) to ensure that as much of the original has been preserved and any replacements required have been obtained from demolitions of old properties.

It is a lovely place to visit not only do you get a guided tour that explains the history and how the mill works.  There is also opportunity to walk around the mill pools and through the surrounding woodlands which allow views of the mill from different perspectives.

There is also the opportunity to walk under the viaduct (part of the severn valley railway) and view it from both sides along with trains travelling along the viaduct.  The walk also allows you to see the track and the steam trains at eye level.  The train drivers often blow the trains whistle and wave to visitors as the train passes by.  The flour that the mill produces can be purchased raw or in the form of scones in the tea shop.  I found both my visits interesting on many levels.

Show and Tell

Beautiful and elegant photography. Stimulating, thoughtful writing.  The ordinary concerns of individual lives set into an extraordinary, world-wide context. All of this, and more, is Vision and Verb.

From my first visit to these pages until the day I agreed to become part of the community, something about the site's memorable, alliterative name nagged at me. It seemed uncannily familiar.  How that could be I wasn't sure, since I couldn't remember meeting the phrase in any other context. The thought that "Vision and Verb" had been part of my earlier life seemed fanciful and foolish, and so I set it aside.

Then one morning I awoke, startled and attentive long before dawn, with another fully-formed phrase echoing in my mind.  "Show and tell," I said to my bemused cat. "Show and tell. That's the connection with Vision and Verb."

And so it is. Long before we begin developing a more comprehensive vision of the world, long before we have not only the verbs but also the nouns, adjectives and prepositions to describe our world to others, the impulse to share it is alive.  Whether "Show and Tell" still survives in the schools I can't say, but I remember it fondly from my own grade school years. "Does anyone have anything to show us?" my teachers asked each morning, looking around the room for contributors.

We certainly did. I remember sharing my pet box turtle, some limestone rocks I'd painted with water colors, a silver dollar from my dad's coin collection, and my great-grandmother's butter paddle. Once, a classmate brought in a walking stick he'd captured - the strangest creature any of us had seen. Always, there were peanut butter jars filled with lady bugs, crickets and worms. There were old tools and hand-knit dishcloths, pretty jewelry and prettier leaves. Once, a girl brought her baby sister. We learned a good bit about the world as we found those first, halting words to describe our treasures - even as we began to learn about one another.

Pondering the sweet simplicity of that childhood sharing, I found myself intrigued by an adult question. If I were to choose something to share here, what would it be? What one object would I bring to Vision and Verb as my way of "showing and telling" a bit about myself?  Difficult as it was, I finally settled on the suitcase above. It's a bit of a cheat, since the suitcase is filled with even more wonderful things, but it (and its contents) are perfectly suited for sharing.

The suitcase belonged to my mother. She carried it on her honeymoon in 1938, and clung to it with a kind of fierce protectiveness through all the decades that followed. When she moved to Texas, the suitcase came with her, and it wasn't long before it took on new life as the "treasure bag". Each time we were forced to evacuate in advance of a hurricane, the suitcase and its contents were stowed in the back seat of the car, with my howling cat atop in her carrier.

What qualifies as treasure varies from year to year. The relative importance of objects ebbs and flows, but always the bag is filled with tangible memories, bits of life that simply can't be abandoned. This year, I took out the handmade coat I wore as an infant, the small bag of costume jewelry that no longer seems important, the set of jacks from my grade school years and four of my dad's six wristwatches.

Still remaining are Dad's leather work gloves, my mother's hand-crocheted Baptismal dress, the cribbage board we enjoyed as a family and my great-great-great-grandfather's fife, which he carried in the Civil War. There is an armload of silver bracelets I collected in my travels across Africa, a carved wooden crucifix from a leprosarium in Liberia, a few bits of good jewelry and the oldest of the family photographs. The dresser scarf from my parents' first apartment is there, as are some samples of my mother's needlework and the small wooden heart my dad made in his high school shop class.

By June 1, the first day of Hurricane Season, the suitcase will be ready, waiting in the hall closet while I wait to see what the season brings. During the waiting, I may pull out this or that to share here at Vision and Verb. After all - there's a lot to show, and a lot to tell.

A Perfect Moment

Time has stopped. I'm sitting on a shore of a calm lake, watching the clouds, dramatically changing their shapes and colors. Rays of light are trying to get through the clouds and touch the peaceful lake. Drama above and no movement below. A perfect moment. I don't need to say anything, do anything, think anything. I just know that I am. I know I am what I am, I am a part of this perfect moment - I am on a right place, on the right time. No need to add anything, no need to take away anything...

I have a full list of perfect moments. When I look at it, it seems that my perfect moments happen to be very simple and not complicated at all. Actually, the simpler they are the better... Sometimes I think that my perfect moments consist of lacking of many destructive things and feelings - like: chaos, noise, adrenalin, physical movement, crowds etc. My moments make me feel I have enough room for myself and my breathing, I can actually hear myself talking to my-Self...

My perfect moments are the white spaces between the busy life that we live.

Not everybody would find white spaces comfortable. I know a few people who can't stand the silence or 'empty' head or no action. They panic if they have to sit quietly in an empty room. And they get afraid if they have to be alone. I wonder what are their perfect moments - when they feel connected with their body, inner-self and surroundings... Do they have that feeling on a big party or on an adrenaline high speed car drive? Is that the same feeling that I get although my path is totally different? I wonder...

Perfect moments have the power to make you feel alive! You can feel yourself, you can see how important you are, you know that you belong to this world. The best part of this belonging is that you can choose and find the perfect moments wherever you are! You can even find a perfect moment in the work you hate!! Isn't that something?!

I'm sure you all keep your perfect moments close to your heart. Are they quiet or loud, are they big or small, are they ordinary or extraordinary...? Would you share them with us - maybe you will open our eyes with your story and help us find new perfect moments to keep. Thank you!