I had such a vivid dream. My boat had been whirled through the air and lowered into a wide, sunny clearing in an oak wood. I notice I had carefully prepared the site with tyres rafted together to cushion the boat from the ground. The boat sat with its right side south-facing and my kitchen window on that side had stretched to double its size. Through the trees, I could see fields and hills. The climb into and out of the boat was too steep for my dog, so I had (very cleverly, in dream-land!) built up a gently sloping bank around the stern, like a spiral up to the back doors. The engine had disappeared and the back cabin had become a workshop with a raised canopy. Traveller's joy, ivy and honeysuckle grew up over the hull, hidng much of the boat and keeping it cool.
I sat painting, listening to birds - it was beautiful. Then, wandering outside, saw I wasn't completely alone but that the small wood was part of a farm. Some people lived in the farmhouse, some people lived in outbuildings, others in yurts and earth shelters. There were tall rows of tomatoes and sweetcorn growing and fruit trees and raspberry bushes and the big event that day was making raspberry jam - many jars of it to last all winter. Children took it in turns to stir the lovely bubbling syrup. It smelt so good!
I can see where all this came from ;-) The water level where I'm currently moored has dropped a little and I was thinking last night that I might be aground. I've long been thinking about boating communities, about not being able to afford canalside land but wanting a shared, sustainable community life. Out on a walk, I saw a piece of farm machinery, almost completely disguised by overgrown creeping plants. And I've been lamenting that the last of my summer jam has been scoffed!