28th December 2013
The stars were a reflection of my dreams.
The sharp crescent Moon lit the countryside and Saturn was approaching Mars in Virgo. Jupiter was shining in the west, and in the east, Vega and Altair: so bright. Such a glistening after the storms.
I waited under that sky for Dee and Maisie, then we drove to Kilndown for a year-end walk through the debris of the last few days of destruction and flood. We parked nearby to Christ Church and walked downhill toward Goudhurst as the light increased. The birdsong excelled as we passed Hillside Farm and Kilndown Place; the avian voices increasing lately. The limbs of trees were everywhere, and great boughs were lying at strange angles, twisted and broken. The ground was sodden and running rivulets were bubbling out of the clay and down to the valley's streams. Nearby Hope Mill, by the Tiese, two ponies were grazing on the verge of the lane. They began to follow us to the Goudhurst road. To save them from the danger of the road, I took one by the halter and led them back to the relative safety of a copse. They began to graze, and we left them there, hoping that their escape from a field somewhere would soon be discovered. At Crowbourne Farm, our way was blocked by a conifer laying across the path. Scrambling over the tree and then over a fence, we made the climb uphill through the soaking fields to a peaceful Goudhurst Village.
Downhill again to Smugley Farm, there were still Pheasants for Maisie to chase which she finds great sport, but is never successful, and at the swollen stream there, a tree had fallen to create a dam and the water was rushing over into a crashing white foam. We sat on a felled Scots Pine log near Three Chimneys farm, with the watery Sun warming us, and drank tea and ate some of Kay's excellent Christmas fruit cake. The trek through Bedgebury Forest was quiet: no walkers or cyclists, and the paths were streams that we splashed along and some trees were lying higgledy-piggledy. It clouded a little as we came to the Pinetum, and threatened rain, but it soon passed, and the Sun shone, blinding, low in the sky. We stopped for coffee and a bacon roll in the cafe to rest, before the last leg back to Kilndown.
On the lane to Kilndown, which had been recently resurfaced, above a bridge over a brook, the rushing water had undermined the road and lifted the surface into waves of tarmac. And the lane uphill was flowing with water. We got back to the village at 1pm for a New Year's toast of mead and went home tired and muddy, but satisfied.
Sunday 29 December 2013
Sunday 22 December 2013
Yuletide solstice
21st December 2013
It was a wild and wet night's walk to Coldrum Longbarrow, without much hope of seeing Sól rise but it was an adventure, just the same. My head torch was necessary to pierce the blackness of the night, and nothing stirred, no bird or animal: they were sheltered from the weather. The only sound was the wind and rain. Even in the woods, the rain sought me out, but as the wind was from the south east, it was behind me as I walked north.
I left at 4am for the three hour trek to the Longbarrow. In Platt Wood, the conifers provided relief for a short while at least, but out onto Gallows Hill, I was buffeted just as strongly and with a vengeance. Down into the valley the wind was lighter but the noise of the motorway traffic of the M20 joined the melee. The footpath goes through a tunnel under the motorway and up to the sand quarries where Song Thrushes were singing; their voices carrying above the tumult.
After changing my gloves to try to warm my hands, I crossed the fields to Ryarsh Wood. And a bright torchlight was directed at me. A young woman out early, walking her dogs, unnerved both of us. We wished each other a happy holiday and I continued to Coldrum.
There was someone there already. A young man who practises Druidism. He told me his life story. A manic depressive, he was constantly fidgeting and expressive, but quite harmless. He said that he played in a punk band, playing Victorian Punk, whatever that is. I offered him some mead, which he accepted with pleasure, and we spent the remaining time before sunrise chatting about life and the Universe. I ate my soup and drank a cup of green tea as the sky became brighter. Sól hid behind the heavy cloud, so at around 8.15, I started my journey back.
Gallows Hill is always a hard climb on the return journey and this time was no different. I was now walking into the weather. There were people out and about by now; all sense of solitude was lost. In Hurst Wood, I sat against an old Beech on the north east side, away from the driving rain, and drank a final cup of tea before arriving home to relax and rest.
Today, 22 December 2013, the sky from my window is clear and calm. Venus is low in the south west and Altair is above in the west; a prelude to a starlit night.
It was a wild and wet night's walk to Coldrum Longbarrow, without much hope of seeing Sól rise but it was an adventure, just the same. My head torch was necessary to pierce the blackness of the night, and nothing stirred, no bird or animal: they were sheltered from the weather. The only sound was the wind and rain. Even in the woods, the rain sought me out, but as the wind was from the south east, it was behind me as I walked north.
I left at 4am for the three hour trek to the Longbarrow. In Platt Wood, the conifers provided relief for a short while at least, but out onto Gallows Hill, I was buffeted just as strongly and with a vengeance. Down into the valley the wind was lighter but the noise of the motorway traffic of the M20 joined the melee. The footpath goes through a tunnel under the motorway and up to the sand quarries where Song Thrushes were singing; their voices carrying above the tumult.
After changing my gloves to try to warm my hands, I crossed the fields to Ryarsh Wood. And a bright torchlight was directed at me. A young woman out early, walking her dogs, unnerved both of us. We wished each other a happy holiday and I continued to Coldrum.
There was someone there already. A young man who practises Druidism. He told me his life story. A manic depressive, he was constantly fidgeting and expressive, but quite harmless. He said that he played in a punk band, playing Victorian Punk, whatever that is. I offered him some mead, which he accepted with pleasure, and we spent the remaining time before sunrise chatting about life and the Universe. I ate my soup and drank a cup of green tea as the sky became brighter. Sól hid behind the heavy cloud, so at around 8.15, I started my journey back.
Gallows Hill is always a hard climb on the return journey and this time was no different. I was now walking into the weather. There were people out and about by now; all sense of solitude was lost. In Hurst Wood, I sat against an old Beech on the north east side, away from the driving rain, and drank a final cup of tea before arriving home to relax and rest.
Today, 22 December 2013, the sky from my window is clear and calm. Venus is low in the south west and Altair is above in the west; a prelude to a starlit night.
Wednesday 18 December 2013
Rolvenden
16th December 2013
I waited at St Mary's Church in Rolvenden for cousin Pauline, while a fine, wind-driven rain drove me under an old Yew tree. The rain eased a little and I ventured out and sat on a bench at the Rolvenden Layne junction. Pauline arrived and we had a cup of tea before joining the High Weald landscape Trail in the churchyard. We passed the primary school into empty playing playing fields and followed the path through pasture to a nameless copse with a brook running through. The way down was booby-trapped with leaf-filled Badger holes which we fell into frequently, without injury, but with lots of profanities. Over the Devenden road, we went into orchards of Gala apples; still crisp and tasty, many still left on the trees. Paul kept her core for a couple of horses to share over the fence. At Dingleden Farm, an Alder tree had been felled and logged and stacked; its wood, deep blood red wounds. The path through the pasture up Broom Hill burned the thighs and at the old windmill at the top (now a residence and no sails), we stopped for a chocolate fix after catching our breath.
The path to Hole Park took us through Christmas tree plantations; all shapes, colours and sizes and for sale at the farm. We took a wrong turn here and came out of the parkland at the west entrance (my fault!) which meant a longer walk on the Benenden road back to Rolvenden. We walked by a second windmill at Mill House. This mill, built in 1772, and replacing an earlier mill, does indeed retain its sails and was beautifully restored in the 1950's.
Back in the village, we sat in the churchyard for a final cuppa before going our separate ways with a promise to meet in the spring. I left Pauline to lay wreaths on her grandparents graves and made my way back to Hadlow.
I waited at St Mary's Church in Rolvenden for cousin Pauline, while a fine, wind-driven rain drove me under an old Yew tree. The rain eased a little and I ventured out and sat on a bench at the Rolvenden Layne junction. Pauline arrived and we had a cup of tea before joining the High Weald landscape Trail in the churchyard. We passed the primary school into empty playing playing fields and followed the path through pasture to a nameless copse with a brook running through. The way down was booby-trapped with leaf-filled Badger holes which we fell into frequently, without injury, but with lots of profanities. Over the Devenden road, we went into orchards of Gala apples; still crisp and tasty, many still left on the trees. Paul kept her core for a couple of horses to share over the fence. At Dingleden Farm, an Alder tree had been felled and logged and stacked; its wood, deep blood red wounds. The path through the pasture up Broom Hill burned the thighs and at the old windmill at the top (now a residence and no sails), we stopped for a chocolate fix after catching our breath.
The path to Hole Park took us through Christmas tree plantations; all shapes, colours and sizes and for sale at the farm. We took a wrong turn here and came out of the parkland at the west entrance (my fault!) which meant a longer walk on the Benenden road back to Rolvenden. We walked by a second windmill at Mill House. This mill, built in 1772, and replacing an earlier mill, does indeed retain its sails and was beautifully restored in the 1950's.
Back in the village, we sat in the churchyard for a final cuppa before going our separate ways with a promise to meet in the spring. I left Pauline to lay wreaths on her grandparents graves and made my way back to Hadlow.
Sunday 15 December 2013
A starry morning
15th December 2013
An early start this morning, and the stars were out. Thrushes were singing in the gardens as I left the village and the darkness enveloped me. I decided to forego my head torch as the sky was so beautifully star-lit. Mars was high in the south, but I had to turn my back on him. And With Jupiter on my left shoulder and Cassiopeia and Polaris ahead, I used the familiar shapes of trees and country silhouetted against the sky to find my way to Hurst Wood. Tawny Owls hooted and screeched about me, but all else was silent; and startled birds: their wings whirred away from me, but without alarm calls. Through the pasture, the ground was uneven, but I had my pole to keep me upright and along the muddy tracks, the puddles reflected the sky. Even in the woods, as the trees were stripped bare, the guiding firmament was visible about me. Through the trees, I could see the old gamekeeper's cottage; it was was decorated with twinkling coloured lights for Christmas. I came to a great clearing where the Chestnut had been coppiced and only Jupiter and the brightest stars could be seen. The sky was brightening in the east, washing out the sky. A low mist had settled among the tree stumps and they protruded like islands in a soft sea.
At the stables, the cock was crowing in the new day and the birds awoke. When finally leaving the trees, the blue above was clear. I sat at Doris's bench and watched the valley below become completely engulfed in mist as the Sun rose behind me. A Jenny Wren in the Damson hedge said good morning, and I asked how she was. She was very busy about the branches and searching for breakfast. I finished my tea and went down to Long Bottom Wood where the temperature dropped dramatically in the mist. On the little bridge at Basted Mill, I looked over the parapet to the river and a dozen Mallards flew along and under, quacking madly as they went, then out the other side. I collected a few Brambly apples which the Fieldfare had kindly left, as I went through the orchard; these will be for an apple crumble for Boxing Day. Up the hill to Yopps Green, the Sun burned through the mist, only to be smothered by cloud and I ate my soup on the bench by the Beech as the sky darkened with blue-grey.
It would seem that December has knocked the final nail in Autumn's coffin. But things are just sleeping and in time, come Spring, Life will begin again.
As I walked back into Hadlow, the prospect of Saturday's Yuletide pilgrimage to Coldrum was relished. But tomorrow, I meet my favourite cousin for a rare walk!
An early start this morning, and the stars were out. Thrushes were singing in the gardens as I left the village and the darkness enveloped me. I decided to forego my head torch as the sky was so beautifully star-lit. Mars was high in the south, but I had to turn my back on him. And With Jupiter on my left shoulder and Cassiopeia and Polaris ahead, I used the familiar shapes of trees and country silhouetted against the sky to find my way to Hurst Wood. Tawny Owls hooted and screeched about me, but all else was silent; and startled birds: their wings whirred away from me, but without alarm calls. Through the pasture, the ground was uneven, but I had my pole to keep me upright and along the muddy tracks, the puddles reflected the sky. Even in the woods, as the trees were stripped bare, the guiding firmament was visible about me. Through the trees, I could see the old gamekeeper's cottage; it was was decorated with twinkling coloured lights for Christmas. I came to a great clearing where the Chestnut had been coppiced and only Jupiter and the brightest stars could be seen. The sky was brightening in the east, washing out the sky. A low mist had settled among the tree stumps and they protruded like islands in a soft sea.
At the stables, the cock was crowing in the new day and the birds awoke. When finally leaving the trees, the blue above was clear. I sat at Doris's bench and watched the valley below become completely engulfed in mist as the Sun rose behind me. A Jenny Wren in the Damson hedge said good morning, and I asked how she was. She was very busy about the branches and searching for breakfast. I finished my tea and went down to Long Bottom Wood where the temperature dropped dramatically in the mist. On the little bridge at Basted Mill, I looked over the parapet to the river and a dozen Mallards flew along and under, quacking madly as they went, then out the other side. I collected a few Brambly apples which the Fieldfare had kindly left, as I went through the orchard; these will be for an apple crumble for Boxing Day. Up the hill to Yopps Green, the Sun burned through the mist, only to be smothered by cloud and I ate my soup on the bench by the Beech as the sky darkened with blue-grey.
It would seem that December has knocked the final nail in Autumn's coffin. But things are just sleeping and in time, come Spring, Life will begin again.
As I walked back into Hadlow, the prospect of Saturday's Yuletide pilgrimage to Coldrum was relished. But tomorrow, I meet my favourite cousin for a rare walk!
Sunday 8 December 2013
Just a couple of weeks.
8th December 2013
A Song Thrush sang in the night from high on a Poplar behind the house, and Jupiter was glowing through the thin cloud.
I drove to Kilndown in the emerging light, parked by the church and at 7am left the village for Lamberhurst through the wood. All the trees were naked, twisted skeletons, and I walked through discarded brown leaf-litter to the little Bewl. The river banks' vegetation had died back and the river ran fast and clear. Over the hill to the Tiese valley, a frost had crisped the ground as the morning light increased. I followed the serpentine River Tiese, then across a field of winter wheat to a gap in the hedge, and waited while three fellows teed off, then crossed the golf course. They were early! Lamberhurst village was very quiet and no one was abroad as I joined the river again. The grass no longer grows and the hedge rows are dull, but for Holly and Rose Hips and Haws which redden the way with a Yuletide flavour. Along the Tiese, the Sun rose over the hill and sent gentle light through the trees to warm me a little.
I sat against an Oak in Hook Green, on the green, with the Sun on my face, sipping hot tea and then, feeling invigorated, left with an extra spring in my step. I went through fields of plough and harrow and winter wheat where markers were left for the guns. Shot gun cartridges were left here and there, bearing witness to the Autumnal slaughter. At Bluecaps, looking east, Goudhurst was drenched in sunlight, and St. Mary's Church was a beacon on the hill. Breakfast of pea and bacon soup, was at Bewl water, with wind surfers, taking advantage of the strong wind on the choppy water, entertaining me. Away from there, Chingley Wood was peaceful, with just the voices of the birds. Into Cats Wood, over the A21 (easy today), and over to Combwell Priory and through the free-range chicken farm, some birds were raking and searching through the grass in the trees; others were discussing the day. The marks of deer were all along the path and into Shearnfold Wood, but not to be seen. A couple of Chestnuts were picked up and peeled for a snack. Back at Kilndown, I had a natter with an old childhood friend, before sitting by the old quarry for a final cuppa to listen to a Goldfinch whistling prettily from the oak on the other side of the pond. Then was the journey back to Hadlow.
A Song Thrush sang in the night from high on a Poplar behind the house, and Jupiter was glowing through the thin cloud.
I drove to Kilndown in the emerging light, parked by the church and at 7am left the village for Lamberhurst through the wood. All the trees were naked, twisted skeletons, and I walked through discarded brown leaf-litter to the little Bewl. The river banks' vegetation had died back and the river ran fast and clear. Over the hill to the Tiese valley, a frost had crisped the ground as the morning light increased. I followed the serpentine River Tiese, then across a field of winter wheat to a gap in the hedge, and waited while three fellows teed off, then crossed the golf course. They were early! Lamberhurst village was very quiet and no one was abroad as I joined the river again. The grass no longer grows and the hedge rows are dull, but for Holly and Rose Hips and Haws which redden the way with a Yuletide flavour. Along the Tiese, the Sun rose over the hill and sent gentle light through the trees to warm me a little.
I sat against an Oak in Hook Green, on the green, with the Sun on my face, sipping hot tea and then, feeling invigorated, left with an extra spring in my step. I went through fields of plough and harrow and winter wheat where markers were left for the guns. Shot gun cartridges were left here and there, bearing witness to the Autumnal slaughter. At Bluecaps, looking east, Goudhurst was drenched in sunlight, and St. Mary's Church was a beacon on the hill. Breakfast of pea and bacon soup, was at Bewl water, with wind surfers, taking advantage of the strong wind on the choppy water, entertaining me. Away from there, Chingley Wood was peaceful, with just the voices of the birds. Into Cats Wood, over the A21 (easy today), and over to Combwell Priory and through the free-range chicken farm, some birds were raking and searching through the grass in the trees; others were discussing the day. The marks of deer were all along the path and into Shearnfold Wood, but not to be seen. A couple of Chestnuts were picked up and peeled for a snack. Back at Kilndown, I had a natter with an old childhood friend, before sitting by the old quarry for a final cuppa to listen to a Goldfinch whistling prettily from the oak on the other side of the pond. Then was the journey back to Hadlow.
Sunday 1 December 2013
Count-down to Yule
24th November 2013
Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that my binoculars were hanging from an apple tree. Early this morning, I drove to Roughway, parked and made my way through the orchards there. Dangling by the strap from an apple tree were my glasses waiting for me, a little damp with dew. And with much relief and guilt I rescued them!
1st December 2013
The sky was a roof of slate grey above the gloom. The temperature hovered just above freezing; the cloud kept the frost at bay. Blackbirds sang a duet as I left the village and sheep with yellow or green rumps grazed peacefully at Hope Farm. Then silence through the fields until Clearhedges Wood and Robins sang. Leaves rustled underfoot. The peace was broken in Dene Park Wood as a large tractor was clearing the rides of brambles and nettles.
As I sat drinking tea at Ightham Mote, the bells pealed at St. Giles' Church. The Fieldfare are back now from eastern Europe, chattering incessantly through the trees and hedgerows. Down Wilmot Hill from the cottage on the Greensand Way, lo and behold - plump, sweet and irresistible Blackberries! I savoured them and regarded the woodlands across the valley. They were still colourful, but Chestnut, Lime and Ash have shed their cloaks.
Back at Shipbourne, the tomato soup was cracked open for a late breakfast in the bus shelter. At Dunks Green, geese happily grazed under a sign: Free Range Geese! Order for Christmas! And then on to the Bourne. As I sat in a small copse of Silver birch, golden leaves rained down on me and Blue Tits darted from tree to tree above me. The Bourne behind me was quiet and I ate the last of the bread and drank tea before the last leg home. As I walked, shafts of pale yellow light pierced the cloud in the southern sky.
Last night I had a dream. I dreamed that my binoculars were hanging from an apple tree. Early this morning, I drove to Roughway, parked and made my way through the orchards there. Dangling by the strap from an apple tree were my glasses waiting for me, a little damp with dew. And with much relief and guilt I rescued them!
1st December 2013
The sky was a roof of slate grey above the gloom. The temperature hovered just above freezing; the cloud kept the frost at bay. Blackbirds sang a duet as I left the village and sheep with yellow or green rumps grazed peacefully at Hope Farm. Then silence through the fields until Clearhedges Wood and Robins sang. Leaves rustled underfoot. The peace was broken in Dene Park Wood as a large tractor was clearing the rides of brambles and nettles.
As I sat drinking tea at Ightham Mote, the bells pealed at St. Giles' Church. The Fieldfare are back now from eastern Europe, chattering incessantly through the trees and hedgerows. Down Wilmot Hill from the cottage on the Greensand Way, lo and behold - plump, sweet and irresistible Blackberries! I savoured them and regarded the woodlands across the valley. They were still colourful, but Chestnut, Lime and Ash have shed their cloaks.
Back at Shipbourne, the tomato soup was cracked open for a late breakfast in the bus shelter. At Dunks Green, geese happily grazed under a sign: Free Range Geese! Order for Christmas! And then on to the Bourne. As I sat in a small copse of Silver birch, golden leaves rained down on me and Blue Tits darted from tree to tree above me. The Bourne behind me was quiet and I ate the last of the bread and drank tea before the last leg home. As I walked, shafts of pale yellow light pierced the cloud in the southern sky.
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