24th August 2014
The morning was fine, chilly and a little misty; perfect hopping weather. And hopping will begin next week; always the first week in September. Beyond Oxen Hoath, a minibus arrived and unloaded fruit pickers who immediately set to work in the orchards. I took an apple from a tree and munched as I went on my way through Hurst Wood, wondering how the chestnuts will be this year. Along by Doris's bench, some damsons from the hedgerow were ready and they went down a treat as I watched the swallows performing their aerial acrobatic feats, fattening themselves for the coming journey. And in anticipation I looked forward to the Bramley orchards.
Some of the apples were huge and I selected five, popped them in my rucksack, with a plan to pick blackberries on the morrow to make jam. The Sun brought butterflies out, and dragonflies and bees; the air was dancing. All the wheat was in, and all the barley; bails of straw were scattered about the fields and just stubble remained. Pigeons were picking up any remnants. This was the scene right across the valley and a bailer was working over at Shipbourne, kicking up a fearful amount of dust.
As I sat against a beech in Dean Park Wood drinking tea, I watched a pair of speckled wood butterflies fluttering, encircling, round and round, in the the warm dappled sunlight of the glade. People were by now out and about, and families were enjoying the calm sunny walks of the Kentish countryside. Time for me to make myself scarce!
Wednesday 27 August 2014
Thursday 21 August 2014
Harvest time begins in earnest
17th August 2014
Mister Robin Redbreast woke me this morning, in good time to arrive in Kilndown by 7am. and the church clock chimed. The sky was grey, and there was a cool breeze. I decided to walk the Bewl Water - Lamberhurst route in reverse, and I left going south east through Shearnfold Wood with the sound of Buzzards searching above. There were one or two trees down after last week's storm, but only short diversions off the path were needed. Out of the wood, the pond created last year is maturing well and Canada Geese have taken up residence. They objected to my presence and they and their goslings honked until I left, apologising. The free range chicken sheds at Combwell Priory were unusually quiet, but of course, it was early yet and maybe they were still roosting, and I crossed the newly mown fields without disturbing hens.
On through Cats Wood, and across the A21, not busy yet, there were a couple of women walking their dogs up the track away from the camping site there; they were wearing walking boots and stripy pyjamas! I said, good morning, that was a nice smell of bacon back there! They said, yes, they were keen to get back for breakfast. I recognised one of them from the telly, but for the life of me, I can't remember her name. It's driving me nuts!
Down to Bewl Water, the dry earthy banks each side of the deeply cut track are perforated with badger setts and rabbit holes among the roots of the ancient hedges and at the water, a sign says, No Swimming! I turned right to follow the shore. Growing on a stump near the shore-line, was Sulphur Polypor, the brightest orange bracket fungus glowing in the gloom. My breakfast was taken on a bench at the north end by the dam overlooking the choppy water. The wind was quite strong there and only fishermen braved the wind, but in the distance, an eight was being rowed and was fairly flying along.
Leaving the water, on a lawn by the visitor centre, Field Mushrooms were growing in a circle, like a Bronze-age stone circle. The scene was so delightful, I was loathe to pick any, and thoughts of omelettes were banished. In a mown pasture from Wiskett's Wood, standing half a metre high, a lone blue Chicory stood incongruously against the shaven green. Then a Roe deer startled away into a harvested wheat field. And beyond, after leaving Hogs Hole Lane, a harvester was noisily doing what it must while the drying wind persists, and trailers, loaded with the bounty, raced to the grain stores, and back again for the next consignment, and I munched sweet blackberries from the hedgerow as I watched. I stopped at Hook Green and sat under the Oaks on the green for a cuppa before continuing to Hoathley Farm. I usually take the path which follows the River Teise, but a notice stapled to the footpath sign warned that the path was closed at the foot bridge at Furnace Mill for repairs. I took the path east a few hundred metres to the north instead. I wouldn't be able to follow the river, which is a very pleasant walk, but went through farmland instead. The sky was clearing, and the fields had been harvested, and the views across the valley to the vineyards at Lamberhurst Down was a good alternative.
From Lamberhurst village, the only way is up. I went over the Tiese beyond the village and crossed plough (with difficulty!) uphill to Scotney Castle for a cup of coffee at the busy restaurant. By now the Sun was out and about and I left the castle for Kilndown Woods and puffed up to Kilndown village via the Beeches avenue and the car.
Mister Robin Redbreast woke me this morning, in good time to arrive in Kilndown by 7am. and the church clock chimed. The sky was grey, and there was a cool breeze. I decided to walk the Bewl Water - Lamberhurst route in reverse, and I left going south east through Shearnfold Wood with the sound of Buzzards searching above. There were one or two trees down after last week's storm, but only short diversions off the path were needed. Out of the wood, the pond created last year is maturing well and Canada Geese have taken up residence. They objected to my presence and they and their goslings honked until I left, apologising. The free range chicken sheds at Combwell Priory were unusually quiet, but of course, it was early yet and maybe they were still roosting, and I crossed the newly mown fields without disturbing hens.
On through Cats Wood, and across the A21, not busy yet, there were a couple of women walking their dogs up the track away from the camping site there; they were wearing walking boots and stripy pyjamas! I said, good morning, that was a nice smell of bacon back there! They said, yes, they were keen to get back for breakfast. I recognised one of them from the telly, but for the life of me, I can't remember her name. It's driving me nuts!
Down to Bewl Water, the dry earthy banks each side of the deeply cut track are perforated with badger setts and rabbit holes among the roots of the ancient hedges and at the water, a sign says, No Swimming! I turned right to follow the shore. Growing on a stump near the shore-line, was Sulphur Polypor, the brightest orange bracket fungus glowing in the gloom. My breakfast was taken on a bench at the north end by the dam overlooking the choppy water. The wind was quite strong there and only fishermen braved the wind, but in the distance, an eight was being rowed and was fairly flying along.
Leaving the water, on a lawn by the visitor centre, Field Mushrooms were growing in a circle, like a Bronze-age stone circle. The scene was so delightful, I was loathe to pick any, and thoughts of omelettes were banished. In a mown pasture from Wiskett's Wood, standing half a metre high, a lone blue Chicory stood incongruously against the shaven green. Then a Roe deer startled away into a harvested wheat field. And beyond, after leaving Hogs Hole Lane, a harvester was noisily doing what it must while the drying wind persists, and trailers, loaded with the bounty, raced to the grain stores, and back again for the next consignment, and I munched sweet blackberries from the hedgerow as I watched. I stopped at Hook Green and sat under the Oaks on the green for a cuppa before continuing to Hoathley Farm. I usually take the path which follows the River Teise, but a notice stapled to the footpath sign warned that the path was closed at the foot bridge at Furnace Mill for repairs. I took the path east a few hundred metres to the north instead. I wouldn't be able to follow the river, which is a very pleasant walk, but went through farmland instead. The sky was clearing, and the fields had been harvested, and the views across the valley to the vineyards at Lamberhurst Down was a good alternative.
From Lamberhurst village, the only way is up. I went over the Tiese beyond the village and crossed plough (with difficulty!) uphill to Scotney Castle for a cup of coffee at the busy restaurant. By now the Sun was out and about and I left the castle for Kilndown Woods and puffed up to Kilndown village via the Beeches avenue and the car.
Thursday 14 August 2014
Stormy weather
10th August 2014
Mani this weekend was brilliant but invisible.
After a week in the Welsh hills at Meadow Cottage resting and having close encounters with Buzzards and Red Kites, reading and walking the hills, back at home, I walked the familiar route to Crouch.
A storm was forecast, and the sky was grey but all was calm. As I passed Oxen Hoath, the rain started and my jacket went on; it was light rain though, and refreshing. The passage through Hurst Wood was dark and oppressive until the coppice clearing approaching the nut orchards, where, in the sudden light, two Roe deer were startled and bounced off indignantly. I apologised. Mister Robin sang a solo; only he sings now.
At Crouch, the hedgerows were groaning under the weight of Damsons, but they were most definitely not ready to eat and the bitter taste stayed with me to Doris's bench. As the rain persisted, I continued to Long Bottom Wood for breakfast under the verdant canopy. In the field opposite, all the sheep were prostrate, chewing, taking it easy. I said, hello ladies. They looked at me with disinterest.
At Basted Mill, I peeked over the bridge parapet to glimpse the fish; Chubb and Trout. And the River Bourne was flowing rapidly but clearly, a little hurriedly, after all the rain. At the Bramley orchard, I resisted the temptation to pick apples; I shall wait until they are a little blushed, maybe. I shall make apple and blackberry jam, apple chutney and crumbles. A busy time is expected in the kitchen!
In Scathes Wood, I sat to take a cuppa; the heavens opened. There was a flashing and crashing overhead, the wind blew, the rain lashed, the creatures sheltered and I wondered if this tree would be struck and I quickly packed my bag, put on waterproof trousers and erected my mini-brolly to make my way to Ightham Mote for shelter and coffee as the sky rumbled.
Then as the rain eased, I left with my brolly up and made for Dean Park Wood with sweat inside and wet outside. Out of the woods, the wheat-fields remain unharvested; acres and acres of wheat and barley soaking. Hopefully, Sol will dry the staff of life very soon.
And my stinking self walked to a hot shower.
Mani this weekend was brilliant but invisible.
After a week in the Welsh hills at Meadow Cottage resting and having close encounters with Buzzards and Red Kites, reading and walking the hills, back at home, I walked the familiar route to Crouch.
A storm was forecast, and the sky was grey but all was calm. As I passed Oxen Hoath, the rain started and my jacket went on; it was light rain though, and refreshing. The passage through Hurst Wood was dark and oppressive until the coppice clearing approaching the nut orchards, where, in the sudden light, two Roe deer were startled and bounced off indignantly. I apologised. Mister Robin sang a solo; only he sings now.
At Crouch, the hedgerows were groaning under the weight of Damsons, but they were most definitely not ready to eat and the bitter taste stayed with me to Doris's bench. As the rain persisted, I continued to Long Bottom Wood for breakfast under the verdant canopy. In the field opposite, all the sheep were prostrate, chewing, taking it easy. I said, hello ladies. They looked at me with disinterest.
At Basted Mill, I peeked over the bridge parapet to glimpse the fish; Chubb and Trout. And the River Bourne was flowing rapidly but clearly, a little hurriedly, after all the rain. At the Bramley orchard, I resisted the temptation to pick apples; I shall wait until they are a little blushed, maybe. I shall make apple and blackberry jam, apple chutney and crumbles. A busy time is expected in the kitchen!
In Scathes Wood, I sat to take a cuppa; the heavens opened. There was a flashing and crashing overhead, the wind blew, the rain lashed, the creatures sheltered and I wondered if this tree would be struck and I quickly packed my bag, put on waterproof trousers and erected my mini-brolly to make my way to Ightham Mote for shelter and coffee as the sky rumbled.
Then as the rain eased, I left with my brolly up and made for Dean Park Wood with sweat inside and wet outside. Out of the woods, the wheat-fields remain unharvested; acres and acres of wheat and barley soaking. Hopefully, Sol will dry the staff of life very soon.
And my stinking self walked to a hot shower.
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