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.
Thursday, 21 August 2014
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.
Wednesday, 30 July 2014
Ditto with Dee and Maisie
27th July 2014
Hot already, Dee, Maisie and me left Bedgebury Cross and walked the Hawkhurst Moor trail. The Great Lake today was as still as polished silver and the world was reflected in its waters. There were cows with calves in the field above the lake, so we took a wide birth along the edge of the field, as Maisie would only antagonise them, and she was kept under close control. Up at Three Chimneys, our path was blocked by an open gate, secured with rope. We unhooked the rope and replaced it after walking through. It must have been like that for a particular reason; we were taught as children: leave gates as you find them. So we did.
It was much cooler in the forest and any water Maisie found was lapped up and sat in. There was a funnel web of a Labyrinth spider among the grasses and purple Loosestrife by the path, and we watched it scuttle into its lacy funnel. Last week's mud was by now firming up and the going was firm. On top of the hill out of the forest there was a sign at the lane to Tanyard Farm: "Road repairs. Access closed to walkers and horses and cyclists from 24th to 29th April". We ignored this as it was Sunday and no-one would be working. Maisie went back on the lead to prevent her running herself ragged chasing pheasants; they were everywhere again. She was constantly trying to pull Dee's arm out of it's socket, pulling this way and that in an endeavour to nab a pheasant. And downhill I couldn't keep up until we were through the farm and into woodland away at last from the birds. In the valley where Trenley Gill runs through from springs close by, Maisie laid stretched out with her belly in the water to cool down while we waited and we cooled down in the shade. The brook chuckled and giggled as it went on its way and so did we.
Away from the wood, rather than take Maisie through the pasture of suckling calves, we diverted through Siseley Farm. As we approached a cottage there, Maisie chased a cat which leapt on her back, and dug in his claws; there was a yelp! Then puss escaped up a tree and all the while Dee was admonishing Maisie.
All was calm from there to The Moor and we took breakfast in the shade on the green. St Lawrence's bells were chiming and church goers bid us good morning.
The temperature was an unhealthy 26C when we made our way back through orchards and wheat fields and Lacy Wood cooled us a little. Then finally, we were back in Bedgebury Forest. We stopped for a break at Louisa Lake and watched the dragon flies darting and fish rising in the murky, still water, but we were shaded and a gentle cool breeze picked up.
Towards Iron Latch, at the way side, a myriad of insects fed on nectar from purple Scabius. A Peacock settled and graciously allowed us to take its picture. At Tree Chimneys, a lady stopped us. She said that she lets out her horses early. She saw us go through and was concerned that her horses would run us down as they gallop to their pasture, but this morning they were lazy. I said that we didn't see anyone or the horses and that explained the open gate. A lucky escape! Again, we skirted the cow-pasture by Great Lake and up the meadow to Bedgebury Cross, the Adonis Blues danced merrily in the lazy air and at last we were back at the car.
Hot already, Dee, Maisie and me left Bedgebury Cross and walked the Hawkhurst Moor trail. The Great Lake today was as still as polished silver and the world was reflected in its waters. There were cows with calves in the field above the lake, so we took a wide birth along the edge of the field, as Maisie would only antagonise them, and she was kept under close control. Up at Three Chimneys, our path was blocked by an open gate, secured with rope. We unhooked the rope and replaced it after walking through. It must have been like that for a particular reason; we were taught as children: leave gates as you find them. So we did.
It was much cooler in the forest and any water Maisie found was lapped up and sat in. There was a funnel web of a Labyrinth spider among the grasses and purple Loosestrife by the path, and we watched it scuttle into its lacy funnel. Last week's mud was by now firming up and the going was firm. On top of the hill out of the forest there was a sign at the lane to Tanyard Farm: "Road repairs. Access closed to walkers and horses and cyclists from 24th to 29th April". We ignored this as it was Sunday and no-one would be working. Maisie went back on the lead to prevent her running herself ragged chasing pheasants; they were everywhere again. She was constantly trying to pull Dee's arm out of it's socket, pulling this way and that in an endeavour to nab a pheasant. And downhill I couldn't keep up until we were through the farm and into woodland away at last from the birds. In the valley where Trenley Gill runs through from springs close by, Maisie laid stretched out with her belly in the water to cool down while we waited and we cooled down in the shade. The brook chuckled and giggled as it went on its way and so did we.
Away from the wood, rather than take Maisie through the pasture of suckling calves, we diverted through Siseley Farm. As we approached a cottage there, Maisie chased a cat which leapt on her back, and dug in his claws; there was a yelp! Then puss escaped up a tree and all the while Dee was admonishing Maisie.
All was calm from there to The Moor and we took breakfast in the shade on the green. St Lawrence's bells were chiming and church goers bid us good morning.
The temperature was an unhealthy 26C when we made our way back through orchards and wheat fields and Lacy Wood cooled us a little. Then finally, we were back in Bedgebury Forest. We stopped for a break at Louisa Lake and watched the dragon flies darting and fish rising in the murky, still water, but we were shaded and a gentle cool breeze picked up.
Towards Iron Latch, at the way side, a myriad of insects fed on nectar from purple Scabius. A Peacock settled and graciously allowed us to take its picture. At Tree Chimneys, a lady stopped us. She said that she lets out her horses early. She saw us go through and was concerned that her horses would run us down as they gallop to their pasture, but this morning they were lazy. I said that we didn't see anyone or the horses and that explained the open gate. A lucky escape! Again, we skirted the cow-pasture by Great Lake and up the meadow to Bedgebury Cross, the Adonis Blues danced merrily in the lazy air and at last we were back at the car.
Thursday, 24 July 2014
Hawkhurst Moor
20 July 2014
Muggy and overcast, the morning was very dull and after the thunderstorms of last week, one was expected this morning. I bought a new Leki walking pole, and as it is made of carbon fibre, the lightening won't seek me out! I parked at Bedgebury Cross at 7am, and walked first to the Great Lake. Grey Wagtails with yellow breast startled me at the overflow. Are these the same pair as last year? Vapour was lifting from the lake and the far shore was vague and indistinct. Swallows flew low over the lawns at Three Chimneys and the horses there watched me with interest as I passed by.
Walking into the trees was a relief, as the heat was intensifying, and the journey through Bedgebury Forest was interrupted only by Buzzards calling. Out into wheat fields at Tanyard farm, young pheasants were everywhere, scattering in all directions as I walked along the track, but mainly running ahead of me and only taking flight when I got a little close. There were hundreds; put down for the winter shoot, but here and there, a feathered corpse, picked apart by a hungry Buzzard; an offering not to be rejected.
At a gap in the hedge by a field of maize, a sign warned: Beware suckling calves. I stood on the stile and thought, ah... I checked to see if there were any cows likely to upset by my presence. They all looked peaceful enough, and with the recent stories of walkers being trampled to death by irate cows protecting their young in my mind, I stepped into the pasture. As I made a wide birth around the herd, a couple of calves walked towards me. I tried to look nonchalant and although some cows showed interest, I made it to the stile at the other end of the pasture safely. Phew!
At the Hawkhurst road, I nipped across and through the Marlborough House School grounds through woodland, past Hensill House to Hawkhurst Moor. The Moor has the quintessential English village green. The triangular green is surrounded by cottages and the bells of St. Lawrence's Church rang out as I breakfasted, sitting on a bench under trees to shelter from the Sun.
The journey back was an uneventful walk via Basden Wood and Mopesden Wood and into Bedgebury Forest for the Cross. Another break was by the Great Lake and I watched Grebes with their babies diving and peeping. And, in the meadow to the Cross, Adonis Blue butterflies (although the female is quite brown) courted about me.
Next Sunday, the walk will be repeated with Dee; Things always happen with Dee!
Muggy and overcast, the morning was very dull and after the thunderstorms of last week, one was expected this morning. I bought a new Leki walking pole, and as it is made of carbon fibre, the lightening won't seek me out! I parked at Bedgebury Cross at 7am, and walked first to the Great Lake. Grey Wagtails with yellow breast startled me at the overflow. Are these the same pair as last year? Vapour was lifting from the lake and the far shore was vague and indistinct. Swallows flew low over the lawns at Three Chimneys and the horses there watched me with interest as I passed by.
Walking into the trees was a relief, as the heat was intensifying, and the journey through Bedgebury Forest was interrupted only by Buzzards calling. Out into wheat fields at Tanyard farm, young pheasants were everywhere, scattering in all directions as I walked along the track, but mainly running ahead of me and only taking flight when I got a little close. There were hundreds; put down for the winter shoot, but here and there, a feathered corpse, picked apart by a hungry Buzzard; an offering not to be rejected.
At a gap in the hedge by a field of maize, a sign warned: Beware suckling calves. I stood on the stile and thought, ah... I checked to see if there were any cows likely to upset by my presence. They all looked peaceful enough, and with the recent stories of walkers being trampled to death by irate cows protecting their young in my mind, I stepped into the pasture. As I made a wide birth around the herd, a couple of calves walked towards me. I tried to look nonchalant and although some cows showed interest, I made it to the stile at the other end of the pasture safely. Phew!
At the Hawkhurst road, I nipped across and through the Marlborough House School grounds through woodland, past Hensill House to Hawkhurst Moor. The Moor has the quintessential English village green. The triangular green is surrounded by cottages and the bells of St. Lawrence's Church rang out as I breakfasted, sitting on a bench under trees to shelter from the Sun.
The journey back was an uneventful walk via Basden Wood and Mopesden Wood and into Bedgebury Forest for the Cross. Another break was by the Great Lake and I watched Grebes with their babies diving and peeping. And, in the meadow to the Cross, Adonis Blue butterflies (although the female is quite brown) courted about me.
Next Sunday, the walk will be repeated with Dee; Things always happen with Dee!
Friday, 18 July 2014
Painted Ladies and others
13th July 2014
I left for the morning's walk into light rain and an undecided air about what to wear. After watching two Painted Lady butterflies dance about the clover, the heavens opened; so fleece off and waterproofs on decided the matter. There must have been a wedding at Oxen Hoath; cars were parked along the verges under the trees and ribbons adorned the cast iron gates to the manor house. All was quiet though; it was only 7am. A faint mist had descended on Hurst Wood. An area of woodland has been coppiced and a vista has been opened up of Plaxtol village nestled among the trees on the hillside. Very little birdsong is heard now; Blackbirds have stopped singing after a hard working spring. So it was a silent walk to the Walnut and Cobnut orchards. The trees bore an abundance of fruit and Meadow Brown butterflies braved the damp air. I counted 35 Suffolk rams in the pasture at Claygate Cross, and as I approached Doris's bench, Mr. Reynard was there, crouching, ears pricked, ready to pounce on something in the grass on the bank. I watched, still, as he leapt and caught it chewed it, saw me and scarpered. Then I sat on the bench and had my breakfast.
Over the stile, into Long Bottom Wood, Nettle-leaf Bellflower grows by the path; violet hats for fairies and other small people, to keep off the rain. Walking down the Bourne, with Himalayan Balsam on its banks, beautiful, but forbidden, it was a peaceful journey to the Bramley orchard where the fruit is soon to be picked, and down to the babbling brook there for quiet reflection.
I began to climb up again to Yopps Green and then to Lady's Wood and on up, through rolling fields of soft golden barley to Scathes Wood and at the Mote, had a cuppa under showers of warm rain under my brolly.
As it was too warm to wear my waterproofs, I stayed under my brolly through Fairlawne and fields of rape where Cabbage Whites fluttered in spite of the shower, and by Dunks Green when the rain stopped and then I was back at the river near the fish farm. I sat under the cool Silver Birches and watched a Dusky Meadow Brown display his beautiful deep orange wings and children played in the stony shallows down stream and the sweet perfume of Honeysuckle filled the air.
By now the heat was unbearable and my water supply was getting low as I arrived back at Hadlow desperate for a cool beer.
I left for the morning's walk into light rain and an undecided air about what to wear. After watching two Painted Lady butterflies dance about the clover, the heavens opened; so fleece off and waterproofs on decided the matter. There must have been a wedding at Oxen Hoath; cars were parked along the verges under the trees and ribbons adorned the cast iron gates to the manor house. All was quiet though; it was only 7am. A faint mist had descended on Hurst Wood. An area of woodland has been coppiced and a vista has been opened up of Plaxtol village nestled among the trees on the hillside. Very little birdsong is heard now; Blackbirds have stopped singing after a hard working spring. So it was a silent walk to the Walnut and Cobnut orchards. The trees bore an abundance of fruit and Meadow Brown butterflies braved the damp air. I counted 35 Suffolk rams in the pasture at Claygate Cross, and as I approached Doris's bench, Mr. Reynard was there, crouching, ears pricked, ready to pounce on something in the grass on the bank. I watched, still, as he leapt and caught it chewed it, saw me and scarpered. Then I sat on the bench and had my breakfast.
Over the stile, into Long Bottom Wood, Nettle-leaf Bellflower grows by the path; violet hats for fairies and other small people, to keep off the rain. Walking down the Bourne, with Himalayan Balsam on its banks, beautiful, but forbidden, it was a peaceful journey to the Bramley orchard where the fruit is soon to be picked, and down to the babbling brook there for quiet reflection.
I began to climb up again to Yopps Green and then to Lady's Wood and on up, through rolling fields of soft golden barley to Scathes Wood and at the Mote, had a cuppa under showers of warm rain under my brolly.
As it was too warm to wear my waterproofs, I stayed under my brolly through Fairlawne and fields of rape where Cabbage Whites fluttered in spite of the shower, and by Dunks Green when the rain stopped and then I was back at the river near the fish farm. I sat under the cool Silver Birches and watched a Dusky Meadow Brown display his beautiful deep orange wings and children played in the stony shallows down stream and the sweet perfume of Honeysuckle filled the air.
By now the heat was unbearable and my water supply was getting low as I arrived back at Hadlow desperate for a cool beer.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
Warm rain and ripening fruit
6th July 2014
Pembury Old Church, St. Peter's, sits on the side of a hill with woodland behind and parkland in front. A couple of pretty cottages keep it company and nearby, Kent College School for girls is in the Victorian manor house. Of course, the Culpeppers had something to do with this idyll. All is peace here.
I parked in the lane in front of the church porch at 6.30am, as the rain started. From there, I picked up the High Weald Landscape Trail to take me through Downingbury Farm where Redcurrants dangled in sparkling bejewelled bunches from bushes along the path. Then over the Lower Green Road into Pippins Farm where Blackbirds were trapped under the netting in the cherry orchards. They find a way in, but can't get out; they won't go hungry. Down the hill through a redundant, neglected orchard into the wood, as I slipped on the clay, I remembered my walking pole left in the car, damn! I saw no one in the woods except a security guard with a German Shepherd on the hill near Albans farm. I said, good morning. The dog wanted to eat me; and I wondered, whatever needs protecting up here in the wood?
In Brenchley Wood, on the boggy parts of the footpath, a boardwalk has been built; about 100 metres in length curving its way through the trees, it made progress a lot easier. Then after pasture of sheep and well grown lambs, I emerged at Matfield Green. The cricket pavilion which burnt down in September 2011, has been replaced with a splendid black weatherboarded pavilion surmounted with a clock, all in time for this season's cricket on the green.
From the green, I crossed over the road into a twitten which leads to fields of blackcurrants, of which a few ripe berries sustained me, and from there to Brenchley, orchards of ripening apples and pears were alive with birdsong and the rain pitter-pattered all the way to the church which has stood on the hill for 800 years and more. I continued up to the lookout on Pixot Hill for breakfast and soaked up the view across the Weald in the rain.
From Pixot Hill, going back west, the path through apple orchards, comes out onto the Paddock Wood road by a hedge festooned with unripe and bitter(!) Greengages, then over to wheat fields and emergies north of Matfield on the Crittenden Road. Down Chestnut Lane and into Cinderhill Wood, I stopped for a break as the rain left off and looked over the steep valley where Tudeley Brook trickles through and a grey Heron was disturbed and flew gracefully following the gill north. On the other side of the gill, in the conifer wood, there was a motorcycle trials event taking place. It disturbed my peace, but I watched the lads expertly wending through the Scots pines over the steeply undulating ground with interest, then went on my way to arrive back at Pippins Farm. I considered buying refreshments at Downingbury Farm Shop, but continued to Pembury Old Church and drank tea on the bench by the porch in the Sun before driving home for a late lunch.
Pembury Old Church, St. Peter's, sits on the side of a hill with woodland behind and parkland in front. A couple of pretty cottages keep it company and nearby, Kent College School for girls is in the Victorian manor house. Of course, the Culpeppers had something to do with this idyll. All is peace here.
I parked in the lane in front of the church porch at 6.30am, as the rain started. From there, I picked up the High Weald Landscape Trail to take me through Downingbury Farm where Redcurrants dangled in sparkling bejewelled bunches from bushes along the path. Then over the Lower Green Road into Pippins Farm where Blackbirds were trapped under the netting in the cherry orchards. They find a way in, but can't get out; they won't go hungry. Down the hill through a redundant, neglected orchard into the wood, as I slipped on the clay, I remembered my walking pole left in the car, damn! I saw no one in the woods except a security guard with a German Shepherd on the hill near Albans farm. I said, good morning. The dog wanted to eat me; and I wondered, whatever needs protecting up here in the wood?
In Brenchley Wood, on the boggy parts of the footpath, a boardwalk has been built; about 100 metres in length curving its way through the trees, it made progress a lot easier. Then after pasture of sheep and well grown lambs, I emerged at Matfield Green. The cricket pavilion which burnt down in September 2011, has been replaced with a splendid black weatherboarded pavilion surmounted with a clock, all in time for this season's cricket on the green.
From the green, I crossed over the road into a twitten which leads to fields of blackcurrants, of which a few ripe berries sustained me, and from there to Brenchley, orchards of ripening apples and pears were alive with birdsong and the rain pitter-pattered all the way to the church which has stood on the hill for 800 years and more. I continued up to the lookout on Pixot Hill for breakfast and soaked up the view across the Weald in the rain.
From Pixot Hill, going back west, the path through apple orchards, comes out onto the Paddock Wood road by a hedge festooned with unripe and bitter(!) Greengages, then over to wheat fields and emergies north of Matfield on the Crittenden Road. Down Chestnut Lane and into Cinderhill Wood, I stopped for a break as the rain left off and looked over the steep valley where Tudeley Brook trickles through and a grey Heron was disturbed and flew gracefully following the gill north. On the other side of the gill, in the conifer wood, there was a motorcycle trials event taking place. It disturbed my peace, but I watched the lads expertly wending through the Scots pines over the steeply undulating ground with interest, then went on my way to arrive back at Pippins Farm. I considered buying refreshments at Downingbury Farm Shop, but continued to Pembury Old Church and drank tea on the bench by the porch in the Sun before driving home for a late lunch.
Wednesday, 2 July 2014
Sheep and Grass Snakes
29th June 2014
Dee and Maisie were ready when I arrived on Pixot Hill at 6.30am. We drove to Cranbrook and parked with a clearing sky and a promising morning ahead. We left Cranbrook via St. Dunstan's churchyard (The Cathedral of the Weald). On the green, we watched a Sparrow Hawk chase a small bird which escaped. Dee said, good! I said, but what about the hawk's babies? Going north, we passed Angley Lake, and entered Gravel Pit Wood, signs of ancient excavation everywhere. The stream at the bottom of the hill once powered the old corn mill at Spratsbourne Farm. Maisie paddled and drank under the little bridge and we started the climb to Dogkennel Farm. We could hear a sheep, clearly in distress, on the other side of the hedge, bleating, 'help'! At the field gate, I climbed over and found the sheep was stuck with her head through a pig wire fence. I spoke calmly to her, pushed her head down and back and she pulled free, taking the skin of my thumb with her. As she ran off bleating, I said that I hope that meant thank you! I nursed my thumb and Dee put a sticky plaster on to arrest the leaking blood.
Out at Harewood as we left the trees, a Buzzard circled silently in the azure sky looking for breakfast and we walked on to Hazelden Farm. Not a farm now, but the old farm buildings are now beautifully restored as homes and the footpath runs through the peaceful settlement, with just the old hopper huts left to show of industry. The path took us down to Friezley and to Hocker Edge where we followed the gentle stream again to have breakfast in the trees on the hillside in Pond Wood by a Badger set.
Through the pasture, then into Saunders' Wood, along a grossly overgrown footpath through bramble, nettles and bracken taller than me (that's not difficult), we entered Home Wood, where somebody lives in a make-shift home of caravan and tarpaulin, cold and hardship. The short walk along the A229, is a dangerous task, and the relief is palpable when the footpath off is reached. Out of Foxearth Wood, the footpath had been mown and a quivering of the grass caused Maisie to pounce. A Grass Snake escaped with ease, luckily for Maisie, as they will bite! Several snakes were around us and perhaps there was a nest of these beautiful creatures with the yellow band about the neck. Then, at a nettle and bramble overgrown clearing, there were Loganberries hidden in the undergrowth and we feasted!
When we came to Digdog Lane, Meadowsweet and Rosebay Willowherb crowded the bridge at the stream which flows through, with Himalayan Balsam on the banks. We left the lane and sat on a bench watching a Kestrel hovering over the fields. A group of elderly walkers came through. We decided to get ahead so we weren't delayed. They were like a gaggle of Geese and they were gaining on me. I said to Dee: don't leave me behind, I will be enveloped and perhaps become a part of a sinister cult! We made it to Sissinghurst Castle just in time for safety, coffee and cake.
The final leg to Cranbrook took us through orchards of burgeoning fruit and shaded lanes and tracks. Butterflies surrounded us as we walked to a classic view of the Union Windmill and we arrived back to the churchyard at St. Dunstan's for tea and a rest in the shade of an Oak before returning home.
Dee and Maisie were ready when I arrived on Pixot Hill at 6.30am. We drove to Cranbrook and parked with a clearing sky and a promising morning ahead. We left Cranbrook via St. Dunstan's churchyard (The Cathedral of the Weald). On the green, we watched a Sparrow Hawk chase a small bird which escaped. Dee said, good! I said, but what about the hawk's babies? Going north, we passed Angley Lake, and entered Gravel Pit Wood, signs of ancient excavation everywhere. The stream at the bottom of the hill once powered the old corn mill at Spratsbourne Farm. Maisie paddled and drank under the little bridge and we started the climb to Dogkennel Farm. We could hear a sheep, clearly in distress, on the other side of the hedge, bleating, 'help'! At the field gate, I climbed over and found the sheep was stuck with her head through a pig wire fence. I spoke calmly to her, pushed her head down and back and she pulled free, taking the skin of my thumb with her. As she ran off bleating, I said that I hope that meant thank you! I nursed my thumb and Dee put a sticky plaster on to arrest the leaking blood.
Out at Harewood as we left the trees, a Buzzard circled silently in the azure sky looking for breakfast and we walked on to Hazelden Farm. Not a farm now, but the old farm buildings are now beautifully restored as homes and the footpath runs through the peaceful settlement, with just the old hopper huts left to show of industry. The path took us down to Friezley and to Hocker Edge where we followed the gentle stream again to have breakfast in the trees on the hillside in Pond Wood by a Badger set.
Through the pasture, then into Saunders' Wood, along a grossly overgrown footpath through bramble, nettles and bracken taller than me (that's not difficult), we entered Home Wood, where somebody lives in a make-shift home of caravan and tarpaulin, cold and hardship. The short walk along the A229, is a dangerous task, and the relief is palpable when the footpath off is reached. Out of Foxearth Wood, the footpath had been mown and a quivering of the grass caused Maisie to pounce. A Grass Snake escaped with ease, luckily for Maisie, as they will bite! Several snakes were around us and perhaps there was a nest of these beautiful creatures with the yellow band about the neck. Then, at a nettle and bramble overgrown clearing, there were Loganberries hidden in the undergrowth and we feasted!
When we came to Digdog Lane, Meadowsweet and Rosebay Willowherb crowded the bridge at the stream which flows through, with Himalayan Balsam on the banks. We left the lane and sat on a bench watching a Kestrel hovering over the fields. A group of elderly walkers came through. We decided to get ahead so we weren't delayed. They were like a gaggle of Geese and they were gaining on me. I said to Dee: don't leave me behind, I will be enveloped and perhaps become a part of a sinister cult! We made it to Sissinghurst Castle just in time for safety, coffee and cake.
The final leg to Cranbrook took us through orchards of burgeoning fruit and shaded lanes and tracks. Butterflies surrounded us as we walked to a classic view of the Union Windmill and we arrived back to the churchyard at St. Dunstan's for tea and a rest in the shade of an Oak before returning home.
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