Big skies

A savoury pasta sauce is quietly bubbling away in the kitchen - one I have made before (52newrecipes) and the scent has just reached us.  I attempted a post yesterday, written several paragraphs, included photos, however was not happy with the underlying tone I'd managed to weave through. My blog is not a place for me to rant, it is a place where I share things that have warmed my heart, made me smile, made me feel positive - things and people I love.  So yesterday's wafflings felt jarring and ugly and quite petty - so everything was deleted. There is enough discordance around for me not to add my rather sour tuppence worth. And breathe ....

The temperature said 9 deg c but it certainly felt cooler, the sharp breeze definitely saw to that. We celebrated Sunday with our first family get together for what feels like years. We sat in the garden, appropriately distanced whilst swathed in blankets, coats and hats, hugging hot water bottles and mugs of tea as we ate chocolate cake and nattered.

We did a 'practice run' yesterday, following the sun, watching where the breeze was slipping in and it was a warm and sunny day. Today was so not that - it was bracing, it was fresh but it was with family 😊 so the warmth was of a very different kind - one we have missed for what feels for so long.

Friday was a lovely day -  a rare blue sky, one so big and so deep that it reached from horizon to horizon and filled my eyes and my heart. 

We packed the van with a packed lunch, flasks, dog towel and nibbles, camera, coats and boots and we found ourselves a quiet back water path. We knew that the first bit would probably have a number of folk and there was - so we stepped around them and soon left the well trod path for a lesser quieter one. I have been asked if we are afraid of folk due to the pandemic - No, definitely not afraid - even now, we just dislike crowds and have always avoided them if possible. Today was no different.

In the base of the flat flat glacial valley, a wide shallow stream burbled over rocks and pebbles, Moss of course took the direct route and plunged into the chilly waters. We took the more sensible (or boring if you are a dilly dog) footbridge over the crystal clear stream then continued upward on to the valley sides.

Himself and I stopped on the crest of a small hill and looked back over the view we'd just walked through. The colours of the valley are turning a delightful spring-like green. Trees are still bare but the grass and the hedges are developing hints of a delicious fresh growth. 

We drank tea and ate lemon drizzle cake while we listened to the warbling trilling songs from the skylarks. It is only the males that sing, defending their territory and advertising their availability to the lady larks - it is a wonderful melodic saga which fills the sky and heralds spring.

Mugs drained, crumbs brushed away we start our walk again, dropping down off the crest into a moorland field full of rushes and wild grasses. We could smell the 'green' of the sap filled leaves and stems as our boots bruised the grasses along the path.

In places the hillside oozed spring water and cows had made muddy quagmire patches. Himself and I carefully hopped across while Moss took this as the perfect opportunity to top up her mud levels.....

Our path took us alongside huge boulders which seemed have been inscribed with giant runic lettering. The stones were warmed by the sun and rough under my fingers.  The path slipped in and out of visibility, wound round reeds and thickets of moorland grasses, leading us further up the valley. A hare dashed out and flew up and over the hill in a blink of an eye - we marvelled at the speed this magical creature - a special moment.

Ahead of us a stoically square farm house sat solidly on the valley bottom, surrounded by nursery fields full of lambs and ewes basking in the sublime spring sunshine. Moss had to go back on her lead, which she cheerfully did as soon as she realised that there were woolly monsters which lived in the field we were just about to enter.

The closer to the farm house we walked, the younger and smaller the lambs. Until we reached the buildings and in the small nursery field alongside the house were tiny twins and triplets sleeping snuggled up to their mother's fleeces. Protected from the still chilly breeze and warmed by the sun.

Through the buildings and out the other side and a couple more long fields full of sheep then suddenly it was just us again so Moss was set free. At the side of the dry riverbed we stopped for a brew and sandwich, the water runs beneath the stones until there are floods then it fills with a roaring torrent of dark mud coloured seething water, however today it was empty and quiet. 

Our lunch was accompanied by the evocative cries of the oystercatchers (I though of Jill), curlews and the distant bleating of lambs. We'd seen no one, apart from the masses queueing at the ice-cream van at the beginning. 

Across the riverbed, then up the bank on to an isolated single track road, this was the first time we saw a fellow walker, a quick covid 2 step and a mutual nod of appreciation acknowledging the precious space.

The off the road, up the opposite side of the valley and the beginning of the return walk - this time along the ridge of the hills. The sun had warmed and the chilly breeze just lazily drifted along.

We stopped at a waterfall for Moss to have a drink and a bit of a wallow. It was both eerie and fascinating listening to the water crash on the rocks a long way down below our feet.

It was a long way down ..... it would be very difficult to get out again without some help.

Higher up where the cervices open out and are less deep, Himself dropped himself down into the stream bed - Moss was not happy and watched him very carefully - only relaxing when I called her and held her tight.

After we explored what we could, we returned to the track and continued along the ridge.  We did not say much - we were just happily absorbing the atmosphere and the air and the sky.

Then finally, reluctantly we'd finished our walk - so at the van, we cracked on the kettle, got out of our boots and fed Moss. Drinking piping hot tea and watching a couple on their mountain bikes going up the path we'd just come down, we agreed that this walk had been amazing. It had been healing, it felt real and it soaked into us and made us feel so so much better.

We have missed this so much - and this walk helped top up the batteries - here is to many more wonderful walks as life becomes easier. Hope you can get out too xx