Blandy Melodic Murmurations

 On Saturday, Bill and I went to Blandy, the Virginia Arboretum, as a unique installation was opening, only for the weekend. There were storms threatening Sunday, and we were forewarned that if rain was in the forecast, the installation would have to be dismantled, due to the electrical sound producing devices being water damaged.

We arrived as the group and volunteers were finishing the set up. This installation was created by Lee Weisert (Associate Professor, UNC Department of Music)  and Jonathon Kirk (Professor of Music, North Central College). A hundred hollow wood blocks had been attached to the ginkgo trees, with laser cut acrylic boxes that possibly contained microcontroller boards which activated small wooden mallets that knocked on the wooden blocks.The team didn't divulge exactly what was inside those plastic casings.

The woods chosen for the blocks were, purple heartwood, particularly favored by percussion musicians, mahogany, walnut and maple. The blocks are cut at different lengths to produce different notes, with slits up the sides to help amplify the sound. The instruments are triggered by computer-generated algorithms that mimic biologic and geologic processes. Some of the boxes were set at an angle to ensure they worked properly. High notes were at the top of the ginkgo grove, and progressed down the hill with the lower notes, staggering them a little. Each one has a numbered chip controlled by a radio.

Bill and I each selected a tree, eagerly waiting for our blocks to knock, and I have to confess, the first one made me jump, I was so excited. They began with short runs, testing the blocks, and then lengthier murmurations. It was a captivating and engaging experience, walking from tree to tree, wondering which block would chime next, and the surround sound effect, as more and more blocks chimed, was incredible.

This link shows a short video of when I stood by one tree.  The guy thanking me for what I do in Front Royal was thanking me for being a tree warden; we had a long chat after I'd finished recording.

This was an astoundingly unique event, and I'm so glad we went. It was also the first time all 100 blocks had been used together. South Carolina Botanical Gardens was supposed to have this honor, but the day was rained out, so Blandy became the inaugural host. Other events have only used 50 or 60 of the blocks. The installations were funded by grants from New Music USA and the North Carolina Arts Council. A superb  recording is on this link.

A Sunny Stroll with Steak Pies

 Sally and I met up early the next morning and went to a local cafe for breakfast. We lingered over our food and tea, then lingered again in the car park, not wanting to say goodbye. After an hour of chatting, and managing a few laughs, we both got in our cars, teary-eyed, but both of us waving frantically until we were both out of sight. I drove for a while on autopilot, my heart heavy at not knowing when I'd see my dear friends again. But I had to focus, I was soon on unfamiliar roads, and my first destination was Halnaker tunnel, an old Roman road, that I'd seen photos of on the internet, portraying a mystical sunken passage, overhung with trees.

I was pleased to see that few people were here when I arrived, and set off immediately up the path, passing a beautiful cottage, and banks blooming with bluebells and cowslips. The 57 mile lane runs from Chichester to London, and in this area the banks are high, where many feet have trodden down the earth over the centuries. Charles II was also supposed to have used part of this route when escaping from the Puritans, after losing the Battle of Worcester.

And soon I came upon the scene I'd been hoping for, the tunnel of trees, gently reaching across the hollowed path, and I stopped, suddenly aware that many thousands of feet had walked back and forth along this path. I stood, sensing, and savoring, the history. Today, it was calm and serene, birds trilling amongst the leaves, yet in Roman days, it was likely bustling, people chatting as they passed, probably horses and carts rumbling through also. I walked to the field where an old wooden windmill stood, which had once ground grain, but the sails were missing, hopefully being restored, so I didn't take a photo. It looked incomplete.

I carried on driving south, wanting to visit Abbotsbury Swannery in Dorset, yet within a few miles of my destination, the sunny skies gave way to heavy clouds, the sky darkened, and the rain fell. I parked on top of a steep hill, looking out to sea, and waited, hoping for a break in the weather, but none came. I ended up crossing over into Somerset, and stopped at a little town called Crewkerne.

I booked a room at an old hotel, the George Inn, and was delighted with my cozy abode. But I didn't linger, I was starving, and the bar lady apologized profusely as they didn't cook on Tuesdays, directing me instead to The White Hart next door. I actually watched my steak and Guiness pie being made, while I sipped an excellent pint of Timothy Taylor. The staff were extremely friendly, and I managed to convince 3 other people, who came in after me, to get the same pie. It was delicious, and was also served with a large jug of thick gravy. I chatted with Sally on the phone when I'd finished my meal, then went to bed early.

The next morning I drove towards the swannery again, but it was still raining. I stopped at Hive Beach, which I'd never visited, and decided I'd come back here, when the weather decided to behave itself. I carried on to Mum's, arriving soon after lunch. We chatted for a while, and she came with me to my Airbnb, which would be my base for the next few days. It was only 4 miles from Mum's, and was a tiny annex on the side of an old house.

 

It was a beautiful, private little dwelling, and I loved it. There were many personal touches, a 'welcome Debby' sign, fresh milk in the fridge and a tin of homemade biscuits. We chatted with my host for a few minutes, then dumped my cases, and then drove to a local garden center that Mum often visits with her friends.

Someone had planted an old telephone box with spring flowers, which I thought was a novel idea. At the garden center, we strolled  around, looking at the gifts, then had an early dinner of the steak and kidney pie, which Mum recommended. I had no problem, having another steak pie, I wouldn't ever see them on the menu in America, and this one also came with fresh vegetables, new potatoes and a jug of gravy. Delicious! We had to walk around a bit more after that as we were both so full up. It was interesting inspecting all the plants, very few of them found in America, and of course none of the natives in my own garden were here. 

We eventually returned to Mum's, first driving through the moors at the back of Mum's house. The gorse was in full bloom and glowed in the dreary light of the overcast afternoon. We spent the evening chatting and drinking tea, then I drove the short drive to the annex, to fall asleep very quickly in a very comfortable bed.

Bluebells and Sissinghurst in Spring

Sally picked me up the next morning, and then we drove to her 'special place', near her home, which she'd been itching to show me. She knew, that more than anything, I had wanted to see my favorite flowers in bloom, and so she was excited to show me a beautiful bluebell wood, which she's very fortunate to have within a couple of minutes of her home. She quickly led the way to the edge of the trees, and studied my reaction at my first sighting of bluebells in nearly 6 years. They were, quite simply, glorious. I walked slowly along the path, surrounded by a carpet of blue,delicate, nodding bells, exuding the most memorable aroma in the the world. No perfume has ever captured the fragrance of the English bluebell, and to experience it firsthand stops you in your tracks. It's intoxicating, and so wondrously captivating, that all I could do was stand still and breathe it in.

I took many photos with my iPhone, but admittedly, some were blurred, and so was my vision, since my eyes had filled at seeing this picture of perfection. Sally told me that a group of residents, of which she was a member, had purchased this land, cleared out all the rubbish, lined the paths with fallen logs, and put up fencing, with special gates that bikes couldn't fit through. And their dedication was apparent. Not a dropped food wrapper, drink can, or any form of vandalism was evident. There are CC cameras hidden in the trees and the area is regularly maintained.

We walked around slowly, listening to the birds and just relishing the joy of being surrounded by these quintessentially English spring flowers. There is an invasive Spanish variety that has been creeping into the country's woodlands, but these are slowly being eradicated, and there was no evidence of them here. There were birdhouses dotted among the trees, dead tree stumps left for insects and birds, a small pond created for wildlife, as well as notice boards, showing visitors the types of wildlife that have made this woodland their home. Sally was obviously very proud of this natural treasure, and I shared her delight. It really was impressive how her group had transformed and saved this natural beauty.

Very reluctantly, we left, and made our way to our destination for the day, Sissinghurst Castle. I'd not been here since my 20's, on a visit with my parents, but had remembered how lovely the gardens were.

As we entered the grounds, the colors of the gardens were vibrant after the recent rain. The sun shone brightly, twinkling from reflections on the old cylinder glass in the windows of the 16th century tower, the only existing part of the castle. I don't recall ever having climbed this tower before, but today, I romped up 3 levels, of a tight, narrow stone staircase, and then trudged up the last steps to the parapet, where I had a grand view of the gardens. After quickly shooting shots of the grandeur below, I ran back down to join Sally, where my speed then slowly considerably as we ambled through the flower beds, the meadow and along the river, appreciating the warm sun, the gentle flow of the river, birds twittering as they passed overhead, and the emergence of Spring that surrounded us with fresh, vivid colors and scents.

We meandered through courtyards, pillared walkways, along brick paved paths, with so many spring flowers in full bloom, many of which I knew, but also delighted in discovering new plants, one of which climbed up a brick wall, and was a vivid blue, named Ceanothus. Even with other visitors present, there was an atmosphere of calm and tranquility here, and it made me think of the garden I'm planting at home. There's nothing as therapeutic and serene as slowly strolling through flower gardens. Here's a link of the gardens if you want to also experience the beauty of Sissinghurst, one of the most famous gardens in England. We saw more bluebells along the riverside, and I bought a bluebell soap in the gift shop, but have yet to open it to discover if the unique fragrance has actually been captured.

After leaving Sissinghurst, we drove to Tenterden, a town that I used to love for shopping, and had been to many times with friends, or Mum, when I lived in England. We trawled up both sides of the High Street, looking in all the shops, but I only came away with a hair clip.

We looked inside St Mildred's Church, to escape the heat, but also because neither Sally and I had ever been inside it before. It dates from the 12th century, with intricate carvings of wood and marble inside. The 15th century ceiling is incredible, a 'wagon' ceiling, made of hand carved wooden panels, each one slightly different. The pulpit is 19th century and equally impressive.

Our final stop was back in Maidstone, where we walked about the town, stopping for another Costa coffee, which is delicious, and evidently regarded more highly than Starbucks, since there are far more Coast coffee shops than Starbucks. We strolled around Brenchley Gardens, another haunt from our biker days, where we'd laze about on the Victorian bandstand, drinking Thunderbird wine on Saturday afternoons. I was happy to see that the gardens are now in far better shape than they used to be, and seem to have become a little oasis in the busy town.

Sally and I spent our last evening together at a local pub, but neither of us were in the mood for drinking, knowing that I'd be leaving Kent the next morning. It was a solemn time, and try as we might, we struggled to be cheerful. Who knew when I'd next be back to my home town? It was with a hanging head that I made my way to bed that night.

Homeward Bound to Blighty

 Losing Rosie Lee so unexpectedly had thrown me into a slump, I missed her dreadfully, and I suspect Tricksie Treat did, in her way, too. We would both sat together on the sofa, and drew comfort form the warmth of each other's bodies as we contemplated quietly together. So I was totally unprepared for my next 'life shock', losing my job of 22 years. Mike had begun the 'meeting' talking of the new direction the company was taking, and it gradually dawned on me that I wasn't going to be part of this. He didn't tell me directly, I had to actually ask if he was letting me go. He preferred to say it was a mutual agreement, but that was obviously not working for me. He told me that, I had helped build the company, was part of the fabric, was a family member, and loved, yet I couldn't be part of the tribe any longer. I later found out that a much younger member, who had strong marketing skills, but no screen printing artistic skills, was joining the team, so the guy I'd hired to help in the art department, was effectively taking my place. 

To add another punch to the gut, I had booked a trip to England, and was now going there, with no idea if it would be my last trip for many years, or if I'd see my mother ever again, or if I could actually really afford to go. Of course I had to go, but it wasn't with my usual joy and excitement. So, I'd had 2 of my 3 strikes of bad luck, and was very apprehensive of when the third would hammer home. I didn't have long to wait. The flight to England was uneventful, but gladly quicker than previous flights, only 6 hours and 38 minutes. I picked up my Nissan Juke, and immediately made for Maidstone, where I'd be meeting my bestie, Sally. We hugged and hugged, then walked about town, catching up over coffee, then we both drove to where my Vrbo room was. It had begun pouring with rain, but as this is expected in England, it didn't cause any anxiety. But trying to get into the room did. There was supposed to be parking and an access code to the house. In short, I spent over 2 hours with Vrbo customer service, gained access to a filthy bedroom and bathroom, which had not been cleaned, and am still fighting for my money back. Sally, had brilliantly booked another hotel room for me for the 3 days I was in Maidstone, while I was on the phone with Vrbo, so I had somewhere to go. I took many photos before we drove to the new hotel room, but had no time for a shower before meeting friends at the pub. This Vrbo would be my 3rd strike of bad luck, I wanted no more. Never use vrbo.com. They are horrendous.

We had a superb evening, catching up on each other's news, laughing over memories, and just relaxing. I think this was the first time I'd let go in weeks. I posted a photo of us on Facebook, and was immediately sent one back from some of the crew at The Tavern, who had started early and were 5 hours behind us. I so wished both of the groups could meet.

We left the pub, and it was still raining heavily. yet Sally and I were starving, and managed to find a kebab shop open. We had always had kebabs in our biker days after a night at The London Tavern, and I think this one was the first in nearly 40 years. I was ready for bed, and extremely grateful that Sally had driven. She dropped me off, and would return the next morning, when we'd have breakfast with Cathy and Phil at The Beefeater, very conveniently attached to my hotel.

This was a great start to the day, the breakfast was amazing. A breakfast made to order, with the mushrooms tasting as though they'd been picked that morning. It was so lovely to spend some time with Cathy and Phil, such old friends, but really, I view them as family. But as usual, my time in Maidstone is always a whirlwind, and so, after breakfast, it was over to see a different Phil, from my early Post Office career days, who had moved into a new flat. I presented him with some U.S. fig rolls, which are his favorite biscuits. I haven't heard back about those, but expect they fell way short of the English version, or he would have raved about them. So sad I didn't get a photo of him, but we had a lovely time chatting and laughing, admiring his new residence, and quaffing stellar cups of tea, which came from Morrisons teabags, a few boxes of which were purchased days later. We even met his sister for the first time; all these years, and we never knew he had one!

And then it was back over to the other side of town, where we met Ginny and Ali at a pub, but chose to drink coffee, as we were all still feeling the effects from the previous night. But the coffee was amazing, as was the time spent with these wonderful ladies. We came up with a term for our afternoon conversation, Sex, Drugs, and Sausage Rolls, which sent us off into fits of giggles again. I'm sure we had the most fun of everyone in the pub that day.

I had read online that the British coins, when the backs were arranged, made the Royal Arms, link here.

so we all emptied our purses, rummaging through our collective coins until we found all that made up the shield.  Then it was goodbyes again, sad ones, since I didn't know when I'd next be able to return, but if I'm able to find a job and keep my home, then they will be coming over, as well as Mike and Jennie from the night before. They have all invited me to stay with them too, the next time I'm able to come over.

Sally and I then went for a spin in the countryside. Sally was amazing for the few days I was in Maidstone, refusing to let me do any driving, and to be honest, I was extremely grateful. I haven't had one good night's sleep since losing my job, and am constantly tired, so having a break from driving was very welcome. We cruised around country lanes, past village greens, old pubs we used to frequent, and stopped when we saw a country store lit up. Amazed that one was still open on a Sunday evening, we rushed inside, to be greeted with a counter, stocked with piles of homemade pies, sandwiches and cakes. With watering mouths, we walked up and down, before making our choices. I chose a steak and Stilton pie, and a prawn mayonnaise sandwich for later. Sally stocked up with goodies to take home, and then we popped into the pub next door for a quick drink, before she dropped me off at the hotel for the night. Pure exhaustion gave me a great night's sleep, a relief to be unconscious for a solid 6 hours.