A Hidden Haven

 County Durham is an incredibly beautiful place. While I was searching for a new home, I was also finding my way around, and exploring this new scenery. I decided to start walking again. England doesn't use the term, 'hiking'. Whether it's a 2 mile amble or a 12 mile trek, it's still just a walk. And I like that. So, regardless of cold temperatures and winds, I put on a new pair of walking boots and set off. I had lost much of my fitness during the past year, so I found that a couple of miles rambling was enough at first, but during the winter months I was fine with that. I joined a few groups, and now walk 4 days a week or more, and am comfortable doing 5-7 miles. I still have a dodgy ankle from a couple of years ago, but am starting physio for that next month, and hope that will help. 

I have walked far too many places to post photos from the past now, but hope to drop a few in when I return to some of these places, which I will do. But right on my doorstep I have a spectacular little nature reserve, Bishop Middleham Quarry, a site of special interest. This was once a working quarry, but has now been allowed to revert to nature. It's not the easiest place to find, hidden on a tiny lane, and seems to only be frequented by locals. I squashed my car into the hedge, noting that there was an abundance of cob nuts here, I'll be back!

 

It was apparent as I pushed through the kissing gate that I had the place to myself. The sun was still quite high, casting long shadows over the track, and it was warm, that nice kind of warm you like feeling on your bare skin, not too hot. The inhabitants here obviously felt the same way, as I could hear a steady happy hum from bountiful bees as they buzzed back and forth over the flowers. Butterflies flittered and fluttered, some to fast to identify, but I could make out that there were quite a few varieties here.

 

James Common's link above did a great job of identifying the flowers. I didn't see as many varieties of orchid as him, but there were plenty of harebells, field scabius, knapweed, restharrow, birdsfoot trefoil and rosebay willowherb. There were other plants I haven't named, the abundance of wildflowers was amazing. And the insects enjoying them were also abundant. Hoverflies buzzed around my head and settled on flower heads, there were quite a few varieties of native bees, and plenty of butterflies and moths.

There were many peacock butterflies, common blues, some orange butterflies that moved too fast to ascertain whether they were commas or small coppers, large whites, brown arguses, and a few 6 spot burnet moths. Red soldier beetles were getting busy on the cow parsley, and in the shade of some trees I spotted cinnabar moth caterpillars.

 It was a joy to wander around this reserve and not see any evidence of man, apart from the worn tracks. There was obviously plenty of life here. Apart from the insects and bees, which swarmed noisily around me, birds trilled from branches, hidden by leaves, the empty burrows on the cliff faces were evidence of sand martins, whose young were now grown and fledged, preparing for their migration to Africa in September. Rabbits live here, droppings are everywhere on the grass. I came across many empty snail shells so am guessing thrushes are happy to hang out here too. As was I, this is a little world unto itself, tucked away in the middle of nowhere and invisible from the narrow lane that runs along a narrow part of it. 

As the shadows became longer, I walked back along the bottom of the old quarry towards the steps at the end. I'd seen no-one since I'd arrived, and had been here for about 90 minutes. In the nearly 100 years that the quarry has been abandoned, this reserve has become its own ecosystem, with rarer plants and butterflies now thriving. The European bee-eater successfully bred here in 2002; I'd love to see one of those. I'll definitely be visiting here again, it's so close to home, and I'll relish seeing the changes through the seasons. As I walked back to my car, an older gentleman and his dog wandered over, about to enter and enjoy this peaceful haven for themselves.

The Land of Prince Bishops

And, after a long 9 months, it's time to resume my blog. I've been through the most depressing episode of my life, and have emerged, hopefully, a stronger person. Having lost the job that I thought would take me through to retirement, I then progressed to losing my confidence after hundreds of unsuccessful job applications, I lost the Blue House, since I couldn't afford to keep it going, and then slipped into months of miserable depression. I realized that my home that I had spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours on would be taken from me unless I sold it, so I had to relinquish it. I moved back to England, to the north east, which was the only option for me if I wanted to buy a home outright with the equity I gained from the house sale. I wanted to buy a house outright so I'd never have to repeat this experience again. Also, my brother lives in the area, so there was one person I would know on arrival. I packed up a few belongings in a small container that would travel by sea, while Tricksie Treat and myself would fly to England. I have left some very dear friends in America, who I will stay in touch with, but I will never again mention the name of the last company, or the people it employed, to which I gave so much of myself to.

So! Here I am in a spectacularly beautiful area of England. I have the Yorkshire Dales to the west, the Yorkshire Moors to the east, Scotland a couple of hours north, and the coastline only 30 minutes away. County Durham was created in 1075 by William the Conqueror, and the 'Prince Bishops of Durham' were formed to protect the north of England from invading Scots. It's an old coal mining county, and the area is rich with history and packed with some very nice people. Tricksie Treat and I landed at Heathrow, then drove north to our AirBnb, which we would stay in for 4 nights until I found a long term rental. After 24 hours of continuous travel, we both collapsed and rested for the night. Then I wasted no time in looking around for a place I could rent for 6 months while I hunted for my new home. I walked into a letting agency and met Peter and Beverley, who after making me a cup of tea, accompanied with a tin of biscuits, and listening sympathetically to my tale, they promptly offered me a flat in my price range above the cafe next door. I didn't have the full amount in cash and was waiting for my new bank account details, but they trusted me and handed over the keys. They became instant friends, and in a very short space of time, I became part of the crew, or family, as Peter put it. We've often marveled at how this happened, and at how quickly we all became such wonderful friends, and I'm eternally grateful to have been adopted by these amazing people. I pop down to the office almost daily, and we chat over tea and biscuits, with Colin and Tony, the other 2 members of the family who are also talented handymen, kitchen fitters, decorators, and do pretty much anything needed in the way of repair work in the rental properties. There's also Stuart, Warin, Graham and Neville, who are all contractors, and often drop by if needed. 

I have received much valuable advice from them all, and Peter came with me on a couple of house viewings, as his knowledge and experience of the housing market is endless. He's also shown me a few of their rental properties, which helped to give me an idea of what I wanted. And so I found a pretty terraced house just 10 minutes from my flat and their office, my offer was accepted, and I've had the keys for just over a month.. It has plenty of trees at the front and back, a garden out the front and a little courtyard at the back, and it's on the outskirts of a small village. I can walk to the local shop, doctors and pub.The house is over 100 years old, but it's solidly built, and I'm looking forward to my final move. Warin has done the rewiring, Stuart checked that the boiler and central heating are up to code, and Neville has replaced the flat roof on the kitchen, the front bay window, repointed the chimney and replaced the flashing around one of the attic windows.

Neville and his crew also gutted the kitchen and are in the process of installing a new one. So I'm hoping to move in within 2 weeks. This is the front of the house. I replaced soil and fed the yellow rose plus a pink rose in pots, both of which immediately responded with blooms. The hebe by the front door has also received the same treatment, plus there are sweet pea seedlings sprouting in the other pot, which will climb up the wall to the left of the window. There will be a patio, a raised flower bed and a pond in the future, plus loads of native plants.

 In between house hunting and waiting for the house to be finished, I've been out exploring and getting to know the area. I'm not going into full details about everywhere I've been, but I've posted a few photos on my daily blog, which I've kept up through this ordeal. I don't think I'll ever be able to explore everywhere, the north east is chock-a-block  with historical sites, fabulous scenery, hundreds of trails for walking and cycling, as well as not being so heavily populated as my home county of Kent or my last home, Virginia. Driving here is a joy, with very few traffic jams and no road rage, and the people are amazing. I'd forgotten how delightful it was to stop and chat to a total stranger for 10 minutes, and this happens regularly. I've already made friends with 4 neighbours, and it's an added bonus that we're all the same age.

Well, this post is narrative only, but there are photos on my daily blog, here. I'm going to resume this blog as I've missed it, and now feel like I'm in a good place to pick it up again. Plus, there's so much to write about and take photos of. It's good to be back!

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.