February 2020 – From Pyrenees to Pennines

Winter Walking in Nidderdale – with Added Mud

Mud. I can’t be doing with it. Viscous, squelchy, squishy, sticky, over-the-top-of-your-boots kind of mud. We’ve had ground slick with treacly mud here for weeks and weeks. But then there’s also Cabin Fever, and the need to plan a walk for our walking group in a fortnight’s time, when spring might have sprung. Walking won out over yet another day indoors.

Just outside Lofthouse, our walk begins.

My friend Chris and I set forth for the Yorkshire Dales, parked up in Lofthouse, and set off. Really, it could have been worse. It was a full twenty minutes before we came upon our first serious mudbath: prior to that we’d only had water-on-the-path to deal with.

Chris paddles across the path previously trodden only by sheep.

But climbing now, we saw what the fields were like: yes, those are fields you’re looking at. Gouthwaite Reservoir’s not here: it’s over there in the distance.

The path between Lofthouse and Ramsgill, with flooded fields down below and Gouthwaite Reservoir in the distance.

We had our rewards though. The views: the remnants of a snowscape: sheep – and oh look! Our very first lambs of the season – a little huddle of black ones, and just one snowy specimen with its mum.

The last remnants of the snow.

Nidderdale, between Lofthouse and Ramsgill.

White mums, black lambs.

A single lamb resting near its mother.

Middlesmoor in the distance.

Surveying the scene.

This sheep inspected us as we sat on a log for a snack.

Swaledale sheep make the logo of the Yorkshire Dales National Park.

And then, a pleasant surprise. The café at How Stean Gorge was open – on a weekday in February! Coffee and home-made cake while enjoying the view of the stream jostling and hurrying through its narrow ravine. I forgot to take a photo for Jo, but the website shows the Yorkshire Slice Chris and I shared.

The view of Nidderdale and Gouthwaite Reservoir from Middlesmoor.

We were on the home straights now. All we had to do was struggle up a steepish hill to the now barely-populated village of Middlesmoor. Just outside its church, on the path that plunges down to our starting point are thoughtfully-provided seats. This is one of the best views in England, and despite the wind, we wanted to appreciate it.

And then, half way down the hill- a traffic jam. This herd of cattle blocked our path. The farmer asked us if we’d mind waiting five minutes. He turned out to have a countryman’s clock, but no matter: we weren’t going to argue with all those cows.

More mud …

… and more mud …

Finally, the cows moved on, and so did we. We got back to the car just as the rain, and then the sleet, started once more.

It was good to be out walking again.

An entry for Jo’s Monday Walk.

Sea Creatures?

You want sea creatures for this photo challenge? I live nowhere near the sea, so you won’t get a single live specimen here.

I’m British, so we’d better start with Fish and Chips.

Fish and chips and mushy peas and tartare sauce.

For the rest, I’ll take you to museums…

Sea life gallery, National Museum of Scotland.

A fish, one of the many decorative features incorporated into Alfred Waterhouse’s Natural History Museum, London.

To Leeds City Market …

To the fish market in Cádiz …

A tuna head.

A display in the fish market.

To Jagalchi fish market in Busan, South Korea.

Such careful displays …

Have you ever seen a greater quantity of tiny fish? There were dozens and dozens of displays like this one.

Click on any image to view the caption.

Friendly Friday :Sea Creatures.

We’re Going on a Treasure Hunt

This week’s Lens Artist Challenge has us going on a Treasure Hunt. I didn’t think I’d participate at first. I am, after all, a snapshot-ist rather than a photographer, and I know that the photos I value are weighted with memories rather than with a photographer’s skill.

But it’s been a grotty weekend (again) and a trip through the archives has been fun, and wakened many memories. So let’s go…

Challenge Items: Sunrise and/or sunset, Something cold and/or hot, a bird, a dog, a funny sign, a bicycle, a seascape and/or mountain landscape, a rainbow, a church, a musical instrument, a boat, a plane, a waterfall.
Extra Credit Items: An expressive portrait of one or more people, a very unusual place, knitting or sewing, a fish, an animal you don’t normally see, a bucket, a hammer, a street performer, a double rainbow, multiple challenge items in a single image.

This is Cádiz, where we were in January. It’s the place for sunsets, and in this case, the place for boats too. Two items ticked off.

One day in Seville, we went to the market in Triana, on the other side of the River Guadalquivir. This was lunch. Something hot.

A godwit at Slimbridge, Gloucestershire. A happy day with our daughter-in-law’s mum, who knows about birds.

This is Brian, who’s moved on from living with my daughter’s family. As a puppy, he was keen on sticks.

There’s an electricity substation near the cemetery in Esperaza, France. This sign always pleased us.

I chose this bicycle from Seoul, South Korea, loaded up with lunch time meals, cooked in tiny kitchens, and delivered to workers on site.

My photos of rainbows were all a little samey-samey, so instead I’ve chosen reflections on the floor of the National Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh.

Hull Minster, reflected in a nearby office building.

Mark’s tuba is centre stage in one of North Yorkshire for Europe’s demonstrations outside the Houses of Parliament in the days when we still hoped to remain in the EU.

Well, this isn’t a waterfall. But I couldn’t resist this pond near the National Museum of Korea in Seoul, with its atmospheric clouds of vapour.

And now it’s time for bonus points:

A woman filleting fish at Jagalchi Market, Busan, South Korea – perhaps the largest fish market in the world.

There’s always a yarn- bombing display in the Market Place in Thirsk. This one celebrated the NHS.

William, while he was still a toddler, plays with his bucket and spade.

Traditional drumming for Chuseok, the big family festival in Korea.

If you click on any image that appeals to you, you’ll find a bit of a story about it. Then more easily ‘visit’ all the photos in that series. Thanks Tina: I’ve had fun hunting through the archives.

What Are You Going To Meet ….?

…. if you turn this corner?

An art installation, ‘Around the Corner’, in the Culture Mile, City of London, by Karsten Huneck and Bernd Truempler, KHBT .

William needed to explore.

This sentence is a a quotation from Virginia Woolf’s novel Jacob’s Room: ‘What are you going to meet if you turn this corner?’

An entry for Six Word Saturday.

A Walk to the Planetarium

I’m in London on Half Term Duty. Zoë’s at Nursery, but William’s four, and at school these days, where an early encounter with the planets quickly turned into an all-consuming passion.

So I thought I should take him to the Planetarium in nearby Greenwich. There’s not much he doesn’t know about the solar system (Makemake anyone?),so ‘Moons beyond counting‘ seemed a likely hit. Twelve thirty, I said, that’s when we’ve got to be there.

At 8.30, William was all present and correct, dressed; rucksack packed with essentials such as a pencil case and an I-spy book of birds; shoes on; coat organised, demanding to leave. I fobbed him off for a while, but by just after 9.30, we were on the top of a double-decker bus bound for Blackheath and Greenwich.

Not the normal view of Blackheath: a bit of a fairground and a rubbish lorry doing its work.

Greenwich has one of London’s lovieliest parks. There are wide avenues, trees, green space – hills even – and if you walk to the far end, a wonderful playground. William was persuaded that this was a good place to spend the two and a half hours before the show. We trotted down avenues and gravelly paths. We chatted to dog walkers – William, having given his full address to one, informed him that I was a visitor who didn’t normally live here.

We examined tree bark.

And we reached the playground, where William climbed, chased, crawled, bounced, made new friends and finally announced, round about 11.30, that he was hungry.

We climbed one hill and then another, looking across at the views of Greenwich below, and the City of London, just across the Thames.

And we picnicked pretty much on the Greenwich Meridian line.

Visitors to the Observatory and the Meridian Line enjoy the view.

Finally, it was time for the show. We sat next to a boy called Jack who turned out to be just as much of a planet geek as William. The performance over (it was very good thanks, and back home, William gave a far better account of it than I did), Jack and William hurled obscure facts and quiz questions at one another, and were half pleased and astonished, half vexed that each knew as much as the other.

We decided enough was enough, and took a different route back through the park to the bus stop and home. Where we spent the rest of the day doing – what else? – a jigsaw of the solar system.

The moon, seen not at Greenwich, but on the Rotterdam to Hull ferry, June 2019.

A walk for Jo’s Monday Walk.

Patterns Through the Window, on the Wall

Look out of that window. Who wants to go out unless they have to? Instead, I’m inside and cosy, seeing if I can find photos that fit Jude’s 2020 Photo Challenge for February, Patterns.

I decided to go with the built environment. I looked not for deliberately created architectural motifs, or applied ornamentation, but for reflections, distortion, or for other elements that weren’t intended as the main event. Except in one case, where reflection and baffling the eye was definitely the main story. Which one was that do you think?

Sightseeing in Granada by looking at, rather than through a window.

The new entrance to the V&A, London.

Glimpses of El Escorial, Seville, from the balustrades by its water features.

Garden at the Gasholder development, Kings Cross, London.

Reflections at Canary Wharf, London.

Office windows in Brussels, Belgium.

This challenge was provided by Jude, of Travel Words.

Edinburgh in the Sleet

Yesterday, Malcolm had a Very Significant Birthday. No party, he said. Definitely no party. Instead, we travelled by train in style – First Class – to Edinburgh and back.

We nearly missed the train. Thanks to Storm Ciara, an hour and a half was almost not enough to travel the 18 miles to Northallerton Station. Our first major diversion was a mere mile from home, and things didn’t get better.

We were at the station in time. Just. But the train was late. Never mind. Beyond Newcastle, this is one of England’s finest train journeys. The coast near Alnmouth, distant views of Holy Island, Berwick-on-Tweed, while enjoying a late breakfast, and unlimited coffee at our table – that stressful journey to the station had been worth it.

Gateshead from the train.

Alnmouth from the train.

Berwick on Tweed from the train.

Once in Edinburgh, this is what we were faced with.

We put our heads down and made straight for the National Museum of Scotland. And there we stayed. All day. It was no hardship. We had an interesting morning in the fascinating if not photogenic gallery devoted to Scotland’s twentieth century of social change. A very light snack. And in the afternoon, we followed no plan. Every gallery had something of interest. So we each followed our noses, and visited far flung Inuit territory in Canada, plunged into the oceans, watched the Millennium Clock strike three, wondered at unwearable clothing in the costume gallery … We know we’ll be back – so much to see, and it’s so beautifully displayed and interpreted.

That’s why we didn’t leave the museum.

On arrival, a taste of what’s to come.

So much to see, so little time.

The Natural History Gallery.

Reflections observed from the Balcony Cafe.

So many bicycles..

The Millennium Clock – worth a post on its own.

The main hall, viewed through an elk.

A pac-a-mac? Or an inuit parka made from seal gut?

Yup’ik spirit dance mask, Alaska.

Court Mantua. British, 1750s

Back into the blizzard for the train home. Here’s something to smile at.

And here’s our journey home on the train.

Edinburgh Castle from the train in Waverley Station.

Dusk, leaving Scotland.

Gateshead at night.

Pay-As-You-Feel, Eat a Good Meal

Let’s begin at the beginning. A couple of years ago, Alison and her husband were in Saltaire, looking for a late lunch. They found it at the Saltaire Canteen, and soon realised it was no ordinary café. Here, the ingredients used were all past their sell-by dates, and had been intercepted from landfill. They’d been transformed into appetising meals, mainly by volunteers, and customers were encouraged to pay what they thought was fair, or what they could afford.

‘We could do that in Ripon’, thought Alison.

Actually, that’s not the beginning of the story. We need to go back to December 2013, when The Real Junk Food Project opened its doors in Armley, Leeds, as a café offering meals made from food destined for the tip. People ‘paid’ for their meals with money, by offering skills or even food.

It was the brainchild of Adam Smith, who had a Road to Damascus moment on a pig farm in Australia, where the pigs were eating discarded food he’d have been happy to put on his plate. Back in England, The Real Junk Food Project was born, firstly as a café: then as an ever-expanding movement helping others develop their own models; as a Sharehouse sourcing and distributing waste food for those cafes; pay-as-you-feel supermarkets of discarded food; Freegan boxes of intercepted food designed for families; for distribution in a school setting (breakfast clubs, or for families in need for instance); even outside catering. I’d like to get married all over again for the pleasure of having a Junk Food catering team deliver the party! You can see why Alison needed to talk to Adam.

She found a co-conspirator in her friend Janet, and between them they located premises at Community House, equipment, cookware, crockery, cutlery, napkins… everything you need to feed the masses. I’ve dismissed that task in a sentence, but I don’t underestimate the achievement. They found volunteers too. I wasn’t in at the beginning, but I’m part of the team now, and I wouldn’t miss my stints for anything.

A year ago, the café opened. It’s on Thursdays, Ripon’s Market Day. People start to drop in from 11 o’clock for a coffee, maybe a cake. From 11.30 they’re eager for lunch. Seating is at refectory-style tables, so whether you come with a friend, family, or on your own, you’ll be sitting with others and soon be talking to those around you.

Look! Here are a few sample menus.

The cooks for the day will have been to Wetherby the day before to collect supplies, considered the random collection of ingredients and devised and cooked a varied and tasty menu to suit everyone: there are always vegetarian and vegan choices. There’s nearly always a soup or two, and good old fashioned nursery puddings are hugely in demand.

Kitchen action.

Oven action.

Roasting roots.

The volunteers have been in since 10 o’clock, setting tables, chalking up the menu, getting everything ready. At 11.30, they become waitresses and waiters: taking orders, collecting and serving the food to the diners, taking turns to wash up, and finding time to chat and be welcoming. Newcomers become regulars: regulars become friends. We have office workers; young families; elderly people who welcome a hot meal in friendly company; visitors to the city …

A tasty bake.

A session in full swing.

It’s quiet now. At 1.30, many diners have left. Time for us to chat to the late-comers.

Modelling a pinny.

Pay-as-you-feel.

At the end, people put what they feel in a box by the door. The point is to save food from landfill, not to make money, so those who can’t pay don’t need to feel embarrassed. Some offer services instead – there were some electricians in one week …. There are costs of course – notably the rent: so far donations have kept us in the clear. Any profits are re-invested in improved services.

Then, for the volunteers, it’s time to wash up, tidy up, put things away, swab the kitchen floor, pack away the tables and chairs, vacuum … and finally go home for a rest and a nice cup of tea.

Wholemeal has become a real asset to Ripon community life. And look at the food that’s been intercepted from landfill! Win-win. Thank you, Alison. Thank you, Janet, thank you Adam … and everyone else who’s made it possible.

Radio York transmitted its whole morning show from Wholemeal last Thursday. Anyone who’s super-interested can listen here, on BBC Sounds.

A Line of Trees

I don’t know about you, but I need a break from the world and its vicissitudes. And I’ve got just the thing. One of our favourite walks, near Masham, near home. It offers wetlands with waterbirds, calming pastures of sheep, woodland, a stretch along the riverside – all available in a four mile stroll.

This month, Jude of Travel Words invites us to consider Pattern. This walk has plenty, starting with the skeins of geese often to be seen designing sinuous flight lines across the sky.

I’m going to show you a particular line of trees that I’m fond of, towards the end of the walk. A repeated pattern, tree after tree after tree. Sometimes, especially in high summer, these are enough to fill my mental screen. At other times, I notice the pattern echoed. A line of sheep, maybe. A different line – of fencing. Even – and I never manage to catch this in the same shot – a line of snagged sheep’s wool caught on nearby barbed wire.

Stark winter trees. Fencing edges the nearby field.

Winter again. I like the shadowy trees lower down echoing the crisper line above.

Another much longer view of those trees. With sheep below following the same horizontal line. It’s still winter.

That line again. It’s summer now, and other stands of trees draw the eye down to the lower edge of the shot.

Sheep again. They just left their wool behind.

I’ve chosen in many cases to echo the linear nature of the pattern by a spot of judicious cropping.

There. Did you forget the headlines just for a few moments?

Thank EU for Being Here: Part 2

We turned up early – though not half as early as some – to help get things ready and to join a short choir rehearsal.

This was January 31st, Britain’s last day in the EU, and the occasion for North Yorkshire for Europe’s ‘Thank EU for being here’ party: a celebration for EU citizens who’ve made their homes here.

Richard Sadler, our energetic ideas-and-Chair-man, organises the banner.

There were tables and chairs in place, enough for about 120 people. There was Richard up a stepladder wrestling to get the home made (thank you Phil) banner up. And there were the cameras and reporters. BBC Look North were already busy interviewing and ITV News at Ten was due too. But look! Isn’t that Nick Robinson from the Today programme? Yes. He stayed and listened to the choir rehearse, and did a few short interviews, which were transmitted on Saturday’s programme at about 8.15.

Then it was 7.30. People started arriving – slowly at first, then in a busy queue. A Polish nurse who’d been part of the team when Malcolm was in hospital came, with two Spanish friends. As we sat down, we found ourselves with, apart from them, Italian and Ukranian guests. I chatted to a French woman. We heard German, Dutch. We puzzled over quiz sheets. Where ever in Europe had all these pictures been taken? There was music from our very own The Raisers.

Supper was only partly European. There were pizzas. But besides them were vats of Indian vegetarian curries, breads and sweetmeats. Feeding us all took quite a while, but gave the chance for lots of talking and getting to know one another.

Speeches of course. You’ve got to have speeches: but they were short, and though full of regret, positive and forward-looking.

And the choir sang. No longer the Remain Voice Choir, we’ve become the Reunion Chorus. Some of our old favourites have been brought up to date (‘Brexit is a form of Madness’ – you may know it as ‘Bread of Heaven’); and others are new (‘Europeans all are we..’ – ‘Bobby Shaftoe’).

Here are some of the band. As I was singing, I haven’t got any of the choir. I think Nick Robinson has.

The hands of the clock kept turning. It was getting late. We stopped out chatter. At exactly 11.00 o’clock, we stood up for a minute’s silence: reflective, saddened, angry. And then the choir and everyone in the room joined in singing Ode to Joy. After which, many of us turned to our neighbour for a comforting hug as we wept for what we had lost.

The evening was over. But not our movement. We’ve made new friendships in Yorkshire and beyond. One day, we’re sure, Britain will be part of the EU once more.