Category: North Yorkshire

Through the Kitchen Window

I am sitting at the kitchen table and looking out of the window. This is where I measure the changes of season; decide on what the day’s weather will bring; enjoy the fuchsia, pink and grey tones of the winter sunrise and examine the spiders’ webs that lace our small window panes at this time of year.

A frequent sight in October – or other times of year too.

In the middle distance is a line of trees.  Now they’re newly stark for winter. A few weeks ago we observed them daily as the leaves turned first yellow, then tawny, chestnut and rust. Slowly the leaves started to fall.  Then as November raged in, the wind snatched at them until finally last week, a storm bad-temperedly tore at the final tatters and flung them to the ground. 

The view – sometimes – in January.

In Spring, it will all be reversed.  At first, perhaps in earliest April, a citric haze on the trees will tell us that the buds are bursting, and will change daily, as the once-visible twigs and branches gradually leaf up, and disappear from view. 

During that time though, while the branches are still visible, there’s plenty of action.  Birds are home-hunting, prospecting for that perfect spot for a nest.  Then there’s frenetic activity in the still-bareish trees as crows and wood pigeons flap back and forth, bringing twigs, feathers, moss, constructing untidy structures that despite their appearance are obviously sturdy enough – they’re still there now, high in the top branches. The smaller birds are more discreet, and though they build in the bushes and foliage nearer the house, we rarely see their nests.  No, not even those of the sparrows, who cheep frenetically in the ivy below the window from the first moment they choose a site there, until the last fledgling has flown the nest.

The view in May

Nearer is the brick wall of our landlord’s walled garden. This is where a line of pear trees grows, with, in early summer, pink clematis scrambling through. 

The clematis atop the wall one early evening in May.

Next to them are three lilac trees.  One is purple, one mauve, and the third one white.  For two weeks only – in May – they flower, riotously, casting bloom after scented bloom skywards.  After that they die sulkily, and look quite ugly for weeks.  It doesn’t pay to be away in May and return in June.

Glancing upwards, there are often skeins of geese on flying missions between one neighbourhood lake and another, or in the summer (though less and less frequently these days), swooping and shrieking patrols of swifts.

I can show you neither geese nor swifts, but I can show you a cheeky squirrel who commandeered the window ledge one afternoon in September

So many sights and sounds to enjoy, so much action in the scenes just beyond our window panes.  Never a week goes by without one of us saying to the other ‘Aren’t we lucky to be here? How could we ever move away?’

For Tina’s Lens-Artists Challenge #325: Gratitude
And Georgina’s Nature Writing for November: Looking through a window.


Winter Trees

This week is perhaps the first one in which winter trees came into their own here in North Yorkshire. Recent high winds have snatched the very last scraggy leaves from their boughs, and now their austere skeletons are revealed in all their – often handsome – characterfulness. Here’s a small selection for Leanne’s Monochrome Madness. The header image, taken in Horniman Gardens, Forest Hill is not a true monochrome, but I’ve left it just as it is, to remind us that winter days – in London especially – can be black and white indeed. It’s the only image here not from North Yorkshire, or as we might call it today, The Frozen North.

Why the long face? Winter’s not ALL bad.

Swinton Park Estate, North Yorkshire.

Monday Portraits: A Few Goths Encountered in Whitby

Whitby is a rather lovely seaside town in Yorkshire. And every year at this time…

Every Goth that ever there was 

will gather there for certain because...

today's the day for a Goth and Steampunk party

(Ahem.  Adapted from The Teddy Bear's Picnic)

So on Friday, I went along with friends from Masham Photographic Club to be an unashamed paparazza. The atmosphere was upbeat and friendly, and those who’d gone to so much trouble to find their costumes and dress up actively sought out opportunities to have their picture taken. There was even a baby … and the oldest were well into their eighties. I felt distinctly underdessed in my workaday trousers and jacket.

An excellent day was had by all: especially after a large plate of tasty fish and chips.

Workaday Staircases

This week’s Monochrome Madness theme is proposed by Aletta of nowathome: and she’s chosen Steps or Stairs. It’s an interesting idea, and one where I could have chosen the grand and elegant staircases gracing the finest palaces and country houses of the rich, titled or famous.

Instead I’ve chosen the steps trodden by ordinary folk on their daily round in Barcelona (featured photo), Newcastle and Sitges; or by monks engaged in their spiritual duties at Fountains Abbey; or by a hiker, needing to nip over a few drystone walls on her several mile journey from A to B.

Or there’s the worker helping construct la Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. It might be one of the most famous buildings in Europe, but shinning about its heights looking for footholds is just part of his 9 – 5, every working day.

Works conttinues at La Sagrada Familia, Barcelona

And I’ll leave you with one little treat. A harpist at Jervaulx Abbey this summer, playing at the wedding of some good friends of ours. She was working, even if the rest of us weren’t.

Jervaulx Abbey North Yorkshire.

Deer Walk at Dusk

On Friday afternoon, I was back on duty in the deer park at Studley Royal. This time as a sheep dog. Two of my colleagues were leading interested members of the public on a walk round Studley Royal at a time of day when deer tend to be more active. I was there to make sure nobody got left behind: and to enjoy this particularly lovely autumn afternoon.

Red deer are rutting. The stags are collecting themselves a harem so they can breed the next generation. They roar loudly to attract females, and to deter other males from seducing ‘their’ does. If necessary they’ll fight – noisily – with those heavy antlers. We saw harems, which included a few males who, though they had antlers, were too young and inexperienced to have a hope of breeding ths year. It’s a hard life being Top Stag.

Top Stag has a rest.

We saw a stag chasing females on whom it had Breeding Ideas. Mainly, they lost the race, but a couple of does succumbed – briefly and reluctantly – to being impregnated. The act is so brief – no pictures. Anyway, who wants to be a voyeur?

Sika deer, originally from China, are not even thinking about the rut yet. They’re handsome creatures, with simpler antlers than the red deer. We spotted them in smallish groups, but here are a couple of stags.

Sika stags grazing

Fallow deer – living on this site since the 1600s -are only just beginning to think about the rutting season. We saw two young bucks practising: heads down, their antlers clacked and clattered noisily together. No harm done. They’ve no chace of a harem this year.

But our walk was’t just about the deer. We enjoyed the trees, just now decking themselves in autumn finery. We relished the afternoon shadows, striping the fields: and enjoyed seeing long-legged versions of ouselves as we deer-stalked. And sky too, streaked with evening colours as the sun began to set.

As we finished our walk, and dusk was indeed beginning to fall, the moon was rising between the trees. A fitting finish.

A few last images. The quality isn’t great, because my camera was on Zoom on a high setting. But they record memories of a happy autumn afternoon.

For Jo’s Monday Walk

Last on the Card

It was Masham Sheep Fair at the weekend, so my camera and my phone worked overtime. More another day- maybe.

My feature photo – from my camera – is appropriate: one happy farmer at the end of the day displaying all the cups she’d won. The one below is from my phone, and shows my favourite 400 Roses taking to the floor – well, the town square.

For Brian – Bushboy’s – Last on the Card

Our Little Neighbourhood

Just over ten years ago, we moved back to England from France. And we had a plan. We’d move to Ripon. It’s a smaller town than Harrogate, where we’d lived before, and which now seemed a scarily huge megalopolis (population 160, 000) compared with small-time Laroque d’Olmes (population 2,700). We were quite clear. We wanted to be in town, so we could make use of public transport and be within walking distance of shops and local amenities. But first of all, we’d rent somewhere so we could take our time choosing the right place.

The very first place we looked at ticked none of those boxes. It was just outside a village with not so much as a shop, five miles from Ripon, has four buses a day, none in the evening and on Sunday. The place on offer was the upper floor of a house attached to a gracious 18th and 19th century country house, set among large gardens, a wooded area and pasture. We fell for it. And ten years later, we’re still here, with no plans to move on.

You can see the pitched roof of our house, attached to the bigger house next door.

The gardens, the woodland are not ours, but we can use them freely. Our landlord lives in another house on the same site, while other family members occupy the bigger house.

Our house is probably no longer recognisable as the dwelling it once was, but parts of the original are still here. It was occupied from the 1200s by lay brothers from Fountains Abbey, who managed sheep and some crops. They slept in a dormitory – the first floor. The house was only re-configured so that it had separate rooms in the Victorian era, when it provided living accommodation for the servants working for the residents of the house next door. So much history here, yet most of it remains unknown.

Views from various windows

Our nearest neighbours.

Why would we ever want to move?

For Tina’s Lens-Artists Challenge: Walking the Neighbourhood

An Alphabet of Fun

For this week’s Lens-Artists Challenge, Egidio urges us to share those images which epitomise what ‘fun’ means to us. I’ve settled for something slightly different. I’m going to showcase having fun watching other people having fun.

And I thought I might try an Alphabet of Fun, Let’s see.

Athletic aerobics: a community keep-fit session at the Festa de Gracia in Barcelona this year.

Bubbles and Books. Who doesn’t love chasing big bubbles? Or settling down with a really absorbing book?

Construction. And refurbishment, if it comes to that. One a would-be builder, the other, part of Masham’s Steam Rally earlier this year, working in miniature, to the delight of the crowd.

Dancing. Always good for a bit of fun, whether Catalan traditional, or English Morris-mixed-with-belly-dancing.

Exploring. In this case, discovering climbing and scrambling at Brimham Rocks.

Fairgrounds for fun: an old-style ride at Beamish Museum.

Gifts. This is one of my favourite photos, even if it would win no prizes for technique. A joyful moment at the Spanish Festival of Reyes – Three Kings Day – when my daughter was given a silly present for their equivalent of Secret Santa.

Harmony. Gotta have a little music to bring joy. And in England, that might well be in the form of a brass band.

Indulging and imbibing. A family meal, an evening round the table with friends, perhaps outside, in the town centre. What could be better?

J is for jugglers. Always guaranteed to raise a smile. Here are a couple from Ripon Theatre Festival.

Oh, I say. I think that’s quite enough fun for one day. Letters L – Z will have to sit and sulk. Their moment of fame may arrive. Or not.

I’ve not even mentioned the joy of spending time in the natural world. I’ll content myself today with a single sunset as my featured photo. A frequent evening source of joy when looking out of the bedroom window.