The View from the Train Window

These days, weeks and weeks into Life-with-Covid 19, I crave a nice quiet dinner with people I know, tea parties with friends, or a chinwag in town over a good cup of coffee and a fresh-from-the-oven buttered scone.  And I can’t have any of them.

Instead, I’ll settle for memories of a tea party from a few years ago, when we met with good friends to celebrate a couple of birthdays.  No tea shop for us, but instead a jaunt on the Wensleydale Railway, a Heritage Railway which runs in normal times through the heart of the Yorkshire Dales .

As we rattled along, enjoying countryside views, smart serving staff plied up with elegant little sandwiches, properly fattening cakes, and the all-important scones served with jam and cream.  And tea, of course.  And prosecco.

It’s not often that afternoon tea with all the trimmings includes an ever-changing bucolic view through the window.

Read the whole story here.

Monday Window.

Quiet Moments

When all this is over, I’ll remember the quiet moments …

… the early evenings in the garden, as the birds chattered tunefully among themselves …

… the woodland walks, where I was soothed by the changing patterns as, day by day, green leaves unfolded above me, and the flowers of spring, then summer, came and went alongside my path.

And I’ll remember this walk too, from Monday this week, when I exchanged my bosky local landscape for the wider vistas near the North York Moors National Park, where a long slog up a long hill rewards with far-ranging views. And maybe the chance to take a photo requiring depth of field, for Jude’s current photo challenge.

Lens-Artists Photo Challenge #102: A Quiet Moment

 

The Bird at the Window

A June walk near Richmond in Yorkshire.  Not this June as it happens, but it’s a walk I remember well.

This was the countryside we strolled through.

The banks of the River Swale.
Richmond Caste in the distance.
Swaledale meadowland.

And this was the abbey we found near the end: Easby Abbey, ruined since shortly after the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536, and  as atmospheric as ruins generally are.

Easby Abbey.
Easby Abbey.
.. and the still-standing parish church.

The site includes the not-at-all-ruined parish church which is still very much in use.  When we popped in, we didn’t expect to find a poor swallow, struggling to get out.  Church members were trying to help him, but he was still vying with stained glass angels as we left.  Poor swallow.

A feathered bird meets a feathered angel at the church window.

 

Birder friends: can you help please?  I realise this may not be a swallow, but it doesn’t seem to be a swift or house martin either.  Thoughts?

Monday Window

Six Words? Twelve Words? All nonsense.

Fish – clutter – drain – banana – starling – umbrella – buttermilk – sky – walking boots – bibulous – carbuncle – brain.

Just look at that.  Twelve words. I have to weave those twelve random words into a single poem.

Our U3A writing group is one of the few things that’s continued throughout lockdown.  It’s a positive activity at a somewhat negative time.  But what CAN you do with a list like that?  This, it turns out.  I’m not too displeased.  And here too are a few photos to illustrate the day.

Colsterdale

Wanting to de-clutter

my brain, I drive to

Colsterdale.

Walking boots? – Check.

Map? – Check.

Sandwich? – Check.

Banana? – Check.

Umbrella?  Don’t be silly.

 

No starlings here, but

curlews, skylarks

crest the sky –

that cobalt sky, patched

with buttermilk clouds.

 

A chattering brook

drains into the reservoir

where fish silently dawdle

and spongy bibulous mosses

make soft mats beneath my feet.

 

Contented now, 

I drive back to town.

I pass that new carbuncle and see

a socially distanced queue 

snake round the recently-opened 

supermarket.

 

Jo’s Monday Walk

Six Word Saturday

A Flower (x 5): a Challenge (x 2)

Here’s a challenge for stay-at-home lockdown days.  In fact here are two challenges in one:

Right.  Well, I should take this seriously – I’m new to macro photography.

The garden’s ready and waiting.  That’s one thing sorted.  Tripod?  Well, I have a three-legged stool, and a pile of books so I can adjust the camera height – same thing really .

But the ground proves to be disappointingly uneven, and the slight breeze moves those cranesbill petals around.  The bees to whom I’d be happy to offer either a leading role or at least a bit-part are disappointingly uncooperative.  Maybe pick a few flowers and move indoors?

Card to display flowers on – check.  Tripod-substitute: one packet of tea and another book – check.  Nice even light streaming in through the window – check.  What could possibly go wrong?

That’s part of William’s birthday present. Sssh – don’t tell him.

So here we are.  Macro photos in the time of Covid 19.  Make do and mend rules.

Oh, and I thought I’d put the flowers in a bit of context and show them in our landlords’ garden.  We spend as much time there as they do.  Aren’t we lucky?

 

 

The Tree House. Just One Window, Just One Door.

If you go walking in Wensleydale: if you go for a walk from Jervaulx to Jervaulx via Thornton Steward, you’ll come across this tree home, at the edge of a field, commanding views over the valley.  It has just one door and, importantly for Monday Window, just one window.

It’s pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but I always like to imagine a doting grandfather, tall and rangy from a tough life’s farming and probably reminiscent of the BFG, lovingly creating a little refuge for his grandchild in this hollow tree.

A first glimpse ….
… a second glimpse …
… and the whole thing.

I couldn’t fit in it, neither could you.  Perhaps the grandchild is too big now.  But I know a couple of young people who’d love to play there.  Perhaps you do too.

Playing With a Poorly Camera

Ooh dear.  Just look.  I’m meant to be using the manual settings on my camera to experiment with Depth of Field – not something I often do.  And as soon as I switch to fiddling with Aperture, this is what I get.

It wasn’t misbehaving earlier in the week and now it is. But with my Tame Camera Shop being shut for the duration, I’m stuck.

Ah well, I’ll go out to play instead.  I’ll stand in a single place on the riverbank and take photos of the ox-eye daisies, zooming in to get ever closer.  It’s the best I can do. My feet don’t move, but my zoom does.

This last photo isn’t part of my ‘homework’.  But who doesn’t love a poppy, perfectly poised on a parapet?

 

2020 Photo Challenge #23: Depth of Field

Revisiting Transhumance in the Haut Salat

I struggled to decide what to re-blog from our years in France this month.  June then was an opportunity to get further away from home to walk and to explore.  Should I take you for a snowy walk to the heights of Lanoux?  Or on a horrifyingly vertiginous expedition?  Maybe le Cap du Carmil?

In the end, since we’re getting a bit fed up with being socially distant these days, I thought we’d go off and have a bit of a knees-up over in Seix.  Come with us.

June 13th 2011

Transhumance in the Haut Salat

Transhumance.  It’s that time of year where here near the Pyrénées, the cattle and sheep are moved from their winter quarters down on their lowland(ish) farms up to the lush summer pastures in the mountains.  They’ll stay there till Autumn, and then be brought down again.  And each time, it’s the excuse for a party.

On Saturday, we joined in, and went over to Seix to meet friends who live there.  The Transhumance celebrations in Haut Salat last three days, but we made do with Saturday morning.  We nearly arrived late – very late – because we found ourselves behind a herd of cattle making their steady way along the road.  Overtaking’s not an option: the cows commandeered this route hundreds of years ago.  But we managed to zip down a side road and make a detour.  A whole hour later, after coffee with our friends, the herd reached the edge of Seix and passed their door….

Cattle trudge patiently down the road …
.. calves too
Patriotic cows are led to town

…and finished their long walk into town.  We went too, and arrived just as the last flocks of sheep were arriving, to be corralled like the cattle, at the edge of the town square.  For a while, and probably much to their relief, they were no longer centre stage.

Sheep come too
Sheep wait patiently in the market square.
Off duty cow bells.

Instead it was jollity of the traditional kind. There were processions of large solemn plaster effigies, local bands.  Dancers from Gascony, the Basque country, the Landes made sure we all had fun, and Malcolm and I even joined in some Basque dancing.  Stars of the show for us were the shepherds from the Landes.  Theirs is flat, marshy country, and they used to keep their eyes on their roving flocks by ranging round on stilts.  But this was a day for dancing, and that’s just what they did, up high on those stilts.  Have a look at the photos.

Loook at these giant cowbells strapped to the men’s backs. We couldn’t find out about those.
It seems strange to ride a plaster pony when there are so many real ones around
A stern-faced giant processes round the town.
.. and here’s her partner.
Basque dancers in red and white …
… still dancing.
Traditional clogs.
.. and the women join in too.
The shepherds from the Landes arrive on the scene…
Children in costume.
This man’s playing a pipe and drum at the same time.
The square at Seix.

We went off for lunch at the end of the morning.  But there was more celebrating, more meals to be shared, particularly by those farmers and country people who over the centuries have welcomed the fellowship of Transhumance as a break from the routines of an often lonely life.

Barcelona’s Best Windows

This time last year, we were near Barcelona, me and my whole family, celebrating two significant birthdays.  What a difference a year makes.

This year, nobody’s travelling anywhere much, so I’m going on a virtual journey, to Barcelona and to one of my favourite destinations there, the Hospital de Sant Pau.  I’ve already written about it twice, here and here.  Today, let’s celebrate its vibrant, colourful windows, with glimpses of the glorious buildings that lie beyond.

Monday Window