Just in time for Easter, there they were on the village pond. Mr. and Mrs. Mallard had produced eight little balls of fluff. We’re used, every year, to seeing Mrs. M shepherding her little brood across the road, causing dustbin lorries and gravel-haulage lorries to shudder to a halt – Mrs. M never uses the Pelican Crossing. We’re used to seeing her fussing after her babies as they learn to feed and dive and explore. We’re less used to Mr. M being part of the picture. He’s usually lounging round the edge of the pond with his mates, his head tucked under his wing. Boring, child-rearing.
But yesterday, he was in Proud Dad mode, busying himself round his new babies while Mr. M flew off for a while to … I don’t know. Have a bit of R&R I hope, leaving Dad in charge.
An extra post today. Those of you who’ve followed me for a while know about my daughter Ellie: about her husband Phil who died from cancer, four years ago tomorrow, and about her twin boys, then aged 10. About her own cancer diagnosis and treatment more or less immediately after. I re-blogged several of her posts, and you followed her story through her own treatment, surgery and recovery. Now she has something to say about living in this strange new world where coronavirus and the fear of it dominates our lives. Please read it.
When my husband was dying, one of the things that bothered him the most was that people stopped bothering him. We were always the last to find out about our friends’ separations, pain in the arse teenagers, or warring families. And when we did find out, we’d always get the same response:
“But our problems are nothing compared to yours.”
To which my husband would reply:
“And my problems don’t suddenly make yours go away.”
He was right. Yes, perspective is a wonderful thing, but it usually grows from trauma. I’m a better person now than I’ve ever been before, simply because I value all the things I used to take for granted. Like being alive. Or having a cuddle with the man I love. Or owning a full set of tits. So, it felt completely wrong to find myself struggling with the impending fourth anniversary of my husband’s…
… and Happy Easter, or whatever hard-boiled pirates and cabin boys say to each other on Easter morning.
Since we can’t see William and Zoë today, we’ve given their decorated eggs to the little boys next door. They’re going to the top of a hill later, to roll the eggs down, in time-honoured Easter fashion.
I’ve been staying close to home for most of my recent posts. But today, I’m going to travel – only virtually, so no harm done.
I’m going to take you on a ship, to the seaside, and on sunny days out in Yorkshire: not for a holiday (though why not?) but in quest of horizontal lines, as requested by Jude in her Photography Challenge.
Let’s start in Cádiz. Was it really only three months ago that we were there, enjoying street life, as Spaniards always do, or joining them on the beaches for sunsets such as this one? It feels like another, impossible world.
Here are two views from the North Sea: one of wind farms near Rotterdam: one of a wonderfully impressive evening sky. In each case, the horizontal line of the sea at the horizon adds to the drama of the scene.
More bucolic is this shot taken on Sutton Bank in Yorkshire at harvest time.
And here we are just up the road in Masham. I like this straight line of barbed wire with sheep’s wool snaggled along its length.
But let’s finish off with a Top Square, of a cormorant atop the end of the pier at Whitby. I like the way the bird’s striking silhouette is complemented by the rigid geometric shape of the pier.
Horizontal lines. Useful devices to peg a scene on, and to keep your camera straight.
I picked up a copy of our little-read community newspaper today ….
‘Because of the almost world-wide lockdown caused by Covid-19, Concours Top Squares, due to open in Topcliffe Village Hall between 1st and 30th April, will now be held in camera.
This now internationally acclaimed exhibition has for the last three years brought together arts practitioners from a range of backgrounds working in less conventional materials. The only requirement is that entries must be entitled ‘Top Square’.
Locally, hopes for a top prize are pinned on a promising new Arts Collective working from Middle Park Farm, near North Stainley, and who call themselves ‘Windewe’. The prevailing wind and local sheep have worked in constructive partnership, winding and weaving wool round the wire fencing surrounding the sheep’s pastureland. They’ve made dozens of such works, mainly confining themselves to using the sheep’s own wool, though some examples incorporate dried grasses, leaves and small twigs. Apart from those chosen for the exhibition, all other works by Windewe can be viewed from the Ripon Rowel path, and are on permanent display.’
Top Square 8
Sleningford Gazette, 8th April 2020.
For technical reasons beyond the Editor’s control, this article was omitted from the edition of 1st April.
Life in our home has become simpler, pared back to basics. All the things I cheerfully filled every day with – the volunteering; the classes and choir; the must-get-to-the-shops; the to-do list; even seeing friends – have all vanished. Astonishingly, I don’t mind. The one thing that is a constant now is Daily Exercise, as prescribed by the Government: ‘People can leave their homes for exercise once a day’. For Malcolm, it’s a bike ride. For me, it’s a walk.
Denied trips out to the Dales and wild places, I’m exploring our home patch anew- every ginnel, every bridle way, every woodland and farmland path. My Daily Exercise sometimes lasts an hour, more often two or three. I rarely meet a soul. It’s just me, the ground beneath my feet, the sights I observe, the landscape, the cloudscape, the satisfying rhythm of my feet as I pound my chosen path for the day. Every day I choose a slightly different route. Every day things change a little. Buds, once tightly furled are now tender young leaves: new flowers burst into bloom; lambs grow stockier, more playful. I have time to notice these things.
I value these hours. Like everyone else, I want this horrible crisis under control. I want to meet my family and friends again. But when that time comes, I want to continue savouring quiet moments like the ones I’ve enjoyed so much over the last few weeks.
Primroses.
Celandines.
Marsh Marigolds.
Wood anenomes.
Violets. White ones are commoner round here, but for me, violets have to be -violet.
For me, these are early April’s Top Flowers, and my walks have given me the chance to enjoy them. What have I left out? Wild garlic isn’t flowering yet round here, nor the hedgerow plants.
This dramatic cloudscape evolved over the course of my walk, holding my attention.A simple view through trees at the fields beyond.Back in the village, a greylag goose guarded the village pond, hissing at me as I paused to admire narcissi, a magnolia, and beyond these, early cherry blossom.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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