A Good Walk
29th August 2023
Having endured a nasty stomach bug over the weekend, rendering me more than a little weak, I was pretty much back to my normal self today. After breakfasting on toast and homemade preserves, I popped outside to harvest some tomatoes, stopping longer to collect a few chocolate peppers, a little thyme, and a garlic bulb from the shed. This evening's feast would be tomato and red pepper soup, with a jacket potato and choice of toppings. Mr WH being more than happy with that as he is the chef in our home, I just merely assist and try to stay out of the way. He has enough to manage especially with two little dogs under his feet.
Chores accomplished, I set off for a walk with two excited pooches in tow. The weather was perfect; not too humid or too windy. Entering the wood nearby, the cyclamen caught my attention. This is one of a few flowers that I have always disregarded, until recently. How they embellish the woodland carpet has made me more appreciative; for they look so belonging, adding splashes of colour, here and there.
Crossing over into an empty sheep field, we walked a path well trodden. The dogs sniffed to their heart's content as I paused to admire the yarrow (old man's pepper) and bird's-foot trefoil (eggs and bacon). The toes of my walking boots glazed from the dew as the air for my breath remained cool.
Deciding not to cut through the playpark, we headed towards our next woodland, adhering to a somewhat bucolic pathway where the four-paws stopped to savour the scent from the hedgerow; some sort of pungent box hedging. Next, through an old metal gate, where the biggest blackberries I have seen this year hung like grapes from a vine, naturally, I had to harvest some. Passing through a kissing gate we found ourselves in a field used for pasture. The cows to the left kept to themselves but the dogs were responsibly placed back on their leads. Heading into a dark, damp wood, I paused to observe a nest high up in a tree, all was quiet and more than a little eerie. Feeling chilly, I zipped up my fleece for added comfort. Talking of trees, the exit from this wood leads through an avenue of gothic style gnarly trunks, appearing otherworldly whilst delightedly enchanting. Eyeing elderberries, ebony, plump and succulent, I pondered whether there was anything other than wine that could be made from them, their earlier flowers being used for my favourite cordial.
Stepping back into civilisation, if one can call it that, we walked a popular street path towards home. Crossing over the road, we entered through a second kissing gate into what I choose to refer to as, Crumpet Tower Field, for there is a house in the trees that would not look out of place in the fairytale known as 'Rapunzel'. I came across a fallen oak tree, leaves browning but acorns still young, I thought it such a pity. The hedgerow to my right masked the canal below, but not the sound of a narrowboat, dutifully chugging along by the side of the towpath. Descending a number of steps, we safely crossed over a train track and stepped into Bonfire Field. Here, mounds of soil and rubble had been offloaded and I can only presume it is to compensate for the erosion that occurs here: the edge of the ensuing wood being particularly precarious in places. I love this little wood. Earlier in the year the wild garlic is prolific, this particular woodland smell, some combination of garlic and rotting mulch assaults the nose as you approach. Not surprisingly, I call it Garlic Wood.
Heading home, we lingered for a short while as a small truck had taken up all the space on the road. A dog barked from inside, as its owner, a lady around the same age as myself, appeared from nowhere. Dressed in a navy boiler suit, her silver, shoulder length hair hung in a pair of casual plaits and as she closed the gate on some sheep, she thanked me for my patience before heading off. Continuing on, past the old barns, the swifts were speeding and swooping above whilst the pigs in their pen appeared almost nonchalant. A little common bistort stood proud-like on the roadside as several black sheep grazed away in the afternoon sun. Finding ourselves back at the beginning, the dogs were once again off lead and free to roam but never far from my watchful eye. A fresh mushroom posed artistically on the ground, it being the last find of the day before I closed the wooden gate behind me and safely secured the catch. Finally, the gentle upclimb back to home. As the dogs lapped from their water bowl, Mr WH appeared.
"Good walk?"
"Yes," I smiled, "a good walk."