Talk about into the deep end ....

Yes, it does seem like I have been missing in action and I suppose to a certain extent that is true. I've not written anything here since the 1st May - is it really that long ago?

So, instead of trying to fill you in with EVERYTHING that has been happening, I'll just give a few snippets.

Hi - my name is kate although I also go by the alias hawthorn and yes I do choose to write them both with lower case initials. I also prefer to write in pencil and when I have to be all 'grown up' and use a pen and unless legally required - I refuse to write in black. (school related trauma here!)

I love taking photos.

Last week were were up in the lakes on paddleboards - Himself has been cogitating over the last couple of years about them and when I let slip I wanted to get out and get back to wild swimming (something I did for years until I came to the uk) he took that as the nudge HE needed and literally 48 hours later we had SUP boards and all the accoutrements required. Talk about being swept up in the moment.

The first couple of sessions - learning to paddle board in the rain and trying to teach a dog how to be a safe passenger without panicking all whilst trying to negotiate a swell on the sea .... were not the best and probably poorly judged.

But we have persisted. Although I still feel apprehensive as we cross the lakes with very deep dark water below me, the sense freedom it gives my headspace has been worth the angst leading up to each set off.

The turning point from fear and uncertainty to tentative joy was when quietly sitting on board, with the dog whilst surrounded by puffins, guillemots and razor bills at Flamborough Head. It felt I could reach out and touch the sky.

Unfortunately I don't have any pictures from that moment - I was still too on edge to stop concentrating on the board to wrestle my cell phone out of my buoyancy jacket - my hands would not let go of the paddle. 

Apart from my own gentle pride (relief ?) that I am finally getting less apprehensive, my delight is in how Willow has blossomed. When we first had her, she was very water-aversive - not even trotting through a puddle out on a walk. We had been carefully introducing water into all walks but not really having much success. Until now. Despite falling in several times, having to be hauled out of the sea, out of Coniston Water and Ullswater - she now leaps onto the boards, plays in the shallows, will actively choose to walk into a river for a drink or a wallow if she is hot. We are so pleased.

So - I am back. 

If you have read this far, thank you. I had been tinkering with instagram and it didn't  quite hit the mark, it seemed very 'I'll follow you if you follow me' only to be unfollowed almost immediately. Felt very shallow and self serving.

With that - I shall leave you with a sunset - we've seen some cracking ones this year - hope you have too xx

Zombies and swallows

 Waking early and stumbling out of the van dressed like a zombie dog mum is not one of my finest hours however, the fresh blue skies, the crisp air screaming down to the bottom of my lungs and the promise of a hot brew on my return, makes the first morning piddle walk for Willow (NOT me!) worth it....

Clasping said promised brew, now fully dressed and feeling a little more human having fed Willow who inhaled her food with one undignified dog-slurp, I'm savouring the scent of toast being made.

The breakfast view is amazing. It might not be to everyone's taste, but to us - the marshes rolling gently down to the estuarine tidal reaches of the Lune with the historically interesting village of Sunderland Point perched on a small spit of land just across the waters - is enough to fill our hearts. 

The vastness of the skies and the drifting of whispy clouds fills my eyes as I stare at birds flitting across my view. I am watching out for barn swallows - we'd heard a tantalising warbling trill and started to scan the skies. The males arrive first by a few days - they are identifiable by their longer tail feathers - then the females appear. 

Shelducks, ravens, wood pigeons, egrets, black headed gulls, martins, mallards and the much anticipated swallows fill the skies and marshes in front of us and we find it difficult to tear ourselves away for our walk... but pressed by Willow, we do.....

I want more gentle adventures like these.

With thanks to Himself for letting me use some of his photos - in particular the final one - which is an absolute corker and he is rightly proud of ❤️

South Lakes adventures

Quietly sitting with a mug of peppermint tea, the radio wittering away in the background and both Pan and Willow having post breakfast naps is a far cry from our weekend jollies.

Why do weekends vanish so quickly? They must be made of delicate stuff as they seem to evaporate just as you get in to them - hey ho - makes them all the more precious.

We packed up the van, bundled in an overexcited dog, walking boots, camera and waterproofs and headed .... north. No plans, no prebooked campsite just plenty of maps and poo bags. Zeb (van) led us to the South Lakes after a couple of hours of gentle country lane meanderings.

How's that for a sunset view while you eat?

There is something utterly soul cleansing about cooking then eating a meal as you watch the sunset over water and that is exactly what we did.

Mushroom tagliatelle and salad

Willow has been in the van for one night 'adventures' when we have visited the boys but this was going to be a first vanlife dog jolly and she decided that this was going to be her forever life. (us too sweet dog, us too)

Early morning shadows on the sands

We awoke to a lovely warm spring day and having eaten breakfast and strapped on boots and leads, we set off following tracks and lanes up into the wooded knolls above a coastal village where glimpses of a far off sea just made my heart sing. Willow could not get enough sniffs or sticks and almost burst with trying to do everything at once.

Walking on the old railway track between Storth and Arnside

We had, some years ago, going to walk through a little stony stepped path known as the 'Fairy Steps' while we still had Moss and on that particular day she was a bit weary, the weather was a bit rubbish and the detour to the steps was just a little too far, so we didn't go.

The Fairy Steps

We rectified that this weekend and took Willow. It is such a narrow cleft with steps carved in the gap and was, believe it or not, used as a coffin route. Himself and the dog are slim whippet shaped creatures and slipped through fairly easily - I am more your Labrador type and did find it a little claustrophobic - how on earth coffins were manoeuvred through such a narrow gap we could not fathom. We wondered if they actually lowered them over the cliff edge with ropes and only the coffin bearers traversed through the narrow ginnel.

This made us smile

At the top of the ridge, we sat, drank in the view and I was quietly pleased when a small red and white foxdog leant up against my back and rested. These small moments of trust are so precious.

I know she's a petite collie, but that must have been a huge tree

Along our walk, we met a few folk out, not as many as we had anticipated but those we did meet were very kind about a dilly dog even comparing notes on our loose lead training. I was heartened by a couple of people actually saying they'd used this style of training and that yes it was a long process but it was worth it and to persist.

Waiting for permission to come through the slip stile

It was a lovely day and if proof was ever needed - a small dog first devoured her food as if it was a last meal EVER then fell in her bed and into a deep sleep. Which is amazing - she is such a light sleeper and seems to have one eye open at all time, she was completely out for the count and it was so sweet.

Zzzzzzzzzz

And this was just day one!

Following our favourite footpaths

Sleeping in the van is like crawling into a cosy cocoon, dark and warm and deep. I seem to fall into the pillow and sink through the mattress and vanish. 

And sleep.

When I awoke on the Sunday Himself was already awake, the kettle on and he'd opened the window covering revealing the tide was in and the River Lune looked like a sinuous silvery snake languidly wandering across the Glasson marshes. The briny water twinkled in the early morning light - the palest of blues flickering on cobalt and teal bands. 

After a breakfast where our eyes filled our souls and our mouths filled our bellies, we stepped out of the van and walked a familiar and favourite walk. Down the lane into the village, around the pub and it's many friendly felines however we only stumbled across one who hurtled across the lane squeaking and yowling at us until we stopped for the demanded tickle. 

On to the marina to find a large herd of vintage motorbikes and their equally vintage pilots. Aged blokes in aged leathers, their faces creased by time and weather, gathered around eating bacon rolls and slurping coffee out of paper takeaway cups. Himself immersed himself in their oily scent and rattled under his breath the name of each bike with an added nod of approval or surprise depending on the vintage or model of the shiny black or green or red or blue two wheeled beast.

I eventually managed to pull him from the captivating metal gaggle, we crossed the road, around the old bowling green, down the steps on to the marshy foreshore away from the increasing numbers of dog walkers, bike riders, talkers and walkers and cyclists along the old railway track. 

Birds and marshes were our company now. Old boats, the scent of decomposing bladderwrack, the trill of sky larks, the rustle of the reeds and slurpy-sclutch of the silty path beneath our boots. 

That path moved upward and returned to the railway track, we crossed the bridge and turned right following a small rough lane with a reputation of drowning during high tide. All the houses along that route either high up at the back of the garden or with flood gates and walls to keep out the waves. Plenty of drift wood and litter confirming how high the water can reach.

A bit of zig zagging through muddy paths, country lanes and a brief moment of busy road before we leave all that behind and wander up the long tree lined drive of a converted mill now noisy and popular wedding venue. One that usually has folk in various stages of drunkenness and dress howling with laughter as they celebrate raucously in the gardens of the venue however this time - utter silence. We were confused - as were a number of other walkers who seemed, like us, a mixture of relief and confusion. It was once we'd returned home we discovered that despite it's apparent popularity that it closed due to bankruptcy.

We sat alongside the canal, watching coots, moorhens and listening to gulls, sky larks, curlews as we drank tea and felt the sun on our faces. 

Eventually we tore ourselves off the bench and walked along a gently rewilded canal, where swans silently glide alongside walkers. The sky and the water were the blue which almost breaks my heart.

The towpath took us back through farmland to the marina. Most of the motorbikes had now gone, we walked through the village back to the van, choosing the quieter backwater paths where, once we returned, the van door was flung open, the kettle put back on and we sat feeling the breeze, listening to the birds and watching the tide retreat.

Sunday - you have been a gift. Thank you.

Saturday

For the first, in what seems an age, Himself and I managed an escape in the van for the weekend. We did not stray far, the van had been dismantled over winter to act as a workhorse and Himself had only recently returned all the interior to some semblance of order and he wanted to test it in case of any issues.

So we meandered our way over to Heysham - in particular - Half Moon Bay. A romantic sounding name for what is a rather edge-lands coast line wedged up against a ferry terminal and a power station - yes, I know, sounds 'very glamorous'. 

However, if you do the 'instagram thang' where you cut out the grot and only show the glory - it is a lovely little place. Surprisingly so. We followed the coast line discovering sculptures and ruined chapels, ancient churches and cute cottages. 

Our first 'wow moment' was the Anna Gillespie sculpture 'Ship' - it was amazing, the detail or rather the lack of it with its implied meanings were so poignant - the gashed chests hinting at the piece of you left behind when you leave your homelands - that struck home.

The church grounds were awash with glorious purple crocus, we walked up the pathway where several other visitors shared similar sentiments and their memories - it felt like a privilege.

In the church - we had hoped and then were delighted by, to find it was open so we could see the Viking hogback stone. We sat on one of the pews and in hushed tones were just astounded at the visual story telling.

We were joined by another admirer and the three of us just marvelled at the ancient monument. Apparently this type of stone carving is peculiar to the British Isles, appearing nowhere else.

The neighbouring chapel ruins had what must rate as one of my all time favourite views and I think I must have photographed the door arch a gazillion times before Himself was able to drag me away.

The small village of Heysham must be very loved by its residents, every corner, space ground or garden seemed to be filled with flowers and sculptures or signs or coast findings - drift wood, boats, shells and fishing buoys. It was so cheerful and uplifting.  I'll have to share Sunday's stories - they were just as uplifting - it is amazing what a little bit of sunshine and a lot of blue skies can do for the soul x

Today I did a quick water colour of the 'Ship' sculpture - it made me appreciate it all the more.

The signs of a holiday romance

 

The scrunch and scrumble as the sea gently rushes over the tumble of shells and pebbles.

The forlorn cry of the lone curlew and the bubbling trill of the oystercatchers.

Plovers, dunlins, red and green shanks, lapwing running along the foreshore as the tide recedes.

Wistful heart breaking wild and desolate views that pull.

Reflections of clouds and the forever deep sky

Fiery sunsets which paint the view with an incredible display

Sipping tea, listening to the gulls plaintiff yeowls, 

watching lambs, observing the tide and ignoring time

Drifting curtains of rain, far out to sea, silently flitting along the horizon.

Twisting images of the canal lock gates reminding me lava lamps and contours on maps

The clank and whip sounds of the boats rigging and ropes

Our home from home

our buddy in adventure

Post Script: I hope your bank holiday weekend was as good as ours, we seemed to fit in a couple of wonderful days between the rain.  I suspect I have left a substantial slice of my heart there. 

Vanishing into the edgelands

This last weekend was a simple treasure made all the better by a bit of gentle spring sunshine which managed to slip through the ever present grey cloud - the kind that warms your cheek and feels glorious on your back. I have missed that feeling.

We spent Saturday quietly feral up in the South Lakes - walking along the coast, through woodland, skirting around Leighton Moss and Leighton Hall, choosing pathways less trod. Admittedly with one eye on the sky at all times, we managed to miss getting too wet by staying in the woodland every time there was a passing shower.

On the Sunday we came back down below Lancaster to an area we love - an 'edgeland' where mainstream life seems to have passed it by. Himself and I feel comfortable in these often forgotten 'wastelands' where life is a struggle, jobs are few and far between yet the folk are real, hardy, dogged and somehow make the best of what they have with apparent haphazard joy and defiance. 

We both have jobs where we are surrounded by busy folk, mine takes a lot of from me - not just physically but emotionally. I work with a lot of damaged people, those who trying to claw their way out of poverty, depression, stress, breakdowns, loneliness. So these weekends away are healing.

And it gives both of us the space to breathe.

Post Script: thank you so much for your comments on my last post - I was having doubts about continuing blogging - not because I don't enjoy it, I do - I just seemed to have lost the spark. But, if you are quite happy to read my wafflings, I will continue to waffle 😊

I have read a couple of bloggers saying that it is now difficult to find new blogs to read.  I found Blogger has reduced the ability to go 'shopping' for someone new to read. So, I now go on to the 'followers' menu on a blog I already follow, open a random name (their own blog link is never available) and go and see who they read and find new blogs to follow there.