If you “…are a stranger” then I, am just a distant thought, wandering through your words, miles and miles away. Ever thankful for your invitations to travel an unknown land . If I wrote you a letter of all the beginnings and glories of Spring in VT, beginning with the blooming of the Yellow Saucer Magnolia tree, the Red three petaled Trillium flower, surrounded by a whorl of three gorgeous leaves, or the sleeping giant of the mountains, it would be in a foreign language by the time it reaches you. But merging together with your Spring in the Mallerstang Valley, all becomes a part of the same story. The fullness of life. As always, I can never thank you enough for taking me there , showing me every detail. Feeling the land you love.
Hi Lor. You give so much. I always remember you introducing me to the steelhead, fish of myth and magic that I have dreamed of since I heard of them as a child. But will never see, except through your eyes :-)
My goodness, David. I am sitting at the table on a very dank, cloudy day. You caught me in the middle of peeling a very juicy Cara Cara Orange. I read your first line and literally my finger sunk into my Orange, shot a stream of juice across my face. I am slightly pink cheeked with embarrassment, in just the reading. Thank you for the wake up spray and thank you for the very special compliment.
Coincidentally, this is exactly the time the Steelhead begin their magic show. Though they seem to have more energy on a sunny day. We are hoping to have a seat by the river on Sunday. My husband and I will choose front row center on a rock slab next to the river, settle in, and begin staring into the foam of a three tiered waterfall. I have a hard time dividing my attention between the water and the small gloriously carved, stone bowls , filled with little worlds of water and treasures ( as I have previously shared with you). They mesmerize me, that is, until I hear my husband; “did you see that one!” And once again I focus. Wish me luck 😊.
P.S. If we are lucky enough to time it just right, I will take a few photos and send them along.
I read a lot of 'nature writing ' and enjoy it. But this is poetry. I know this because the beauty of it brings tears to my eyes. I couldn't explain why because they come straight from "my deep heart's core".
ah, loved imagining what it must of been like to watch the Damsons blossom, fruit and then offer us their bounty. as always, your gift of walking us through the Land brings it to life.
and the Ash...i am in Inverness visiting from the US and just saw an exhibit called Ash Rise and learned about the likely 75% loss of Ash in the UK due to a particular Fungus. the exhibit was handcrafted furniture, a kayak, art pieces, etc using the fallen Ash (and included a documentary). stunning way to tell Ash's story...and a hopeful gateway to restoration.
Well, anne, that is a revelation. I always pictured you down some Suffolk lane which peters out onto a shingle beach. Maybe I knew that you were the other side of a wide ocean, but somehow that was always the picture. Inverness was my big city for many years, living out east for many years in Moray and then out west on the highland coast. Lovely to think of your energy mixed in with the city of the Gaels :-)
Living in the high desert of the Colorado Plateau, on North American soil, the indigenous lands of the Ute, Paiute, Shoshone, I too see the busyness of the robins making their nests, or remaking their nests. The storms pass in the night leaving a rain-soaked earth that is just now turning green and wriggling with worms -- for the robins. And gazing out my window at the row of elms, glistening in the watery morning, I will honor their presence even more. Your writing lifts my spirits and helps me look at the world anew --
Thank you, Lisa, for taking a walk along some strange Westmorland back roads. Your world is full of powerful names and beautiful companions. I am glad that you are there to look after it :-)
Beautiful words, Sir, thank you. One line that particularly touched my soul was "the siege by storm and frost has been lifted by a skylark" - so descriptive of, perhaps, the pinnacle of Spring.
A lovely wander through the hedgerows, David. It's so sad that we are slowly losing so much of our biodiversity. We grow damsons here on the farm - the blossom was delightful.
Lovely writing as ever, David. I have some old Ercol chairs from the sixties made of elm before they could no longer get the wood. It’s a beautiful, subtle grain - elegant and understated, just like the tree
If you’re lonely for them, we still have a few precious elms in our older neighbourhoods — not old for Brits, but old for us. The city was only born in 1905, from the Fort that traded with the indigenous folx whose land we inhabit. Indeed, we are ALL treaty people. I digress; the old neighbourhoods, homes built around 1912, still feature some highly prized elm trees.
I like listening to you read. The way your tongue manhandles and twists around these foreign to me words is quite amazing.
Holy trinities must be in the air, I have been thinking along similar lines. :) That glory brings such an intensity to the days, doesn't it? Hours seem to unfold in the breath of a blossom, or a slant of sunlight. The glory of life is fleeting indeed; yet somehow, when we are arrested by glory, time slows, and we are in an eternal moment...a paradox, like all life's mysteries. xo p.s. though I have never tasted any of them, just the words "damson," "medlar," "quince" and "sloe" are so evocative of what is my idea of "English-ness"...don't ask me to explain this, not sure I can.
Hi Carmine. Sorry, been a few days. Had to be working in depth on tomorrow's piece. You have opened a door there. The taste of words. Medlar was unfamiliar - I will go in search. The others were a cascade of connotation. Tastes and smells and textures laid down decades ago and waiting for their moment :-) I ache at the agony of young lives deprived of these mysteries.
If you “…are a stranger” then I, am just a distant thought, wandering through your words, miles and miles away. Ever thankful for your invitations to travel an unknown land . If I wrote you a letter of all the beginnings and glories of Spring in VT, beginning with the blooming of the Yellow Saucer Magnolia tree, the Red three petaled Trillium flower, surrounded by a whorl of three gorgeous leaves, or the sleeping giant of the mountains, it would be in a foreign language by the time it reaches you. But merging together with your Spring in the Mallerstang Valley, all becomes a part of the same story. The fullness of life. As always, I can never thank you enough for taking me there , showing me every detail. Feeling the land you love.
Hi Lor. You give so much. I always remember you introducing me to the steelhead, fish of myth and magic that I have dreamed of since I heard of them as a child. But will never see, except through your eyes :-)
My goodness, David. I am sitting at the table on a very dank, cloudy day. You caught me in the middle of peeling a very juicy Cara Cara Orange. I read your first line and literally my finger sunk into my Orange, shot a stream of juice across my face. I am slightly pink cheeked with embarrassment, in just the reading. Thank you for the wake up spray and thank you for the very special compliment.
Coincidentally, this is exactly the time the Steelhead begin their magic show. Though they seem to have more energy on a sunny day. We are hoping to have a seat by the river on Sunday. My husband and I will choose front row center on a rock slab next to the river, settle in, and begin staring into the foam of a three tiered waterfall. I have a hard time dividing my attention between the water and the small gloriously carved, stone bowls , filled with little worlds of water and treasures ( as I have previously shared with you). They mesmerize me, that is, until I hear my husband; “did you see that one!” And once again I focus. Wish me luck 😊.
P.S. If we are lucky enough to time it just right, I will take a few photos and send them along.
Thanks David. As always in love with your craft.
I read a lot of 'nature writing ' and enjoy it. But this is poetry. I know this because the beauty of it brings tears to my eyes. I couldn't explain why because they come straight from "my deep heart's core".
Hi again, Hope. Thank for coming back. I often think that tears are the best review a writer could hope for :-)
I’m Westmorland born and bred and your writing is delightful
Thank you, Henry.
ah, loved imagining what it must of been like to watch the Damsons blossom, fruit and then offer us their bounty. as always, your gift of walking us through the Land brings it to life.
and the Ash...i am in Inverness visiting from the US and just saw an exhibit called Ash Rise and learned about the likely 75% loss of Ash in the UK due to a particular Fungus. the exhibit was handcrafted furniture, a kayak, art pieces, etc using the fallen Ash (and included a documentary). stunning way to tell Ash's story...and a hopeful gateway to restoration.
Well, anne, that is a revelation. I always pictured you down some Suffolk lane which peters out onto a shingle beach. Maybe I knew that you were the other side of a wide ocean, but somehow that was always the picture. Inverness was my big city for many years, living out east for many years in Moray and then out west on the highland coast. Lovely to think of your energy mixed in with the city of the Gaels :-)
Living in the high desert of the Colorado Plateau, on North American soil, the indigenous lands of the Ute, Paiute, Shoshone, I too see the busyness of the robins making their nests, or remaking their nests. The storms pass in the night leaving a rain-soaked earth that is just now turning green and wriggling with worms -- for the robins. And gazing out my window at the row of elms, glistening in the watery morning, I will honor their presence even more. Your writing lifts my spirits and helps me look at the world anew --
Thank you, Lisa, for taking a walk along some strange Westmorland back roads. Your world is full of powerful names and beautiful companions. I am glad that you are there to look after it :-)
Always a breath of fresh air welcomed on any morning. Thank you.
You are always so kind, Karen. Thank you for coming along.
Beautiful words, Sir, thank you. One line that particularly touched my soul was "the siege by storm and frost has been lifted by a skylark" - so descriptive of, perhaps, the pinnacle of Spring.
Thanks, Ralph. I've always loved the way those tiny specks up in the blue seem lift such heavy loads :-)
I didn’t even want to read this foggy Michigan morning, but your writing drew me in. Lovely images swirl in my mind and emotions churn.
Hi again, Jill. Glad I found you in the fog :-)
A lovely reminder to pay attention and remain in the NOW!
Hi Patricia. Thanks for continuing to wander along these strange back roads :-)
A lovely wander through the hedgerows, David. It's so sad that we are slowly losing so much of our biodiversity. We grow damsons here on the farm - the blossom was delightful.
Hi Lynn. What an amazing journey that little fruit has had over the millennia :-)
Lovely writing as ever, David. I have some old Ercol chairs from the sixties made of elm before they could no longer get the wood. It’s a beautiful, subtle grain - elegant and understated, just like the tree
Oh that's a lovely thought, Lesley. Echo of elm in the everyday :-)
I’ve read that Dutch elm disease resistant trees are starting to emerge, and that they’re coming back. Let’s hope so. And the same with the Ash.
Hullo David!
If you’re lonely for them, we still have a few precious elms in our older neighbourhoods — not old for Brits, but old for us. The city was only born in 1905, from the Fort that traded with the indigenous folx whose land we inhabit. Indeed, we are ALL treaty people. I digress; the old neighbourhoods, homes built around 1912, still feature some highly prized elm trees.
I like listening to you read. The way your tongue manhandles and twists around these foreign to me words is quite amazing.
Hey, my frontier friend. That's a lovely idea. An old guard of elms, safely out of harm's way and cherished.
Holy trinities must be in the air, I have been thinking along similar lines. :) That glory brings such an intensity to the days, doesn't it? Hours seem to unfold in the breath of a blossom, or a slant of sunlight. The glory of life is fleeting indeed; yet somehow, when we are arrested by glory, time slows, and we are in an eternal moment...a paradox, like all life's mysteries. xo p.s. though I have never tasted any of them, just the words "damson," "medlar," "quince" and "sloe" are so evocative of what is my idea of "English-ness"...don't ask me to explain this, not sure I can.
Hi Carmine. Sorry, been a few days. Had to be working in depth on tomorrow's piece. You have opened a door there. The taste of words. Medlar was unfamiliar - I will go in search. The others were a cascade of connotation. Tastes and smells and textures laid down decades ago and waiting for their moment :-) I ache at the agony of young lives deprived of these mysteries.
A wonderful evocative piece of writing, taking me to an area of the country that I don’t know but that now feels more familiar.
That's kind of you, Tamsin. Glad you enjoyed the trip :-)
So much love emanates from this and it is a breath-holding pleasure to read, completely absorbs you.
Thank you. That is very generous. I'm glad the love filtered through :-)