We had snow

Along with much of the country, we had a good snowfall on Friday. Here is Main Street:

Later it stopped snowing and started looking pretty. (Obviously this was from teh prespective of one who was safe and warm inside.

Today we have been waiting to see if it will melt so we can out to do shopping for Christmas dinner.

Through a windscreen darkly

At this time of year, and at a certain time of day (say around 7 o'clock in the morning) there is often a wonderful effect. Ground mist clings to the lower lying land, with trees poking through into clear air, and the rising sun shines on it all amidst gorgeously painted clouds of orange, yellow, purple, red and skies of clear, pale blue. It's a wonderful sight, fully compensating for the fact it is only 7 o'clock and freezing!

On our way to work each day we get a particularly nice view over the Vale of York as we come down the hill. And over the last couple of weeks we have had this experience of sunrise-on-ground-mist quite a few times. So when it was a foggy start recently I decided to take the camera along to see what I could capture through the windscreen of the car.

As we started off it was pretty foggy.

The end of the lane got closer and we thought we could see something

Yes, the farmhouse at the Beansheaf! We were going the right way.

Further on it began to lift a little and I held onto the hope that I would get the shot I wanted. Here are some lorries emerging from the dark and fog.

But this is my gorgeous view!

On a clear day it is much nicer - try and add in the ground mist and sunrise for yourself...

Catching up

The irony of a vibrant village community is that it's harder to find the time to post blogs about it. Fancy being too busy with life to waste time on yon t'Interweb!

First of all, we did Halloween stuff. I didn't write it up before the bonfire night post last time. Here is our pumpkin this year. A pumpkin in the window indicates to everyone that you are at home for trick or treat.

In the village you tend to know which particular small witches, werewolves and skeletons will be calling on you, each taking with great seriousness and thoughtful consideration only one sweet from the cavernous depths of the proffered tin, then a cautious second when prompted. Bless!

Meanwhile, the Village Hall is always in need of additional funds (hint - donations can be made through Paypal!) so various people try to come up with ideas to help us raise some cash and have fun at the same time. Recently some neighbours had a very good idea indeed; they cooked a Spanish meal for a small groups of people (12 plus themselves) and charged a ticket entry. Those of us who managed to get tickets had a wonderful evening being wined and dined on a fantastic selection of dishes from tapas starters to home made ice cream desserts. Delicious! (For those of you on Facebook, there are pictures in the Kirby Misperton People group).

Next month it's sausages from around the world. Really. It would seem there are many varieties, including vegetarian. In my personal experience, vegetarian sausages usually fool meat-eaters anyway. In fact, I'm not sure why sausages aren't all vegetarian to begin with. It would seem more honest. Maybe that's just me.

In other thrilling news the council has resurfaced the road. As for the pavements, these are still slippery with leaf mould and pitted with more cavities than Augustus Gloop's teeth. However, the road is lovely with shiny new white lines by the roundabout and everything.

What a wonderful world.

Traditions

The last three nights have been taken over by fireworks. Here in Kirby Misperton, as elsewhere in the country, household pets have hidden behind the sofa while the humans engage in certain madness.

I didn't get to any firework parties this year, which was a shame. I like to "Ooh" and "Ahh" in the cold and damp, squinting through my clouded breath to see the brilliant splinters of colour and showers of golden rain. This year, Guy Fawkes' Night fell on a Thursday and there have been 3 solid nights (possibly even a 4th tonight) of spectacular explosions.

Don't get me wrong - if I was a Catholic I might take a different view. But I do love the fireworks. Not so keen on chucking effigies on bonfires though.

On Thursday night I was waiting for a lift home after a session working late. It was about 7.30-8.00 and the moon was out, shining through the branches of the trees. Everything was very quiet and rather pretty and silvery. Then suddenly I heard the sound of a giant wrestling tin foil and the sky lit up with jewels. I could hear delighted, shrieking children and smell that smell - you know the one you get on bonfire night, gunpowder and anticipation, mixed with potato skins burnt in the fire and sparklers singeing woollen gloves. I was whisked back to being very small, looking through my grandma's heavy winter curtains at all the lights in the sky.

So much for a bit of nostalgia. On Saturday it changed into something else. We spent the early evening driving back from Lancaster along the A59, passing various towns and villages on the way. (if ever you take this road, go to Pendleton for a pub lunch). For the whole of the route we saw bonfires and firework displays. It really hit home to me that this is something we do everywhere in the country. Huge numbers of us at around the same time are standing in the cold and often the rain, shivering a little, cricking our necks to look up at the sky. As we drove through the dark countryside we could see pockets of habitation miles ahead because of the fireworks - like King Edwin's sparrow, we flew through great stretches of darkness interspersed with sudden flashes of light and warmth and life.

We have been doing this around this time of year since before the Romans came. Guy Fawkes is a convenient excuse to retain the old ways, lighting the fires, keeping in touch with the earth and seasons and passage of time.

Now it's really winter and we can look forward to spending time with neighbours in warmth and cheer, while the rain rattles on the glass and wind yells down the chimney. At this time of year we draw closer together, in this village, with these friends, instinctively marking the change in the calendar.

A belated happy Samhain to you all.

War Weekend

It's that time of year when, as the trees disrobe in swirls of gold and bronze, and as our breath starts to cloud the air, we humans rediscover nostalgia. There is something about the lengthening of the dark hours and the reflective nature of the season that turns the mind to times gone by. As the world settles down to sleep, we snuggle down and tell stories beside the metaphorical fire.

It is therefore the perfect time of year for Pickering to hold its internationally acclaimed War Weekend.

A staggering number of aficionados descend upon the town each year in order to dress up in costumes and recreate the look, if not the feel, of the Second World War. There are extremes of dedication, of course, but a reliably large crowd of people enjoy the occasion, with bands playing '40s music in the streets while people dance and reminisce with complete stangers. Visitors travel from all over the world to participate, and we are awash with camper vans and classic vehicles for a few glorious days.

The town centre is parked up with old cars and even some tanks. The steam engine fore-swears Harry Potter in favour of Winston Churchill, and the pubs hang out the flags and party like it's 1945. There is an American contingent along to show willing, and lots of events tied into the theme of the weekend.

When we went along the local Beck Isle Museum was doing a roaring trade.

The Beck Isle has a wealth of artefacts from Yorkshire farming history and rural life. Like the Tardis, it is larger inside than it seems from the outside, and you could easily spend the afternoon pottering among the rooms and sheds living in a different time zone. Fortunately there do not appear to be Daleks.

To my mind this year the War Weekend was made rather more modern with the venerable Dame Vera Lynn, the "Forces' Sweetheart", recently topping the album charts at the age of, I believe, 92 and showing the young whipper-snappers of my children's generation how it used to be done when their grandparents were young. Really, children of the noughties, you should hang your hoodies in shame! Where is your musical rebuff? Are there no more good tunes to be discovered? What were the Arctic Monkeys thinking of, to be dismissed in such a summary fashion?

Back at the War Weekend, I admit to being bemused as to why people would want to recreate a time of death, destruction, hunger and terror; a time when children were sent to live with strangers far away, there was not quite enough food and you were constantly in fear of bombs or gas attacks. Maybe it was different in Pickering, and my view is based on the London experience (I think I have admitted in the past to be a big southern softie). Certainly my mother shows very little interest in recreating that period of her life, when she was a frightened teenager sleeping in a bomb shelter and living on powdered egg and margarine. Although she did like the glamorous American service men and jitterbugging...

I have to confess though, that we did not go to the War Weekend this year. I was only reminded to write about it because of the volume of traffic on the roads as we drove home from a family occasion, and the many signs directing the hapless visitor towards the War Weekend Park and Ride. These pictures are from a couple of years ago. However, I doubt the fashions or accessories have changed very much - in fact, by definition they will have changed not at all.

Delicious

We have had a busy couple of weeks transporting offspring to universities, which meant we enjoyed another trip over the Pennines to Lancaster, and also one down via Derby to Newcastle-under-Lyme. The weather held fair, although the roads were horrid a couple of times.

The Newcastle trip is a new one for us, and we were pleased to see the JCB World Parts Centre en route. Thank goodness someone is making parts to keep the works working; if anyone can do it, JCB are the people for the job!

Anyway, that isn't what  wanted to tell you about at all.

What I was going to tell you about was the mouth-watering day we had in Malton yesterday enjoying the Food Lovers Festival.

As you can see, we had lots of people at lots of stalls selling lots of delicious things. I was personally delighted to find baclawa as well as a good selection of beers from the local brewery at Suddaby's. The beers were particularly interesting as there was a new brew I hadn't tried before (Malton Goddess - excellent) and some Lavender Beer. I was a little cautious with that one, but in fact it was lovely too - made with honey from lavender, just to put your mind at rest.

To make sure everyone knew what was happening, the Town Crier was out.

And in case anyone got bored they had a band.

I am glad to say I now have enough olives, cheese and sundry breads to last a while. I probably should have got more of the beer though. Still, no doubt I can pop into the Crown Hotel and pick some up easily enough. It's a hard life!

Spider sense

There was a strange claim made on TV today; I don't know if it is true or not, but here it is anyway. To keep spiders away, place conkers in the room.

Why would that be?

And why would I want to do it? Spiders are creepy, true, but flies are worse.

Autumn Sojourn

The past week I have spent down south in Hertfordshire, on a training course for work. It reminded me how lovely other parts of the country are, especially as we were blessed with the kind of lovely late summer weather that so often seems to accompany the children's return to school. We stayed in a conference centre set amid several acres of woodland, inhabited by deer descended from the herds maintained for King Henry VIII. Good old King Hal liked nothing better than hunting deer when he wasn't behaving outrageously with women or picking fights with the religious establishment.

As well as being the home of Tudor princesses (I think both Hal's girls spent some time there), the estate was a favourite haunt of the young princess Victoria before she was called to greatness. There is a tree in the grounds allegedly planted by her, although it didn't look too old to us - perhaps she only planted it later in her life...

The trees across the country have started to turn their colours recently, and most importantly the horse chestnuts have been producing conkers ready for the tournaments due to take place in numerous school playgrounds throughout the land.

Kirby Misperton is lucky to be the home of some pretty substantial specimens, and the pavements are becoming littered with the spiky shells and glossy, glowing fruits dropping from their branches.  The regular reader may recall that I am rather fond of horse chestnuts in general; at this time of year they remind me of that "back-to-school" feeling - new classroom, new teachers, new topics, and time to start endless rehearsals for the end of term Christmas concert and almost unbearable wait for Christmas Day. To me this is a more real new year than the one in January.

The other big signpost of the seasons was the Last Night of the Proms, which indeed happened last night, as rowdy and rambunctious as ever, despite the lack of sea shanties and Hornpipe. We were more than compensated by the fireworks and by Sir David Attenborough playing the floor polisher (Sir Malcolm Arnold's "Grand, Grand Overture") - and the weather was good enough for us to have a barbecue beforehand.

All the old seasonal traditions will soon be kicking in: Harvest Festival, putting back the clock, Hallowe'en, Bonfire Night and then Advent. Somehow the long summer days seemed relatively empty; with the colder, darker nights we need to huddle together with ceremonies and rituals to keep the wolves outside.

So here's to the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, apple crumbles and wellington boots, crisp mornings and bright blue skies, less grass mowing and more bonfire building. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

The Rolling English Road

Partly because I can't wander the roads as freely as I'd like just now (lower lip quivers pathetically), I have been thinking of a poem by G K Chesterton that I came across in my poetry-reading teens...

I took the photo at Kirkham Abbey a couple of years ago.

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.

His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

G K Chesterton

After the summer

It's been a long, grey summer. It has also been an unintentionally quiet one. I had planned to bring you thrilling tales of Highland derring-do, and dreamy missives from beside the misty loch; unfortunately I have damaged both my plantar fascia so our trip to the Scottish Highlands, while lovely, was somewhat less mobile for me than I could have wished. There are only so many photos of views from the cottage you can take.



We stayed near Inveraray,



close to a waterfall and surrounded by mountains. Loch Fyne was nearby, and it was an easy drive to Oban for the distillery (delicious - I do like a single malt), and to Ardfern



for a boat trip to see the sea life around Jura, where George Orwell wrote "1984".


The sound of the Falls was a constant, soothing drone while I sat reading in the cottage and the rest of the family got tired and muddy tramping the hills.


Scotland is one of my favourite places to go on holiday. It's heart-stoppingly gorgeous, friendly, fascinating and varied. Consider if you will the options we had before us: the Highlands and Islands were the focus of our trip this year, but we could have gone to Edinburgh for the Castle and Old Town, the Fringe or the main Festival and Tattoo; to Glasgow for the 13 Museums including St Mungo's Museum of Religious Life and Art and the Burrell Collection; followed the Whisky Trail; gone north for the Aurora Borealis or the Loch Ness monster; in fact I had better stop before the Internet runs out! You will have gathered I like the place.

It's just that I wouldn't want to live there. It was a joy to come home. The rural areas are very rural and the cities are very, well, urban. They are both great to visit. However, what I want from life is a blend of the two - and I am sure it exists somewhere in Scotland although I haven't found it yet - where I can live quietly in the country but, in under an hour, get to a decent facility with reasonable choice or for an occasional shot of culture. Or a hospital. Or have a reasonable chance of an Internet connection. I like to take the middle path, never fully town nor country mouse, neither yin nor yang, but able to sample the full range of experiences life has to offer. I am not sure if that is indecisive or just keeping my options open...

Meanwhile, all praise to my local general store, Yates, which ordered specially my new boots to support my poor feet. I'm breaking them in now.
My doctor kindly explained that I will have to wear cushioned shoes now, probably forever, and that as DMs were made just for that he recommended purple. I love the NHS.

Moon thoughts

Strictly speaking, this is about something as far from Kirby Misperton as you can get, but it's my blog so I can do what I want!

Forty years ago today (because I was too little to stay up the night before) I saw men walking on the moon, and it was amazing.

To celebrate, therefore, I thought I would share with you a picture of an early morning moon in the village from 2003, against the old ash tree that was felled to build some new houses. It seemed appropriate somehow.

There and Back Again

Recently we had a bit of a drive around and the journey brought home yet again how great a place Yorkshire is to live. As we did not stop en route I can't share pictures, but I'll take you along the way with us.

Firstly we had to go up to Northallerton to the County Records Office - a little bit of local research on both the village and our own house. We took the scenic route - avoiding Sutton Bank as we needed to pick up diesel. However, it meant we enjoyed a drive via York and then up the A19 instead, which has its own views and which we usually miss when heading up north. We didn't miss seeing the White Horse though!

The White Horse at Kilburn is not a neolithic entity like its cousin in Uffington. It is a Victorian creation (or Folly) which is maintained today by a dedicated group of people, and achieved brief notoriety when it was defaced, along with Uffington, as part of the protest against the Bill outlawing hunting.

Northallerton itself is another town similar to our own Malton, but seat of the North Yorkshire County Council. The Records Office presents a humble face to the public, but I am assured by staff that there is in fact a genuine Tardis behind the public building, and certainly the collection housed there must take up considerably more space than the frontage would indicate. We had a good day and found some great records, both photographic and written; I was particularly taken with the Servants' Wages Book (although it turned out this related to a different hall owned by the same family as owned the Hall at Kirby Misperton). The other treasure was the School Log Book from the 1870s up to 1916. I am definitely going to go back to get more on that!

The following day we drove from Northallerton to Lancaster - from White Rose to Red Rose country. But my goodness, I always forget how far west Yorkshire goes! We drove along the A684 through the Dales, past endless dry stone walls and boulder-strewn streams, fields dotted with sheep, and the Settle-Carlisle railway viaduct at Ribblehead.

Lancaster, whatever its historic rivalry with York, is a lovely old city with a 1960s university, a mirror image in fact of York itself. Coming home we took the alternative but equally lovely route via the A59 all the way to York, including a detour through Knaresborough by mistake. Mea culpa!

That allowed us to look at the chequered houses though, as we drove past them and Mother Shipton's Cave. I shall have to write about Mother S. another day I think...but here are some of the houses from a visit a few years ago.

The best bit of this trip, though, was collecting my son.

What the Romans did for us

well, maybe...

Today we took the opportunity to have a bit of drive on the way home from Malton. At this time of year the hedgerows are alive with activity, with swarms of little brown birds flocking about the road as we drove along. The actual verges and hedges are flowering abundantly - cow parsley, meadowsweet, a million kinds of grass, and bright blue patches of cranesbill. In the fields, there are scarlet swathes of poppies, and through the villages cascades of roses in the gardens. We wound along over innumerable humpback bridges of stone, brick, concrete and iron, all seemingly on blind 90 degree turns to the road. We crossed rills, becks, ditches and rivers, some more than once; this is a swampy land which remembers when it was Lake Pickering. One of the old names for our village was Kirby O' Carr (pronounced Ow-ker), "carr" being another word for marsh.

We enjoyed our drive, but we had a purpose beyond trying to explode with hayfever. We were looking for points where the local roads and footpaths followed the route of Wade's Causeway, with a vague plan to see if we could plot a walk along it one day.

Wade's Causeway runs from Amotherby to Whitby, passing over the River Rye at Newsham Bridge and driving north via the Roman camp at Cawthorne to the coast. Parts of the road can still be seen, especially on Wheeldale Moor, testament to an engineering prowess which built things fit to serve an eternal empire. The history of the Causeway is uncertain - the Romans clearly constructed a road, but it may have been on top of an older trackway, at least in parts.

Roman roads are known for one thing at least beyond the simple miracle of their endurance, and that is their straightness. English country roads, on the other hand, are not very straight, rolling drunkenly from place to place. However, the Romans were not daft, and knew they had to skirt some obstacles; they just tended to go from point to point in as straight a line as possible, although each point may not have been far apart. As a result our lanes and streets often coincide for stretches with their ancient routes.

If the Romans did reuse older tracks, then they were likely created by the giant Wade for his wife Bella, to help her move her livestock across the moors. Or so some say. Wade and Bella were local giants and built Pickering Castle (motte and bailey style) and Old Mulgrave Castle, as well as creating Blakey Topping. Stories about Wade can be traced back to very early roots, although never for certain, and Bella has been linked to the Celtic goddess Brigit (of our old friends, the Bridestones).

And so we live in an ancient landscape, which in places chooses to show its face to those who look.

Sunshine and showers

Traditionally that about sums it up for the British Summer, of course; and that is because it's true. We have been swinging wildly between blazing sun, followed by frequent sightings of lobster-coloured people, and cold, rainy days, with the concomitant hordes of blue-skinned masses. In fact, with the rollercoaster temperatures, our skins can change from the one to the other so quickly we may cause epileptic fits from the strobe effect.

One sunny day I was able to sit in the garden and count the bird varieties, from sparrow to sparrowhawk. Our swallows, for those interested, are doing very well in their nest over our kitchen window. Fortunately the mess they are making of the bottles and cans in the recycling box beneath them is fully biodegradable, so no problems there. The car is beginning to look like it's in camouflage kit though, with lots of whitish patches streaking across it. Ah, Nature red in tooth and claw!

All in all, a colourful time of the year.

The two main events to report, however, are less drenched in rustic charm, although provide the reader with a flavour of life in the country as she is lived, rather than as she is read about in glossy magazines.

Firstly, Google has updated our digital presence with a new satellite view of the village including all the latest building developments. Obviously we aren't able to express outrage about Street View encroachments yet, because we haven't been photographed. I'm sure lots of people are looking forward to being incandescent about it just as soon as Google finds us.

Secondly, we had lots of heavy drilling plant trundling through the village last week because of a new gas well starting up nearby. There are considerable gas reserves underneath our feet, being drilled out through nearby fields. We had a gas leak a couple of years back (very unusual) and had to call out various emergency services. I was particularly gratified to receive a thorough check-up for fume inhalation by some very pleasant firemen - but I digress...

So, we continue to play our part in the important endeavours of global mapping and exploitation of natural resources with full vim and vigour.

Meanwhile, I was thrilled to spot a bullfinch in the front garden. In case you thought I could resist putting up a photo, I couldn't. Here it is, hastily snapped through the window before it flew away. Very pretty, and hopefully sufficiently rural to restore the balance. Happy Solstice!

June Visitors

While I have been rambling on over the last few weeks about our gorgeous swallows, I have neglected to pay due attention to other summer visitors - the human tourists. These are now starting to appear in increasing numbers, livening up the area with their merry cries. Whatever one thinks of tourists - and they are a mixed blessing, which I try to bear in mind when touristing myself - there is no doubt that our roads become more dangerous as they fill up with caravans driven by people not used to towing large objects and unfamiliar with the vagaries of our local routes.

Sadly we have had a clutch of accidents already on or around Golden Hill near Malton, including fatalities. Dear friends, if you come to visit our lovely area please be aware that the roads at least show no kindness to visitors (or indeed to locals who fail to show the proper respect). If you are not used to the hills, the bends and the views, then take it easy. It isn't going anywhere, so you don't need to hurry.

Weekly wildlife

We have had quite a week of wildlife encounters, most of which I failed to photograph. You will just have to use your imagination in picturing the scene. However, the sharp-eyed reader will already have spotted some feathered friends here, so I should start with those - even though they were the last encounters chronologically.

Indeed, the swallows are back, and apparently once again nesting in the new site they found last year after losing our old barn. These two sweeties look to me like youngsters from that brood; I'm pretty sure the parents were a bit older than these.

Earlier in the week we ran into a hold-up when a group of lambs decided to wander into the middle of the road on Strensall Common. I was really sorry not to have the camera. Every time we inched the car forward to move them, they just ran on down the middle of the road. Then their mum called them and they wandered off.

We have had quite a few hold-ups generally, due to tractors, caravans and lambs. However, with the oilseed rape now flowering spectacularly, we have been driving through fields of gold, bright even on the rainy days. However, if we have to stop for long we pretty much always get to see a rabbit; one of the roundabouts had quite a few baby bunnies sunning themselves early in the morning. And the local barn owls are very busy at most times of day just now, so we have been seeing them gliding across the road a few times.

All this frantic activity is quite exhausting, so I'll leave you with another picture of our lovely swallows. It's a bit sad the drainpipe is coming out of its head, but sneaking up on it to take the picture is hard enough, so don't expect composition as well!

Early walk

This morning both I and the Significant Other were awake at our weekday time of 6 am, and ready to get up. Outside, the birds were chortling and the sun was shining, so obviously we went for a walk. And just as obviously I took my camera. You just never know what you might see.

When I was a child my parents lived in a house opposite a row on horse chestnuts, and I loved those trees: shady in summer, conkers in autumn, and glorious candles of flower in spring. We have a couple of horse chestnuts in the village, and here is one of them. Gorgeous!

Just around the corner, near the church, there was more blossom, this time on the laburnum, set off nicely by the railings. These are Grade II listed, along with some of the buildings in the Flamingoland Park which date back some time. The Park was originally the home of the Lord of the Manor, and has some interesting architecture underneath the modern accretions.

Much of the estate was sold off in 1938, and further sales happened later after the 2nd World War. The houses in the village were mostly owned by the Lord of the Manor until then, so our house, for example, only became freehold in the 1960s, and we are only the second family to own it directly. You can see some of the sale information at the Kirby Misperton History website.

Further along the road, the oilseed rape was in full flower as well. It causes quite a lot of trouble for various allergies, such as hayfever, although strangely it seems to be the one thing that does not set my own hayfever off. Anyway, it was shiny and bright in the early sun so I snapped away, but I'm afraid my camera doesn't do it justice.

For some time now I have been trying to get a picture of one of the barn owls in the area, and today I caught one of them at breakfast, being watched by a local bunny. They were a long way off, so the picture is not clear, but for now I am happy with what I did manage to get. The bird was being coy about the camera, and had its back to us; but it peeked over its shoulder and so its fate was sealed. Maybe it was worried the bunny might get a taste for small rodent instead of cabbage.

May at last

Well, dear friends, here we are in the merry month of May and time to catch up on the fortunes of those of us here in Misper Towers.

The world of work has been rather intense resulting in me neglecting my bloggerly duties; but just when you thought it was safe to return to the blogosphere (how do people know it's a sphere, and not, say, a dodecahedron?) - I emerge, blinking, from my dusty office, seeking the invigoration of fresh pixels.

Well, what has been happening? We had a rather nice rainbow drop in to celebrate the end of April.
A hasty snap was all I could manage, so apologies for the rather dodgy quality.

But, splendid as rainbows are, the real excitement is the opening of a second pub. I'm not sure if we are quite ready for the cut-throat business practices of the urban commercial environment, and this has certainly caused quite a bit of comment.

As a small village - probably no more than 250-300 drinking age adults (if you include the residential site at Flamingoland) - it seems unlikely that 2 pubs would be essential, or even viable. However, with the volume of traffic between Easter and September, the proposition changes completely. Over a million people visit in a year, and some of them are quite thirsty. Frequently their children are also thirsty, if only for sugary pop. They all usually need to be fed, and many prefer to sit down in more comfortable surroundings, particularly if it offers a large TV to amuse the young ones. So it remains to be seen whether these summer migrant flocks can sustain 2 establishments sufficiently for them to remain operational through the winter.

My own researches have been positive, however, as the new pub sells Black Sheep. Mmm.

Peaceful holiday

I hope you have had a peaceful time over the Easter holiday, whether you observe it or not. We spent it quietly, visiting friends in the village and family nearby, consuming cake and chocolate, tea and wine. The weather did not let us down - traditional holiday grey with spatterings of rain. As a result my best-laid plans vis-a vis the ice cream van did not bear fruit; when it came calling along the lane I really wanted hot chocolate and warmed hot cross buns dripping butter onto sticky hands rather than ice cream running freezing fingers through my veins. Ah well, maybe next week.

Meanwhile, the blossom is coming out on the pear tree and the hawthorn, and the fish in the garden ponds are starting to show an interest in feeding again after their long winter sleepiness. Despite the damp and grey, we have had the windows open and fresh air pouring into the house. Being able to take deep breaths of spring air is so lovely; I can almost feel the sap running through me. If I'm not careful I'll start to send out new shoots.

Time to eat!

For anyone who is interested, there is now a Kirby Misperton Kitchen vegetarian community on LiveJournal (see blogs list on this page). Those of you who fancy sharing recipes which don't involve eating things that have faces may wish to look at it.

If you do eat things with faces, that's fine too. But those recipes won't get added!

The first ice cream van of summer

I don't know about you, but when I was a child I used to listen out for the first cuckoo of spring, or watch for the first swallows. In fact, until last year watching for the swallows was a favourite pastime as they used to nest in our garage. There they would raise a brood or two, teaching them to fly, swooping down at us if we looked like going too near to the nest site, and generally entertaining us through the summer months.

In fact here is one of the little scamps, taking a break on our dustbin. Apologies for the quality of the picture - it was a hasty snap through the kitchen window. Those little chaps don't stay still for long, I can tell you.

However, that wasn't what I was going to tell you about.

Today we had our first true visitor of summer - the ice cream van. It has been a beautiful day today. Laundry has dried on the washing line, and warm and sunny weather has been enjoyed by all. With the opening of the local tourist attraction, traffic has increased exponentially along the lane, and strangers have been seen wandering through the village. But the final clinching proof was that van.

The ice cream van first came one Sunday a couple of years ago, the driver having taken a wrong turn at the roundabout. Now it's a regular on Sundays during the tourist season, and much appreciated. So we had a cornet, and felt like winter was in retreat for a while. Next week, if it comes back, I might even lash out and have a "99". Mmmm.

Paradise is in Yorkshire!

We recently started to get an organic vegetable box delivered; we used to get one years ago, but haven't had one recently. However, I finally got around to trying out the offering from Paradise Farm, a local farm which delivers boxes in this area.

Obviously this is not really an ad for Paradise Farm - although if you are local and want to try it out, I would say I think they offer a good deal. The thing is, I really like getting a veg box. Under this scheme we only get local veg, so it's seasonal; in the past, with other boxes, we did have veg shipped in from various foreign places, mainly the Netherlands. However, the thing about seasonal veg is that you need to come up with lots of ways to cook the same thing, and in the winter that tends to be root vegetables.

Personally I enjoy the challenge, and as we are all pretty fond of a good curry, it isn't too difficult to come up with 101 Ways with Swede. As Spring is making itself felt now we are starting to see other items such as rocket, wild garlic and Jerusalem artichokes.

The other benefit, apart from the alleged health one, is that I am saving money on groceries. I hadn't realised how expensive their veg was!

But I wouldn't be managing as well if it wasn't for yon t'Interweb providing lots of recipes to try. Progress, eh? This is proof it's not all bad.

March winds

We have been experiencing a breezy few days here in KM. Finally, people say, as they struggle against the feisty gusts, we are getting proper March weather. For as we all know from childhood, "March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers".

The birds have clung to the feeders, blown about like flags. Their approaches have been erratic as a burst of atmospheric energy catches them in mid-flight. With colder temperatures as well, they still need the boost from the peanuts and seeds we put out to encourage them in building nests and getting up to what birds get up to at this time of year.

Elsewhere the world is filling up with daffodils and crocuses and all kinds of bright spring bulbs. Our lilac is starting to show tips of green amid the squabbling sparrows. And when the sun does break through, you can feel the warmth on your back.

The clocks change tonight, so we lose an hour's sleep, but will be rewarded with longer evenings and a promise that summer is waiting in the wings. The world moves on.

Books to the door

I happened to take a day off work yesterday and so was reminded of another rural service we receive, and often overlook: the mobile library, which arrived after lunch and parked outside the post office.

This particular vehicle is my own personal idea of heaven - a large van stuffed full of books which comes to my house on a regular basis. Even better, the driver knows his customers so well he can recommend new books for them to try and make sure that there is a good selection aboard to suit their tastes.

The van is equipped with a lift to help those with achy knees and wobbly legs clamber in and out again safely. The less mobile readers rise in a stately fashion to the van's hallowed interior, and later descend clutching their new armful of reading material. As the van only comes every three weeks, you may need to take quite a pile of books away; and if you can't manage the next scheduled visit, you can send a message to have the loan extended, or ask someone to drop them off for you.

When I do get the chance to go to the mobile library, it's always a good time to meet with the neighbours who are also around that day, and to catch up on some gossip. Our latest entertainment is the possible sighting of a large black animal, which some claim was a puma, while others subscribe to the view that it was Hamish, a substantial feline who lives at the top of the village. I have to admit to being in the Hamish camp myself, but I'm happy to be proved wrong.

Back to the library van though. This is a job I would love to have. As a child I wanted to be a librarian (based on my view of the very nice ladies who helped me find books for school projects). The idea of being able to potter around the countryside in a van full of the latest bestsellers and classic volumes appeals to me immensely. I like reading books, and I like talking to people about reading books - or just talking!

I'm sure it's not quite as much fun as it sounds, but it is one of two ambitions not yet achieved, although it is more likely to be fulfilled than the other ambition, which is to go into space and see the world from outside and the stars in all their glory. If I could go in a library-spaceship, all the better.

The tale of the lone poplar (and other trees)

Following my previous post, here is more information on the fate of the lone poplar in the 1911 picture.

This tree continued in its place until the late 1940s or early 1950s, when it was finally cut down. For those interested (hello, Bruce!) here are some pictures of the day it was felled, with thanks to a former resident who has provided a number of pictures for the great Kirby Misperton Archive.

As the village has grown a number of trees have been lost, some more lamented than others. A main feature of the street until recently was a large willow opposite where this poplar stood. It regularly entangled overhead cables and collared passing pedestrian with its lanky tendrils. However, for all its enormous bulk it was no match for the developers, and is no more. In its place we have a petite sapling of indeterminate species which is, to put it politely, failing to thrive at present.

Other developments also took out this rather lovely old ash tree not long ago.

However, just a the residents of Kirby Misperton come and go, so too do the trees. Near where the poplar stood we now have a winter flowering cherry, which is a real treat on gloomy winter days, and a little further along, a beautiful deep purple lilac tree. Time and trees wait for no one.

Then and Now

Some of those who know Kirby Misperton well might say that the village has changed enormously over the last few years. Certainly since the early 1990s it has increased in terms of homes somewhere in the order of 50%. Over half of those new homes have been added in the past 3 years alone.

However, when comparing pictures of the village a hundred years ago, the main difference seems to be that we have discovered colour and electricity poles. The old picture is a postcard from 1911, and the modern photo is one taken in 2004. I'm not sure the potholes in the road aren't the originals - they probably have preservation orders on them.

The nitpickers out there will note, of course, that even since 2004 we have seen the removal of the overhead electricity cables and accompanying pole, so that ironically the view today is closer to the 1911 picture than ever. Such is progress.

The birds are back in town

Well, after all the unbridled excitement following the rooks' visit yesterday, imagine the frenzy this morning when we saw our dear old woodpecker again! And by frenzy, I mean cries of "Where's the camera? Quick! Hurry up!", accompanied by thundering boots racing up and down the stairs.

Anyway, eventually we tracked it down and Himself got a lovely shot of the woodpecker and some goldfinches stuffing their beaks under the ash trees. And here they are. Just look at the goldfinch's wings - drop dead gorgeous, isn't it?

Beautiful day

It has been another beautiful day today, after some drizzly and grey days, making it seem Spring may be around the corner for real.

The bird feeders were also attracting a range of visitors - today's special guests being a pair of rooks.
This evening we were treated to a gorgeous sunset, which I can't do justice to - but here is a rough idea. It was much better in real life, but isn't that always the way?