Spring, Winding Down and Perspectives

What age was I when I started noticing how everything in life seems to be connected to everything else, at least in a roundabout way? Seems like I rediscover that concept on a daily basis (is this early-stage Alzheimer's, I ask?)

I've always loved being outside, even in the wintertime, and I've always loved walking, even by myself (no, especially by myself). Anyway, you may have noticed that I like to come to Wales and follow the local fox hunts through snow and rain, hail and sleet, sun (now that's an occasional thing!) and gale-force winds. Why, you may ask? There are several things involved, and I'll admit that the last few times I've been out, days when the weather was fair and sunny and the winds were less than 25 mph, I kept wishing I had a horse to ride so I could join the mounted field and view the hunt from a most interesting - and different -- perspective to that found while following in a 4WD vehicle or on foot.

Yesterday the hunt were on foot in a very rough and secluded area way on up in the Black Mountain not far from the Brecon Beacons. Steve went out earlier and laid the trail but I think the wind was at times blowing so fiercely that the hounds just kept casting aimlessly through the bracken, heather and, for want of a better term, scree, there on the dramatic hillsides. Still, it was a glorious day and I found myself wondering after the huntsman and hounds left the meet why I didn't pick up a walking stick and follow the hardy souls who went bounding up these treacherous hillsides in pursuit of the hounds. I am too old. Too unfit, anyway. So I got in my 4WD and drove on up the single lane track (and that it certainly was) to a place where I was surrounded by these vertical kind of cliffs on 3 sides. To get there you had to drive through a stream that was, thankfully, quite shallow (but at times I bet it isn't - that's why there's a footbridge several feet up on the side of the road). I parked up and then began walking across the fields watching the hounds on the sheer side, wondering how they managed to run across that loose stuff without plunging to their deaths. Thankfully they managed. Most of the daring walkers made for the very top of the hill and spent the day looking down into the hounds. They must have had a wonderful view of the surrounding hills and valleys though I can't imagine they saw many hounds.

Okay, so I watched for about an hour and then the huntsman and hounds (he was down near the bottom of these hills, but across a gully and up a very steep muddy bank from me) started heading further up the valley so I started walking up the track with my cameras. A few others joined me. I got to the end of the track just as everyone, hounds and walkers, started on up another hill. Impulsively, I joined them, huffing and puffing, panting and moaning my way up this hill. I was rewarded with fantastic views and I'll admit that I felt quite proud of myself. My heart sounded like the bass drum in a marching band when they score the winning touchdown and start beating it furiously. Thump-thump-thump-a-thump. I spent the better part of a couple of hours trying to keep within sight of the huntsman and the hounds, maybe it was the cameras, weighing me down or maybe it was that I kept stopping to snap photos of the hills and the hounds, but I just couldn't gain an inch. In fact, I fell further back. Then I finally began to catch up, only to find that they'd all gone DOWN the hill to the foot and now I was looking down trying to catch so much as a stern or flying ear, but no! So I kept along the track (now this track was like one foot - and I don't mean 12 inches, but rather about 4 inches) wide -- one slide and you're down the mountain! Pretty scary but when I'm following the hunt the adrenalin kicks in and I ain't got no sense, even less than usual for those of you who know me).

I get to the end of this hill after seeing the sights of farmhouses and stock below me, then the ruins of an abbey, and I'm gazing down on a tiny church and chapel in the little village of Capel-y-Ffin (one I've visited often and love well) and it was so cool to be there on the end of hill seeing these beloved sights from a new perspective.

Suddenly I see the hounds just below me, following the huntsman like so many groupies after some rock star. Heheheh, what a wonderful view. Since I'd already done the hardest part of the work (hauling my big aperture all the way up the hill) I figured I'd go on for awhile around the bend onto this other hill, going in a different direction. So I did and was treated to more breathtaking perspectives on other places I'd been loving since I first visited here in 2001. Rewarding! Spring hasn't come to these places much yet, but still there was a feeling in the air.

The hounds never seemed to pick up the trail Steve had laid much yet I couldn't help but feel thrilled to be up on top of this hill gazing down at these marvellous sights. Hunting season is winding down to be sure, yet what a rich tapestry of memory remains in the form of friendships and photographs, keeping these treasured days alive. Here's a few of the photographs I snapped as I trod step by step on the treacherous path.

As I headed back toward my truck, the drizzle moved in but I couldn't help but smile...as a group of "wild" mountain ponies grazed into my view. There's nothing like a live subject to set off a lovely landscape, be it hounds, a red coat, or a trio of scraggly ponies.

Outside this morning I spied hyacinths blooming under the laurel and the daffodils are beginning to reveal their stunning color. It won't be long now.

Harbingers, Heather and Hippies

Well, maybe I'll leave the hippies for another time. But much to my surprise (who'd a thunk there'd be hippies in Radnorshire, after all?) there ARE hippies in Radnorshire, though the way some folks say that word comes out more like Ippy; that'll do!

'Fraid I've had too much work to do and also a bit of a dry spell in terms of things I think are interesting to write about. I have been very busy with my camera, however. Those of you who fool with digital photography probably understand what I'm talking about when I say I spend every free hour fooling with photo files! That's just getting through them and tossing out the blurry ones, backing them up to a couple of external hard drives and maybe saving out the best to put in a slide show. Then again, some weeks I shoot 5,000 photos (they're all perfect of course ).

Oh yeah I was going to talk about harbingers. I'd better look up this word to make sure I'm not accidentally using the word that means a metal spear that's thrown into a whale to kill it. There may be some connection. The only dictionary in the bungalow is the New Collins Concise English Dictionary. Concise, huh? So why is it two inches thick, huh? Most of us only ever use 400 or 500 words regularly; take me, for example. Camera, hounds, horses, hills, you get the idea. Anything over two syllables is pushing it; three is downright gettin' above my raisin'.

'Course to read this "concise" dictionary you either have to be well under the age of 40 or have like +3.00 reading glasses slid way down to the tip of your nose. I'll give it my best shot. "Harbinger: a person or thing that announces or indicates the approach of something; forerunner." Oh, that's sweet. We are ALL harbingers. What of, hmmm....doom? In this case I was thinking of all the daffodils and narcissus that have blooming for weeks and weeks around here and the crocus that are popping up in lawns and verges...the lengthening of days and the quality of the light, the hedges beginning to come into leaf, a delicate light green.

Today the hills around were white, but the sun was warm and by 11:00 the snow gave way to pretty green fields. I spent the day driving around up among the heather and gorse on all these hills around here.....hunting within the law, you see. It would have been a spectacular day to be on a horse. I had to settle for 4 wheels and decent tires.

Now you see why I haven't been blogging lately; it's easy to see that I don't have a lot to talk about. Perhaps I will put up a few pictures I've taken in the last 5 weeks.

This has been an excellent winter for reading. The local library has actually gotten in some very good books, much to my surprise. Seems like for years about all they had were crappy romances (as in....who would publish that drivel?) and mysteries and things like that...lately they've been featuring books by Jodi Picoult who is a current favorite of mine; currently I'm enjoying "Small Island" by Andrea Levy, winner of the Whitbread Book of the Year and Orange Prize for Fiction. It's a good'un, assuming you enjoy reading Jamaican dialect. I spent about a year in the Caribbean oh, about 25 years ago, and it really does take me back. Support your local library! Here in England/Wales, they're pretty good about getting you books through an extensive inter-library system for a nominal fee.

This isn't the season really for appreciating heather, but I have to say I appreciate it all the same. It's a lovely thing any time of year. A day like today, especially, makes me appreciate all the good things: lovely hills, animals, daffodils, good friends, a good laugh, and a rich blue sky.

At the Crossroads

So as I said in my last post, yesterday we had what's called a "joint meet" with a hunt from oh I guess the middle of England, some three hours' drive away from here. Friday around lunchtime it started to snow around here, those big wet flakes that make great snowballs. Now I live in the valley but there are wonderful hills all around and it wasn't long till the hills were covered in snow. In the evening it got cold and I began to wonder if our guests would be able to get their horseboxes three hours up the road to join us at the crossroads.

Now some of you who have never been involved with a fox hunt think that everyone who gets on a horse and dons a red or blue (or whatever color) coat is just a toffee-nosed snob. And some people are snobs, no doubt (isn't that true in just about any group you survey?) But around here there's not a whole lot to be snobbish about so our country hunts are made up of farmers and their wives and kids, a few folks who have moved here from other parts of the country and, well, a wide variety of folks. Yep, there are a few folks among them that seem a little detached and posh, if you will, but for the most part they're just good old country folks who know how to operate a pitchfork, change a tire, drive a lorry and things like that. Okay.

While you might look in Horse & Hound (important reading if you're in the U.K. and a "horsey" person) and see all these posh hunts meeting at places that must have 50 master bedrooms and a staff of 100, a grand house on a 10,000 acre country estate, here in my neck of the woods we mostly meet in someone's farmyard, in the middle of a village...or at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. Try to give directions to a place like that! Our starting time (11:00 a.m.) was especially flexible yesterday since our visitors had to take it slow over the roads (lots of reports of vehicles in ditches due to "black ice" conditions) and then try to make our which narrow lane would get them to the place "you can't get there from here."

But eventually a bunch of them made it and I suspect that since the place they came from is a whole lot more posh than the place they met in a little old country crossroads yesterday, maybe they were just a leetle bit surprised at the amount of food and drink they were offered by a cheery group of hunt supporters. If you've ever been to a tailgate party you'll get an idea of the scene which greeted them. A long lonely stretch of road on which they had plenty of space to park their lorries and unbox their horses, get them tacked up, stand on the ramp and mount, then ride back to the gathering of dozens of horses and foot followers at the crossroads. There were big smiles on every face as they approached the gathering.

At the crossroads then were retired farmers in dented Land Rovers, rosy-cheeked kids wielding trays spilling over with sausage rolls, elderly ladies in wellies proudly offering trays of luscious Christmas cake to car followers and the mounted field alike, about a dozen or so folks walkiing around with trays of port and whiskey in plastic cups, freely given to any and all who wished to partake. This went on for about 45 minutes till we were all stuffed and not exactly sober either, and then the hunting horn was blown (a kind of call to attention). By now (guessing here) about 50 horses and riders were gathered there in the crossroads with probably another 75-100 people standing around the edges enjoying the nice sunshine (a rarity these days) and maybe now and then stopping to gaze up at the snow on the hills all around.

The huntsmen (there were two, one for the home hunt and one for the visitors) and assorted masters in red coats, the visiting hounds who were largely black and tan in colour (we favour lighter coloured hounds we can see on the heather and bracken in these parts) obediently standing just behind the huntsman on a lane from which there's no outlet (and they mean it! talk about some rough tracks and foot-deep water in the ruts).

The huntsman blows again and the "home" senior master, an eloquent local dairy farmer, greets our visitors and says a few words, then one of the visiting masters says a few words. Meanwhile I hoof it as far up the track I know they'll be taking as I can make it (not very, should have started earlier!) and begin snapping photos as the hounds and horses soon head toward me. Then we all jump into our vehicles or head off on foot with a sturdy walking stick and head for the hills to follow the horses and hounds!

I got to ride with my friends Mike and Charlie, and Steve, who spent much of the day on foot with his stick, got a lift up on the hill with us. We had a great day watching the hounds exercising on the hills around us and on the fields below. The horses enjoyed some good fun, too, at one point jumping a distant wooden gate during a lull in the exercise. Viewing the astonishingly beautiful local landscape in the context of the hunt with horses and hounds and local people as subjects is, well, just one of my favorite things in the world. Ten years ago I would never have imagined being here, doing this. But I'm glad I am.

Our guests yesterday aren't likely to forget their wonderful day on the hills nor the great plates of beef stew they were served before they sought their long roads home at the end of that long long day.

Here in the Welsh borders we love our countryside ways and aim to keep them alive and strong for the children who are being born now to cherish. We will continue to hunt within the law - and revere the days when we hunted freely - until such time that we can return to hunting freely without city slickers legislating the countryside ways of which they are completely ignorant.

Hound Haven, Mavis and Betty...and Rain!

K and L at their lodges. Yes, these girls are mostly silly.

So yesterday L and K came over for our usual Sunday morning walk. The hounds normally accompany us on these walks (they're the reason the walks began in the first place) but with so many lambs about in nearly every field, the hounds, now close to a year old, are quite a liability, so they were left to romp in the garden. These days we spend more time with all the pampered cats around the farm...they are well-fed!

Kitty with "attitude"

Yeah, the cats around here seem to have very large heads and small bodies...

We took along our gardening gloves and headed for the upper wood, site of K's fort "Hound Haven." The hounds do love it there! Since we'd previously worked on L's fort ("Leaping Hound Lodge") it was time to tidy up Hound Haven. On the way to the wood we were walking down a little farm lane that passes by what's known as the "sheep shed" (but no sheep in there these days) and we heard a thunderstorm of young cattle roaring out the far end of the shed headed for, well, greener pastures. We continued to talk among ourselves as we went down the lane, climbed some old metal hurdles across the lane and headed across the pasture. Down in the far corner near the upper wood is a gate and we could see it was open. Most of the cattle had passed through the gate but three, still a long way from us, were down in the corner near the wood. Suddenly the first one lunged over the fence! Now this is no short fence, it's what is used for holding in sheep and must be 40 inches or more high. Top that with a strand of barbed wire on the bottom and one on the top as well as a bit of distance above the ground....it was high. And these cattle are I'd say less than one year old. We were quite alarmed, but what could we do? About 30 feet from where these cattle decided to practice their steeplechase routine from standing still in a boggy place was the open gate! I thought cattle were smarter than that. We were still a good distance from them, so we posed no immediate threat. The second and third cleared the fence as well though I can't say they did it flawlessly. Somewhere along the way the barbed wire in that segment of fence was yanked loose but apparently the cattle suffered no injuries. I'd heard before about cattle jumping gates and fences from a standstill, but this was my first eyewitness experience!

With the cattle now down the lane and out of the way we climbed the stile into the wood and began our work. I had some big loppers and began clearing a bit of a path through the laurel and things that had grown up since last spring's tidy-up. Several trees had succumbed to the ravages of age or weather and we did our best to drag their limbs out of the way. Many laurel branches later we made our way into the rear entrance of Hound Haven (the official sign is at the upper end) and began picking up fallen branches and debris, tossing it into designated piles. L busied herself with trimming back some holly while I worked on the laurel and K supervised our efforts (well, it is her fort, after all) as well as working on clearing away the stuff we were trimming. We worked steadily for over an hour and results were dramatic! K has several laurels which she calls "koala trees" since she likes to climb in them and hang down. Very cute! So we made a real difference in Hound Haven and were pleased with our results.

Later I went to visit my friends Beryl and Philip (along with some other friends they'd invited over) and we spent a most enjoyable afternoon out in the wilds somewhere near Painscastle sipping wine, sleeveless and barefoot, in the (hot) sunshine followed by a wonderful traditional British meal of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, peas, mashed potatoes, gravy, and a few other items (a very nice leeks and carrots in cream sauce dish) follwed up by yummy raspberry crumble with custard or cream. Hungry yet? Not long after we'd adjourned to the lounge and patio the thunder started rolling and most of us were glad since we haven't had a drop of rain around here since I don't know when (several weeks anyway). It did eventually drizzle a bit but nothing to run for cover for! Down in the valley where I stay, though, they had quite a storm around teatime and on the way home there were a couple of places on the little old road where flashing lights warned of mudslides from some of the hillside ploughed ground that had done a runner into the road.

Now Beryl and Phil have two cute new Bassett (sp?) hound puppies named Mavis and Betty. Is there anything sadder-looking than a Bassett hound? Well, you can judge for yourself but I don't hardly think so. After the other guests had gone Phil and I chased those girls around the garden while I tried to get some photos (it ain't easy photographing two energetic puppies in low light but I do love

Puppy love - Mavis and Betty

a challenge). The light was lovely and Betty and Mavis are, of course, beautiful. It was funny when they both decided they should have this crushed Diet Coke can. The growling and biting that ensued!

I returned to the valley with a big smile feeling much richer for having spent a happy day in Hound Haven followed by a lovely meal and a visit with some friends and a good ole romp with two adorable puppies.