After The Rain Came {and my first hill}

Hello Friends!

Though April showers may come your way
They bring the flowers that bloom in May
So if it's raining, have no regrets
Because it isn't raining rain, you know, (It's raining violets,)

It's been an odd April.  We've had hardly any rain, and most of us who garden have had to begin watering by watering can or hose in the last week or two.  It's also been bitterly cold for the time of year.  So, imagine the collective sigh of relief to sweep the country as we see rain in the forecast.  Truly, I never expected so many of us to be saying how happy we are to see rain at the end of April, surely normally the wettest month.

One morning, almost at the end of April, I awoke to that long awaited moment of blissful petrichor on the air.

The rain came in the night, silent, gentle and refreshing, yet not nearly enough but it's a start.  Although it's cold today, and I awoke early to a grey sky kind of day with scudding layers of clouds, the world is brighter, greener, slightly more lush and verdant, sparkling as it does only after fresh rainfall.

My return to walking begets more walking, and my desire to do so is growing daily now.  I have not been around my beloved, green valley since February of last year.  How my heart has missed it and my feet have yearned to tread those steps so familiar to me,  where my forebears also walked.  Although I never knew him, I always think of my Dadcu {grandfather} who walked this way many times daily, for he lived {with his daughter my Mum, and his wife my Nanna} in the grey stone house on the hill by the cemetery at one end of the valley, and he worked in the Cathedral at the other end of the valley.

As I began following the old, familiar way down, I turned to take a photo of some picturesque stone cottages

and the wall, opposite, covered in bluebells, white garlic flowers, valerian, and more

Just around the bend is Ty'r Pererin an old Victorian school, now a pilgrim visitor and education centre

I continued on my way, and suddenly I was more than half way down the hill, the point of no return ahead, for now the only way home is to turn around now, or go forward and up a hill.  Naturally, my planned route is the longest, steepest hill.  Decision time!

Onward, and downward I go.

The hill leading down to the valley

I have put it off, and put it off for one reason.  The hills.  Going down is not so bad, but coming up is another thing entirely! It's a long and steep climb from the river up to the Cross Square!  Still, with views like these, it has to be worth it; it has to be done, right?  I got this.

The bridge where my Dadcu would stop and light his cigarette,
before climbing up to his home on the hill.

The lichen smothering this tree looks like a fuzzy fluffy coat!

A lone dandelion clock!

I love mossy banks, covered stones and walls.  Here's one of my favourites 

How Green is My Valley?

Folk lore says that the higher up in the branches the rooks build their nests, the finer the coming summer will be.  I think we're in for a pretty fine summer from the height of these nests, don't you?  Any higher and they'd be out of tree!

Of course, no walk around my valley would be complete without a view or two of our magnificent mediaeval Cathedral.

and as I started my climb up the hill, I  paused for a moment where one of our greatest Welsh actors, Sir Anthony Hopkins, stood just a week before.  Congratulations, Sir Anthony, on your recent Best Actor Oscar {I like to think he picked Wales over Hollywood}

This is what he saw

If you ask me, that's a view that beats anything you'd see in LaLaLand.  Maybe I'm a little bit {a lot} biased.

I got there just in time to catch the Call to Worship bells ring out to bring the faithful to Wednesday morning worship, but had no idea how much the wind was battering me until I played it back!  {hope it works, if not I've shared to Twitter and Instagram}

You know it's cold out when you come home and wash your hands {Hands; Face; Space washing of hands} and as you run the cold water through, your hands are so cold that the cold water feels warm.  I should have worn gloves, but they hamper my photography.

Until next time

Stay Safe, Stay Well

It's Superglue, Don't You Know?

Hello Friends!

Thank you to all of you in our lovely online community who made the time for me, who read and then to share your kind and generous words and thoughts of support after my last post, especially to the many of you who unexpectedly contacted me privately.  It seems I voiced the fears and concerns shared by so many of us, and remember we are not alone. Together we can get through this. To those of you who said this helped, then it has made my effort very worth the while. 

I must add a caveat.  If you think you need professional help, seek it. Ask. Phone someone, anyone, talk it out, or call your GP or the Samaritans.  Don't suffer in silence.

I am continuing to rebuild my strength for walking, but am starting to wonder if I will ever make it out on to my beloved coast path again, for it is so hard on my knees and back. I am not complaining, I am, for once in my life, being sensible and looking after myself.  It's not so much the up and down, but the rocky rough patches, the loose stones, and the uneven stretches that give me cause for concern. Distracted by a view, a flower, or a bird, it's oh! so easy to turn your ankle, or slip on a stone you didn't see. As we get older, simple injuries seem to be easier to come by, and take oh! so much longer to heal.  I know that the paths are very different from the last time I traversed them. Bits have fallen off into the sea, and general errosion from countless pairs of feet pounding along has taken it's toll on some sections.  A bit like me!  Time will tell.  I promise I will not do anything rash and will proceed cautiously. 

The stretch of path where this was taken no longer exists.  It has slid into the sea for eternity to be but a memory.

It's been over five years since I did any serious coast path hiking.  I did get out on a short stretch in 2019, which I documented here, and paid the price, for the very next day I woke up with a bad back, angry and aggravated from the uneaven and stony ground I'd traversed.  The pain lasted a week. Why, in one spot the access had become so erroded I found no visible track and I had to slither down on my bottom! Most undignified, and I hope no one saw me.  This is why I say the path will be different from what I remember it was.

I found myself typing a version of this, the other day:

I love where I live, and where I live is the glue that holds me together.

or, as my lovely Twitter friend Kim replied to it when I shared my words with some photos on Twitter, "that's what I call super glue!" and it's the title of this blog, so Thank You, Kim! 

I have been looking through old photos, there's so many happy memories of days out and about, and until such time as I can get properly out and about again, here are a few of my favourites.

Gorse in full bloom

Gorse looking along the Coast Path

Coast Path view

A lovely day for a hike or a sail along the bay

A bucolic landscape

A welcome spot to rest a while

An early sea fog begins to settle along distant islandss

A golden glow as the sun sets to the west

Across the fields

Meadow, sea, and sky

One of my favourite seats to take a spell

and the view from that seat {fantastic vantage point}

Thrift with barbed wire

The setting sun at close of day

And here are a few taken this week.  The weather, although chilly, is dry and gloriously sunny.  I can live with that, especially as I'm not a fan of the heat anyway.  I'm not going far, still doing baby steps, but going further each time I feel I can add some more in.  I met a lovely couple, we stopped for a socially distanced chat, they told me where they were heading.  They've a long day on the coast path hiking in front of them, about nine miles.  Should take about five hours if they don't stop, but it all really depends on how much time you spend taking in the majesty and splendor of the views.  Oh, to do that again.

Until next time

Stay Safe, Stay Well

A Cliff~top Nativity

Hello Friends!

It is cold out today, cold with a determined and brisk breeze, and grey clouds scudding across the afternoon sky, but at least it is dry, well, dry~ish, for there is a dampness in the air that seeps into our bones, the kind of bone seeping cold that thankfully only comes on a few days a year, and which even the keen westerly wind can't whisk away.  Despite this, I wrapped up warm in my new, insulated, long coat, I donned a warm hat, scarf and gloves, picked up my camera and set off out the door.

The back roads and paths are awash with puddles, and water is draining from the fields and running in rivulets all over the roads; the coast path is a mud bath!  Care must be taken with every step, puddle jumping the order of the day, but still I continued on for I had a single purpose in mind.

Near where I live there is a unique, quaint and tiny chapel, built in the 1930's, which sits atop the high cliffs that look out across Saint Bride's Bay and into the wild Atlantic Ocean.

It seats barely a dozen people, and I don't think it is used very often for services for the nuns live in an adjacent convent with it's own small internal chapel, but they care and look after this small gem of religious significance with great love and care as if it were in daily use.  It is a true gem, and only a few minutes walk away from the majestic {whopping mediaeval} St David's cathedral in the nearby inland valley. I think they make an awesome pair indeed!

My darling Mum was once a bridesmaid to her best friend who was wed here many decades ago on a cold and stormy winter day in February.  I remember her telling me how cold they all were in their bridesmaids' dresses.

To bring you some perspective, I am standing on the coast path to take this first photo; facing south east to the chapel, the greenery of summer along the coast is now dying back, but still brings heavenly colour by way of a rich, red, rusty brown.  I love it!

and turning left, to the south and west, this is the view over Beddau Non {Non's Grave} and St Bride's Bay, next stop the Atlantic Ocean just over yonder beyond the rolling brambles and crashing waves ~~~

As we approach the chapel inside the low hedge, the lawn is green and well tended, although there is evidence of moles, the little gentlemen in grey velvet!  I may return to the origins of that saying in a later blog.

Shall we go inside?

As we come to the door, these two signs bring great joy.  First that dogs are welcome, and second that the dear nuns have great compassion and consideration for the swallows that nest inside, in the rafters, during Spring.  How wonderful!

This is what I came to see today, the nuns have placed a sweet nativity upon the unique stone altar!  I think it is the prettiest I have seen in a very long time.

I lit a candle on the small stand to the left of the arch, you can just see it.  I find great comfort in lighting a candle in church.

This is a close up of the stained glass window that overlooks the altar.  I believe it commemorates the arrival of Saint Non, mother of Saint David, in Brittany.  There is a strong connection between this area and Brittany, through Saint Non who died and is buried there,  I plan to research and share in a future blog.

Returning outside, here is the view on a cold winter's afternoon from the chapel door facing west across the land to the Atlantic Ocean.  The coast path is just beyond the hedge.

Until next time
Deborah xo

Flowers on the Beach

Hello Friends!

What could possibly be more happy making than discovering flowers on the beach? I know!

On a gloriously sunshiny, blue skied afternoon I was strolling along Whitesands.  The gentle ocean breeze took the edge off the heat of the springtime sun, so it was very pleasant indeed.

The big Spring tide was out, so there was a grand expanse of golden sand on which to walk, and it looked peaceful and quiet away on the far end, so off I set. Up near the car park and Porthmawr Surf Lifesavers Hut people milled about on the sand, enjoying their afternoon.

A few intrepid swimmers braved the cold; some young surfing dudes received instruction in a group; and sunburn in the making was observed as people sat and enjoyed an ice cream, or strolled along the beach, or built castles of sand and fortresses of stone.

I like the far corners of the beach best of all; they are quiet and more contemplative, with interesting finds to interest and enlighten.  Here, in the peaceful space suspended somewhere between the soaring cloud puffed skies and  the fathomless blue ocean, as the life giving sun warms my face, I feel an overwhelming sense of calm, of being, and deeply connected to Gaia, nature, spirit, whatever you call that peaceful feeling of oneness with the Universe, or with your God.

As I walked down the beach, I took a path close to the sea which gently lapped. I thought of the surfer wannabes, not much surf for them to enjoy today, poor things.

I reached the far end and stopped, sat and listened, closing my eyes and letting the energy of the Universe flow into my consciousness before letting it steep deeper into my being.  I felt a complete oneness with my surroundings and let my spirit meditate on all the energy of nature that was flooding in.

The random raucous call of a lonely gull lifted me into a different state of awareness.

Unknown time had passed and I knew I had to return from the place of bliss my spirit had found back into the present, so I returned to the now, and turned to begin my walk back up to the distant car park.

I decided to take a path closer to the cliffs that edge this beautiful beach in the wild west of our country, and found many things to delight me.

A silver white crab shell caught my eye, an empty shell of a life once lived at sea.

on I walked until a dry and withering heap of the most delightfully red, inspiring seaweed on the high water mark caught my eye. Such colour, such vibrancy, such texture.

And then something truly magical ~ flowers on the beach!  Some, slightly higher up on the cliffs, but some right down on the stones that edge the golden sand. What an unexpected treat this was to find.

How gorgeous, how glorious they look as they scatter and tumble, falling in drifts down the craggy cliffs to the sandy shore below.

How tenacious life is, in even the most treacherous of places, lashed by stormy seas and scorched by summer sun, it finds as nook or cranny and takes a precarious, precious hold, learning not only to survive, but to thrive and bring such beauty in an unexpected place into the world.

Until next time
Deborah xo