White Pond Farm

I got really fed up trying to upload my pics in an orderly manner the other night - I know I should update my software but IT is not my strongpoint. Anyway, here are a few more from Sunday...

This is the view of John Stracey's land from the memorial bench.

Violets underfoot....

The old cruck barn at White Pond Farm

Looking in the other direction, west, over chalky fields.

Home is where my hens are - waiting on the doorstep!

 

And this is John, from the family website at White pond Farm. One of many beautiful old black and white photos that make me ache with nostalgia - I also love the one of his wife, Betty, haymaking!



Sunday British Summertime!

Last night the clocks went forward an hour and today it was not dark until 8pm - bliss! We made the most of the continuing good weather to do a circular walk around Stonor House deep in the Chilterns, impulsively stopping at this unpretentious village pub on the way for a pint of Brakspear and a bite to eat.  When I was a child I hated flintwork as I was always getting jostled up against the flint walls of my primary school, but what I love most now is knowing that the brick clay and flints are dug in the local area and reassembled so beautifully. And I love finding these old carriage doors and the small entry doors cut in them. At the back of the pub were long, uneven roofs of patterned clay tiles, red and grey, orchards and sheep.The sun was warm, the beer was cool and we saw two Peacock butterflies and a Brimstone. Stonor is in the heart of the Chiltern Hills, set in a bowl of ancient parkland, surrounded by beechwood, high chalk ridges and mixed farmland. The woods are now carpeted with celandines and wood anenomes, the hedges are black with thorn and white with blosson and the wild cherries are alive with bees. At one point there were over a dozen Red Kites swooping and tumbling above us, their kee ning like whalesong in the spring air. On the hill we sat and admired the farmland tilled by John Stracey for over half a century, sitting on his memorial bench - am I alone in my fascination with these plaques? - violets scattered underfoot. On our way downhill we disturbed a nesting skylark that rose, soaring noisily into the air, passed a stand of humming beehives and back down the valley by White Pond Farm. Then into Henley for a walk by the river where we found the brewery our lunchtime pint originated from!

White Christmas

 A wonderful white Christmas! I caught a virus Christmas shopping and was offline for over a week. What with the snow, camp fever set in and by the 23rd I was painting skirting boards and door frames!

Having voraciously read The Other Queen by Phillippa Gregory - I was swept away by the enigma that was Mary Queen of Scots - and The Help by Kathryn Stockett - paradoxical relationships in 1960s southern states - I am now catching up with Jackson Brodie in Kate Atkinson's 4th genre bending crime novel. The snow has become a regular feature of the landscape now and I will be sad if it melts away tomorrow as predicted. Lots of long, gluteus enhancing walks and today sledging in the Golden Valley. Yesterday I glanced up from my book to check the clock at 4 ish and I swear it is getting noticeably lighter in the evenings. A bit of internet research tells me that this close to the winter solstice it is only by seconds a day but that the rate speeds up as we near the spring equinox due to Earth's elliptical orbit of the sun. However it has been good to emerge from the grey fog, have some bright days and, I still swear, lighter afternoons. We have had some beautiful Blakeian light with pink skies and snows, see my pics, and though not captured on camera I was rewarded on my way to midnight mass on Christmas eve by the sight of a beautiful fox rolling in the snow on the roadside as I drove past totally unfazed by the headlights as I slowed down for a better look!