A Walk at Sunset



Geese in the fields at sunset

Brrrr........winter is not my favourite time of year. And I think that winter really has arrived this week, too. Last week there were some warm, golden, autumnal days, but now it's much colder and damper with a bitter north wind and the first frosts. So I've got the thick jumpers ready - and also my gloves - and my very unflattering woollen hat that I wouldn't have been seen dead in twenty years ago...

If I was to think about anything that makes winter bearable, it would be, first of all, a log fire every evening. And then it would be the vivid colours in the skies at sunrise and sunset. When I take Harry for a walk, I see the sun coming up over the fields.  And then, later in the day (work and weather permitting) we walk again as the sun goes down.

Here is a typical walk through the woods and fields at sunset - where the changes in the light and the sky are beautiful.

We set off - and our first sight is of the Greylag and Canada Geese that come into the fields to feed. Harry has a healthy respect for geese (after a few encounters with our own), so he always gives them a wide berth (and I would never allow him to go anywhere near them anyway). But these wild geese don't know this and still watch him warily.

Then, we walk around the edge of the field where I keep my beehives...

I won't be looking at my bees now until the spring. They've sealed the frames in the hive with propolis and I wouldn't want to break this and expose them to the cold - although I will just quickly lift the roof in the New Year to put some food (fondant or candy) on top of the frames.

The bees will fly on warm, winter days, but if it's cold they'll all cluster around the queen. I've put some homemade insulation on the top of the hive, made of our sheeps' wool sandwiched between two pieces of wood. This will help keep the cold off. I've also surrounded the hive with some protection against Green Woodpeckers.  Green Woodpeckers will attack a hive when the ground is frozen and they can't get to the grubs. A beehive then becomes an easy target for them and they'll drill a hole right through the wood. Luckily, my homemade protection (of chicken wire held fast by a bit of old pipe) has always proved a good deterrent.

Leaving the beehives, we take the path through the wood - but it's already quite dark. Where the landscape catches the last rays of the sun, it's still light but in the wood it's becoming difficult to see. It's silent there, too - except for roosting birds and the trees creaking in the wind. I'm more than a little relieved to get out into the sun again...

And then we're back in the fields - to see that a rainbow is arcing right over us.  I love the sight of this, until I wonder why I'm seeing a rainbow at this moment.....and then, I realise why, just as we get soaked by a sudden, heavy shower...

Harry's not impressed at all by this and so we're now picking up speed (his pace). We finish the walk as the sun is going down. There are too many trees blocking the view for a really stunning sunset, but the sky is full of colour...

First pink...

...and then a blend of fiery colours

Back on the smallholding, it's time to put the chickens and geese away - and the geese are already waiting impatiently for their food.  Poor George, the older gander, is waiting at the back and has to be fed separately because Cador, the dominant gander (and his son) would chase him away if they were all fed together...

The wild ducks come in for food, too - but it's too dark now to take a photo of them.

And then it's time to go inside, where my next job today is to start the Christmas cake.  This is my Grandmother's recipe, and I'm always moved when I see her writing. I miss her lots and she's on my mind when I make it. And it's a delicious cake, too, full of spices and alcohol.

Before I start the cake, I turn the wireless on. We sent this away recently to a specialist, who has repaired the valves and added a digital receiver to the back. So although it's old, it can now receive a digital signal. And it still has that sound of an old-fashioned wireless...

It's late afternoon, but it already feels like evening and it's definitely getting a lot colder outside.

So it's time to light the log fire at last...

Wonderful!

A Battle, a Poem and an Island in the Marshes

The Battle of Maldon: Ealdorman Byrhtnoth

Autumn and winter on the Essex coast....this is my favourite time of year to come here. There can be a special atmosphere then; big skies with a low sun, calling winter geese, dozens of waders squabbling along the shoreline. And as the little creeks feel so remote and unchanged, there's a sense of history here, too.  It's easy to imagine old sailing boats and smugglers...

And battles. When I came here a few days ago with an old friend of mine, we visited Northey Island, site of the Battle of Maldon. The battle took place in August 991 between the defending Saxons and the invading Vikings.  The battle is known about today because it was written about in a poem not long afterwards - and most of this poem still survives.

We reached Northey Island by walking from the town of Maldon along a footpath.  It was a lovely, sunny day and surprisingly Maldon wasn't that busy. Often, when the sun comes out, the quay can become a bit crowded, but on this day there were just a few people wandering around looking at the Thames Barges...

It was no surprise, though, that we were the only ones taking the footpath away from the town, because it was all mud. I think everyone else had more sense! But it doesn't take long to reach Northey Island, which is owned by the National Trust. It's quite small and it appears that the only residents are the wardens and different birds...

The island can be reached by boat or across a causeway at low tide. And it was on this causeway that the battle was supposed to take place.

The Battle of Maldon

So what happened? The Vikings had arrived from across the North Sea and made camp on the island.
The Saxons, alerted to this new danger, left their settlements...

And flocked to their leader, Ealdorman Byrhtnoth (he's the statue, above). Byrhtnoth was supposed to be taller than average and an old warrior (perhaps in his sixties).  He probably faced Sweyn Forkbeard, son of Harald Bluetooth (such fabulous names) as leader of the Vikings.

The Vikings demanded tribute, but Byrhtnoth was having none of this, and defied them. Then the rising tide intervenes. When it eventually recedes, the Saxons had blocked the causeway...

Causeway onto Northey Island

So the Vikings (using guile, according to the poem) negotiate to come across for a real battle. Byrhtnoth's fatal mistake is that he agrees to this, and he is then killed during the fighting. Some of his army flees, but several thegns, loyal to their lord, make a courageous last stand around his body.

The Saxon warriors' defeat is regarded as glorious. The Vikings are deceivers; Byrhtnoth's thegns are heroes. And a story was born, to be told in the mead halls...

I've been thinking about this poem over the past few days. When I attended the Remembrance Service at our village war memorial on Sunday, the war poems that came to mind were those of the Great War poets, who wrote that war isn't glorious at all.  I imagine that no one writes death or glory poems about current conflicts, do they? We think of war in a different way today.

Sorry that these reflections are all a bit heavy, but this time of year, around Remembrance Sunday and 11th November makes you think, doesn't it?

Anyway - here is more of Northey Island and nearby coast in autumn, 2013; a very peaceful place once more...

And worth a visit, to hear the echoes of the past.