The borders
May. 12th, 2007 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizwilliamsWe've been up on the Welsh Borders for a couple of days, staying with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elen_sentier, P and cats. Drove up on Wednesday through the Wye Valley, which is beautiful at this (or indeed any) time of year: the green rushy Wye winding through its deep gorges until one comes out at Monmouth. This is a town which has a ton of history and folklore behind it, so I don't know why I felt impelled to inform T simply that 'it has a Waitrose.' Living in Glastonbury is presumably demystifying me.
ES lives in an old farm house out on the marshes near Hereford and is the only person I know who has an earth station in her back yard. "Wow," said T as we approached half a dozen huge swivelling satellite. "She must have good reception."
We had a long and leisurely dinner on Wednesday, then on Thursday admired ES' stunning biodynamic garden and went out, first to Peterchurch and lunch at a very nice restaurant (couscous and tagine for me). Peterchuch has a yew in its churchyard that is so old, one can stand inside it. We did. An old grandmother tree. ES told us stories of well guardians and early saints and then we went up to Arthur's Stone, which is a neolithic - and certainly not Arthurian - burial chamber, high on the hills overlooking Hay Bluff and the Black Mountains. Rather bizarrely, this incredibly ancient place is also home (down the road) to the Neal's Yard creamery, so we went there as well and met a curly red-blond dog, after which they name their cheese, apparently (if you order NY 'ragstone' cheese in a chichi restaurant, think of a large hairy dog. Or best not, maybe). And we bought some creme fraiche.
After this, we cut through (IIRC) Bredwardine, where in the late 19th century the Revd Kilvert wrote much of his famous diary. I was taken around all these places as a child, because my mother was a member of the Kilvert Society. When I was old enough, I read and loved his diaries and still re-read them. After this, we went to Moccas Park, which is on the way back to ES', and a lovely oak and chestnut filled deer park. Lots of geese, too. And we saw roe deer and two owls in a tree.
We got back last night, via London and T's cousin's funeral, a sad note to a lovely couple of days.
elen_sentier, P and cats. Drove up on Wednesday through the Wye Valley, which is beautiful at this (or indeed any) time of year: the green rushy Wye winding through its deep gorges until one comes out at Monmouth. This is a town which has a ton of history and folklore behind it, so I don't know why I felt impelled to inform T simply that 'it has a Waitrose.' Living in Glastonbury is presumably demystifying me. ES lives in an old farm house out on the marshes near Hereford and is the only person I know who has an earth station in her back yard. "Wow," said T as we approached half a dozen huge swivelling satellite. "She must have good reception."
We had a long and leisurely dinner on Wednesday, then on Thursday admired ES' stunning biodynamic garden and went out, first to Peterchurch and lunch at a very nice restaurant (couscous and tagine for me). Peterchuch has a yew in its churchyard that is so old, one can stand inside it. We did. An old grandmother tree. ES told us stories of well guardians and early saints and then we went up to Arthur's Stone, which is a neolithic - and certainly not Arthurian - burial chamber, high on the hills overlooking Hay Bluff and the Black Mountains. Rather bizarrely, this incredibly ancient place is also home (down the road) to the Neal's Yard creamery, so we went there as well and met a curly red-blond dog, after which they name their cheese, apparently (if you order NY 'ragstone' cheese in a chichi restaurant, think of a large hairy dog. Or best not, maybe). And we bought some creme fraiche.
After this, we cut through (IIRC) Bredwardine, where in the late 19th century the Revd Kilvert wrote much of his famous diary. I was taken around all these places as a child, because my mother was a member of the Kilvert Society. When I was old enough, I read and loved his diaries and still re-read them. After this, we went to Moccas Park, which is on the way back to ES', and a lovely oak and chestnut filled deer park. Lots of geese, too. And we saw roe deer and two owls in a tree.
We got back last night, via London and T's cousin's funeral, a sad note to a lovely couple of days.
