Blue’s Countryside Adventures
As Blue and I enter a narrow country lane where finger posts and forgotten milestones are half hidden amongst the wild grasses and where dandelions are blowing abound with seed, Blue relishes the incomparable pleasure of discovery. As I look up at the watery sky I watch the blue arrows team of swallows swerving and swooping picking off insects as they go. I can hear in the distance the sound of ‘Great Tom’ the famous church bell of St. Thomas and The Holy Rood, what a wonderful sound he makes with a head, shoulder, a waist, a lip and a mouth but also a wonderful voice.
Suddenly Blue puts his nose to the ground and goes braying after a partridge. He could ease through a covey of partridge without stirring a wing. I call his name but my plea meets empty air, the partridge suddenly lifts and flies low just above the tall grasses taking Blue away from her nest of young, as she lands she begins to shiver her wings calling out as if wounded, so wonderful is her power of instinct. Blue held the scent until she lifted again and flew away. A deep bay broke the stillness carrying excitement in its sound as Blue’s joy grew to a powerful feeling. As he stops, he turns and hears my call; he bounds over still quivering with the excitement of his quest.
As we reach the top of the lane we approach the entrance to a large farm with magnificent black wrought iron gates with the name of the farm interwoven in the ironwork ‘Branch House Farm’. From the farm you can see the local village below and in the far distance other villages sprawled out like a spilt drink. On a post opposite the farm I notice a sign ‘Free range animals and children, drive with caution’. Although my field notes are haphazard to the point of being whimsical I feel I must make addition to these endearing country signs.
As I look around this beautiful place a cock robin brings the hen a tiny grub which he presents to her with the air of one conferring gifts of priceless value. The landscape is soft on the eye, but climbing high above is a rocky outcrop where the soil is poor and chalky, the many sheep are gorging themselves on the salad burnet a plant so tenacious of life. As we walk slowly back down the lane we hear the sound of quickening footsteps. We both stop and turn to see two large pigs in hot pursuit. As they approach us the pigs stare down at Blue with intimidating superiority but Blue doesn’t move a muscle. Nose to nose they stare at each other, Blue looks up at me for reassurance, then after a couple of moments we walk away, the pigs follow gently behind with Blue turning every now and again to check their presence. What a lovely experience for us both, but after some distance and with the aid of my stick I sent them safely back home to the farm.
As we reach the bottom of the lane we arrive at the little church of St. Thomas which sinks in a gloom of trees, the air has a kind of whispering quality. As I try to read the parish noticeboard which is covered and penetrated by algae, a little girl wearing a straw hat sweeps a scale idly with a stick along the railings as a breathless paean drifts from the open doorway; she had tears in her eyes, vibrations in her heart, many emotions but no words spoken. It was all so calm and serene until little Blue who couldn’t contain himself any longer joined in with the choir, throwing his head back be began howling like a wolf, I swiftly brought him to his feet and we beat a hasty retreat along the side of the church.
Beyond the gloom of the trees is a dove rich graveyard deep with a vast array of wild flowers, many of which were first brought here by the romans. In this quiet resting place where the many old gravestones lie amidst the flowers and trees, I begin to read who lies beneath but sadly many of the words have been eroded by time, air and friction. As Blue and I rest a while on a lichen covered bench to appreciate the tranquillity of this beautiful place, a freshly cut mowing strip fills the air with the delicious scent of newly cut grass. Here is where a dunnock nests, with the bewitchingly inquisitive faces of the young peeping out of the nest when nearly ready to fledge, the hen bringing food to fill their ever hungry mouths and perched on a low branch was the male spilling ravishing notes from his breast.
Beyond the hedge young cows are bucking and frolicking as if to unseat an invisible rider. One may think that they are being attacked by the warble fly which makes them cad about with tails erect but I believe they are happy on hearing the beautiful sounds coming from the church, as cows love music and I know from personal experience that cows respond to a voice that sings rather than the spoken word.
As we wander around the churchyard I feel a connection with the gardener, although my acquaintanceship was but slender, the love that he bestowed on the garden that surrounds the church is clear to see, highlighting the moods and the beauty of the place. There is white, the colour of peace and purity, the delicate pink of gentleness, blue the colour of serenity, pale primrose and yellow, the colour of the sun, bright orange the colour of vitality and the scarlet crimson the colour of fire, all brought together by the loving hand of the gardener who I believe knows the meaning of life and the state of goodness. This place in brief is a Multum in Parvo’ of floral treasures.
These wonderful people, places and inhabitants help me to continue to shape my own mind as a philosopher. I will now devote my time to soul gardening, the cultivation of my spiritual wellbeing.
