In a cold, grey afternoon, a single swallow silently hawks above the willow flowers. Having arrived two or three weeks earlier than most of its tribe, it has no companions to call to, and insects must be thin in the raw air. But perhaps it was not such a misjudgement after all, for two days … Continue reading Spell
Old Town Mill, a mid-19th-century worsted mill, is a monolithic landmark for miles around and is nearing the completion of a scheme to create 25 dwellings amongst its four stories. It stood at the bottom of the garden and grounds of Boston Hill House, the grand home of the Mitchell family, who acquired the mill … Continue reading Remembering
A chiffchaff fires the starting gun on spring with its two-tone call. Uninspired as its song is, there are few clearer signs that the seasons have shifted than the arrival of the first summer migrant from Africa, and all life in the valley is in agreement: a buff-tailed bumblebee drones in and out of the … Continue reading Rising
Storm Larisa blusters all day, the swirl of snow impressive, yet it’s all to little effect: at last light there is disappointment among the would-be sledgers at the meagre covering of snow on the village green. But after dark it redoubles its efforts, raging all night. School closure notices are sent out at dawn, and … Continue reading Threshold
The head of Crimsworth Dean, cradled on all sides by the moor, is utterly quiet. No one is venturing out in the bone-cold morning under the grey skies. But this silence and stillness has not always prevailed. One hundred and seventy years ago, 22 farms occupied the 600 or so acres of enclosed land upstream … Continue reading Abundance
Skeins of pink-footed geese trumpet over, their arrows made up of anything between 30 and 300 bugling birds. In six weeks, their regular passages over the valley’s airspace to find feeding in flatter fields of winter crops will end, as they migrate back to their summer breeding grounds in Greenland and Iceland. And this is … Continue reading Gift
The first daffodils fringe the canal at Callis, while on the other side of the towpath, among the communal gardens of the narrowboat community, snowdrops crowd on the edge of the hazel coppice. In Ingham Clough, at the base of an unnamed and unheralded waterfall, boulders wear a shaggy coat of moss threaded with lesser … Continue reading Promise
Morning frosts melt into mild and fragrant afternoons. More songs are added to the growing ensemble in the school-run woods; great tits sing the praises of teachers, a song thrush methodically works through its repertoire from high in a birch, dunnocks self-consciously rush through what they have to say too quickly for it to be … Continue reading Iridescence
Chatter filters down through the trees from the terrace of Lumb Bank. This grand house was built at the beginning of the 19th century by Gamaliel Sutcliffe to look proudly down on his creations, the Lower and Upper Lumb mills. Their two chimneys periscope up through the swell of the winter tree canopy, but little … Continue reading Remains
The snow vanishes not a great deal less abruptly than it arrived. The emerging grass on the green has a sickly, light-starved pallor, and the line of the sledge run is matted and threadbare. Two molehills appear just beside its fastest stretch. What did those poor creatures make of the rumble and roar going on … Continue reading Heeding
Landscape Story 