Prairie

Winter Walk At The Lakes

The snow is melted away now, replaced by dark grey skies and rain. As it is such a rare thing and so beautiful,  I wanted to share one more blog post of the lovely snow. This day, I walked to the Lakes to visit my French breed cows. They're the only ones left now.  The grumpy boys in the meadow outside my window, were spirited away many weeks ago. The red coated Herefords on the other side of the river, the ones who loved to hang out under the bridge with all of the graffiti - they've also been picked up by the farmer and taken back to the barn for winter. So here I go - across Bridge Street and into the wooded pathway to the Lakes. 

 

 

 

 

Last year, there were almost 20 Lim-moo-sin cows. Ha Ha Ha! Get it ? This little group of 9 were a grumpy lot. Huddled together against the shrubs and trees for shelter against the cold - not even my singing could get a rise out of them. Which is surprising, as I can always draw attention to myself with my singing. Not in a good way. Oh yes, I will not go into how cold my ass cheeks got today, like I did the last blog. I was barraged with letters of condolence for my bum. Anyway, thank you for your concern. Can I just say though, how snotty my nose was this day - like a runny spout - like a cow's nose. Okay, enough said.

 

This, was the best I could get from them. Just a peek between the fence planks.

 

The minute the farmer showed up in his little white truck, the back end full of bales of hay, they were off !!

 

One last glance. He probably thought I wanted his hay.

 

It's all about the photos now......

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The path that leads back to St. Ives. So ready for that cup of tea.

 
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Alma

Alma, is a beautifully done, animated film with a haunting finale. So here's wishing all of you a very creepy Christmas ! Just kidding. Hope your day is full of smiles, laughter and love. Thank you, for your constant support this last year and thanks also, for reading my strange little Prairie blog. Now, go play nice with the in-laws, don't eat too much and drive careful.  {Hugs} x x

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Winter Paradise

England hasn't seen this much snow in years. As you might guess, it's causing chaos on the roads and a few pour souls have been found, frozen and breathless. A hundred years ago, the Great River Ouse was used as ice skating rink and many of the those vintage skates are now housed as a fine display in the St. Ives. museum. I've seen sepia photos of women from that era, skating in long, woolen skirts. I wonder how heavy and awkward that must have been. And what ever happened to those furry muffs women used to wear to keep their hands warm ? Could it be, they haven't come back into style again because of mobile phones - we need to keep our hands free to text. Sad. So this photo below, was the view from my window two days ago. Snow.

 

The legendary Jack Frost is touching his icy finger to all blossom, leaf and stem. One caress and nature sleeps and then dies, it's task completed for another  year. This lovely rose is putting up a worthy fight.  

 

Everything is a picture postcard. Dusted white, serene and quiet.

 

I love this old{e} building. Especially the door. I stood there thinking of all the things I could make from that door. A table, lovely shabby chic photo frames. A door even.

 

I returned to the Thicket Path to smell the snow - that crisp, fresh, perfect winter scent. I've decided that Winter has it's own bouquet made up of cinnamon, mulled wine, reflection, laughter, hope of new beginnings, love of family and friends, pine, ribbons and wrapping paper, mittens and frosty breath.

Can you smell it ?

 

 

Ha Ha Ha ! Just try to bite my fingers now you naughty horse ! He doesn't look too happy now does he, standing there in the cold. I shouted out "I have a carrot for you." But he never even looked up. Actually, I didn't have a carrot. Maybe I should knit him a hat. Poor fellow.

 

 

I was feeling ambitious and so, walked the entire six miles round the villages. This little ginger bread cottage is one of the first you will see when you walk into the village of Houghton. It's lovely !

 

I'm always amazed at how some of the images I take, look like a period painting. It's not me, it's England !

 

A snowy coat gives even these old chairs a more interesting veneer.

 

I was surprised to see this little fountain flowing freely in in cold weather. Do you want to know how cold it was to walk the six miles ? Let me tell you then. On me, there are two body parts that always get cold. My fingers and my bum. Or as I would say to my American readers, my ass cheeks. Now, I have two different theories about my bum getting so cold. Either it really is cold or, there's just so much of it .....   What am I like then ? Ha Ha Ha !

 

This idyllic, landscaped house is supposedly the oldest house in this area. It was the home of a famous writer/poet. Maybe for a future blog post - I'll write about the history of this house and the occupants. The gardens are open to the public - I think for a donation of course. The house offers tours also.

 

 

I was ever so happy to see the church and St. Ives on the horizon. By now, I had no feeling in my fingers and my bum was numb. The motor on my Nikon lens was not working either, so I stuck my camera under my coat to warm it a bit. In spite of all of my shivering, I was enjoying my walk.

 

I happened to meet a Scottish chap whilst walking across the last stretch, he was taking his daily exercise round the meadow. He looked at my red face and then at my feet and said "where are your wellies my dear ?" My trousers were soaked half way up my to my knees. I was wearing my water proof hiking boots and strayed off the path, wading through a large pool of ankle deep water in this meadow. I hadn't even noticed. All I could think of by now, was getting home and having a cuppa ! 

 

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Tweety and Sylvester

Suffering succotash ! Go on, be a kid for 7 minutes and 27 seconds - it's Christmas !

 

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1941 English Christmas

I found this amazing black and white footage from the British Film Institute - a rare look into what it was like for the citizens of Britain during war days.  I enjoyed seeing the bit about Pantomime, or Panto - as the British affectionately call it. During my school days in America , we called them Christmas plays, the theme usually based on Yuletide. Panto, always performed at Christmas time, is an exaggerated, theatrical and musical stage production. Usually based around a fairy tale or nursery rhyme. I think it originates from the Romans - maybe they brought this with when they inhabited Old{e} England. The first Panto that I saw, was absolutely brilliant, slapstick comedy !!

Towards the end of the film, you'll see how Londoners took measures for self-preservation, sleeping underground in Tube Stations. From what I've heard, Brits were given ration cards well into the 1950's, for food and petrol. America had it easy - I know from being born in 1956, life was good and my family lacked for nothing.   

They say, Christmas is the time to tally blessings, no matter how big or small. Having a roof and food in your belly are critical of course,  but most importantly are blessings without any materialistic value such as family, friends, physical and spiritual health. They are, what enrich and complete our lives.  It would be a cold, cold world without these - indeed.  Up to Christmas, I'm posting Christmas related things. From myself and the naughty cows - love to you all. Enjoy !

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Old Fashioned Christmas

I'm off to take more snowy photos for my new, mini photo card boxed sets. More on this later ! I love a bit of silly escapism - a classic Green Acres Christmas.  I'm not sure whether this sitcom broadcast in England, so what a treat this will be for you.  People in America thought Green Acres was a documentary. The second video features Arnold the Pig and a hot kissing scene with Mr. & Mrs. Ziffel. And a bonus - recipe ideas for hot cakes. Real tree or artificial tree - which do you prefer ??  Enjoy !!

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Walking the Thicket

I adore this time of year in England. yes, it's cold and yes, sometimes the wind blows like a hurricane but last Sunday was perfect - temperate and still as stone, no wind at all. A fitting day to walk the remarkable Thicket path. During summer months, I sometimes walk the six miles down the Thicket to Houghton, then through the quaint villages of Hemingford Abbot and Hemingford Grey and back again to St. Ives. With two pubs on the trail, you can't go wrong. 

 

Seldom, do I ever pass a graveyard without taking a photo. Standing in front of those timeworn headstones, reading names of people who lived and breathed almost 200 years ago, fills me with wonder. I can't help envisioning who they may have been whilst full of the breath of life - rich, poor, noble status, servant or cobbler. The oldest engraving still identifiable, is late 1700's.

 

 

Across the river, to the right of the churchyard, is Holt island. Hundreds of years ago on this island, reeds were harvested from osier beds and used for thatch. Reed was preferred over wheat straw for it's longer, more durable constitution. In the 1930's, Holt Island was presented to the City of St. Ives, by the family who once owned it. It's now a popular nature preserve, open for walks from April to September.

 

All Saint's Church, is St. Ives Parish Church and most possibly the oldest. It was founded in 970.

 

Hard to believe, the green was empty except for one lone golfer. I stepped over the barbed fence that was half down on the ground and stepped onto the golf course for a photo - the sunlight was so beautiful this day, casting it's long golden fingers on leaf and branch, making every woody fiber, glow with life.

 

 

I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a gnome or a wood fairy on this magical trail. I stood very still and listened, hoping the ancient Tree Man would speak to me. I suspect, he'll only visit me in my dreams.

 

The cows will not like this at all. I made friends with some horses. Please don't tell them.

 

As I was leaning on the fence, this teenager came trotting over to me from far afield. My whiskered friend was looking for a treat, I think. Just look at his bristled snout !! I had everything possible in my camera bag, except for a carrot. 

 

I wasn't paying attention, fiddling with my camera and at the same time, stroking him on the nose. That cheeky horse bit my fingers !!  Jeez Louise, that hurt !!

 

 

When I walk alone on this trail, I constantly look up and behind me and from side to side, for what I consider, a window.  Have you ever looked out a window at a scene that was so beautiful, it looked a painting, framed in by the window sill ? This, is how I attempt to take my photos - looking through that imaginary window frame for a worthy vignette.

 

The Thicket path runs parallel to the Great River Ouse and if you were to sit on this bench, you would have a lovely view of river and green field.

 

The complexity of textures, colours and layers and the earthy fragrance of this modest woodland are truly captivating. I can see how writers such as Emerson and Thoreau, were so inspired by nature.

 

It doesn't translate very well in this photograph below, but the shrubs behind these spindled trees were sparkling, heavy with raindrops. Lovely.

 

Maybe someday you will visit St. Ives and we can walk the Thicket together.

 

Please have a look at this link featuring vintage photos of St. Ives and it's history.

http://www.stives-town.info/river_great_ouse/local_history_of_the_river.asp

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Emily Loizeau

The first time I watched this video, I mistook Emily Loizeau for American actress, Parker Posey. The resemblance is amazing. "Je Suis Jalouse" is a lovely, bouncy tune and I found myself humming it all day long. This can be really torturous though, if the song happens to be annoying ! I've experienced this with songs by Neil Diamond,  Michael McDonald and James Blunt. Has this ever happened to you ? You try to go to sleep and there it is, still rolling around in your head. Well, you may as well get up and drink a few beers. I've found, that a few bottles of Adnams Broadside, helps me to forget most anything.

I've learned this week, that Heroes really do exist. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart for your support and encouragement! The cows also would like to thank you. So Prairie lives on into 2010. You're stuck with me for another year of strange, stupefying, spectacular, extraordinary, stunning, astounding Prairie blogs. Just so you know, I borrowed those adjectives from my Thesaurus. 

I'm including a link to Emily's website. It's one of those sites,so cleverly designed, you go "wow!"  http://www.emilyloizeau.fr/

Emily is very, very, very jalouse (jealous) in this video.  JEALOUS !!

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Sunday in St. Ives

It's the changing of seasons here in St. Ives.  The horrific winds from last week have stripped the trees bare of their leafy colours and the conkers have also fell victim - scattered about on the paths and walkways. Winter is a strange and mysterious time. Mother earth sleeps, producing no colours nor signs of life and routines are ruled by ebb and flow of light. Darkness settles in on St. Ives by four p.m. these days. I wandered familiar paths last  Sunday - stopping by the quay to watch the bird life.

 

It's never quiet when the seagulls hang about. Greedy busters ! There have been reports of people being attacked by gulls.  One elderly lady was so startled as it swooped down, she fell and broke her wrist. They can be a bit cheeky. Wish I could post an audio of them screeching  "me, me me" and a video of how they fight and bicker over the snippets of bread - not unlike women at a 50% off sale event. Have you ever noticed how gulls always perch the same direction on a roof - like little soldiers ?

 

 

The Bridge Chapel had open doors this Sunday - they do this only a few times a year, December especially, being a month they like to ask for donations for this lovely old building. I discovered a fantastic website authored by Francis Firth - I will post a link at the end of this post - the site has oodles of black and white, vintage photos of St. Ives. This is what the Chapel looked like many, many years ago. Notice the difference in the bridge arches, some being round and some being pointed - evidence of the structure being re-built.

There's a placard on the quay that gives a concise history of the chapel. 

 

This, is what the chapel looks like today - it's missing the layer-cake, top story. I captured some great photos of those crazy birds from this balcony.  The seagulls swooped so close to me, I could feel the whoosh of air on my face as they flew by.

 

 

I love this little room. I wish though, that the Society would put more effort into decorating the inside. It has those lovely arched, lead glass windows that would be so pretty, embellished with holly and berries. Not all that inspiring. I'll probably get some raging emails for my comments.

 

 

See the dirt and cobwebs on the window ? It's leftover since Oliver Cromwell was alive ! Yep, that dirt and those cobwebs are 359 years old. The British take pride in protecting anything historical.

 

I've never been in the what I call the "basement" of the chapel. It was an absorbing moment,  to stand in that room and feel the energy - the ghosts of the past. If only stone and wood could speak. The women that were volunteering that day were so friendly and didn't mind me asking, if I could move some personal things out of the way for to take photos - like their lunch boxes, thermoses and shopping bags. No heat in the chapel either and they were bundled up - including mittens. Bless em.

 

After visiting the chapel, I meandered down to the churchyard. I love this churchyard. Oliver Cromwell attend church services here - when he found spare time from executing people. 

 

 

I saw this strange looking duck with a tuft of feathers on it's head.  It reminded me of the character in the little book I wrote a few years ago. I wrote this children's book called "Stuck As A Duck" which I sent out to 30 some publishers - it got favourable comments, but they said it was too long for the age group. I must fix it some day. I need an illustrator, know of anyone ? Anyway - the story is about the adventures of a little boy who turns into a duck and on top of his head is a tuft of hair, that never turned into feathers. Am I boring you - waffling on ? What sort of duck is this anyway ? He was an evil little thing, kept nipping at all the other birds. Very bossy.

 

Every once in a while, a hot air balloon magically appears over the skies of 

St. Ives.

 

I could watch the birds all day - makes me wish I could fly.

 

 

I think it fitting to close with words penned by the great Bard himself. My hero.

"That time of year thou mayest in me behold

  when yellow leaves, or none, or few, may hang

  Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

  Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang"

- William Shakespeare -

   Sonnet LXIII

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 http://www.francisfrith.com/st-ives,cambridgeshire/photos/

http://www.worldconkerchampionships.com/html/about_conkers.html

http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/historic_figures/cromwell_oliver.shtml

Emilie Simon

I love this video and just had to post it. Emilie Simon is exquisite in every way. 

Today was the coldest day on record in Cambridgeshire, so far this season. Not officially winter yet - but it feels like it, after all, it is December 1st today. I stopped by the Nut Shop to say hello to the ladies that work there. I wasn't wearing a hat which is unusual for me.  They chastised me for coming out in the cold without one. Those women are so sweet to say that. If I don't go into the shop, they always wave and smile at me through the window as I walk by. I hope where ever you live - you are keeping toasty warm.

Twelve more days to go until my Type Pad subscription is due. I'm thinking about whether I will continue with my quirky little blog or send it off into the ether of blogger history. Hang it up or go on ? 

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