Butney Bank

On the last day of 2016 I thought I would Reblog my first ever post on here. One of the highlights of my year has been creating and writing this blog, so to all those who read, comment and follow I truly appreciate it! Wishing you all a happy and healthy 2017!

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20160109_141122 (2)My mother is always reminding me that lichen is a sign of clean air. So now every time I see a tree or boulder which is green with the bushy little parasite her words come back to me. I stick out my chin and take in a deep lung full of the good stuff.

Towards the further most tip of Butney Bank, where on a cold winter’s day the thick fonds of the ferns are the colour of orchre, there is an ancient oak tree. It’s isolation, out on the strip of land in the middle of a tidal creek, means that it has grown into a perfect and rather splendid dome. The whole of this tree, from the tips of it’s bare canopy to the thick roots pushing into the muddy ground, is bright green.

20160109_143754 (3)The matty coating of the lichen is soft and fuzzy, negating its barks true purpose…

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Montol – Winter Solstice in Penzance

December is the time of the year when our days are at their shortest and darkest.  When it seems that our little world is more night than day. But the Winter Solstice, 21st December, marks the turning of the year – the return of the sun! Celebrations marking this returning of light and warmth have been part of our culture for thousands of years.

Penzance’s Montol is a revival of those ancient celebrations.  It is a modern version of a festival which was once held annually in the town until it feel out of favour in the 1930s.  There are some festivities in Cornwall that still retain a true flavour of their pagan roots, such as the rather madcap Padstow Obby Oss.   The Montol is another, it holds on to an ancient, much darker remembrance of our ancestor’s beliefs. Continue reading

Hireth

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Hireth: longing, yearning, nostalgia (Cornish)

Recently I have been thinking about our ‘connection to place’. That undefinable feeling of belonging to somewhere.  A special bond that never leaves you, even after years of absence. Somewhere you feel joined to.  It won’t surprise you that I feel like that about Cornwall and more than that, the family farm where not only I but generations of my family grew up.

grandmother in trap (3) My grandmother & great-grandmother outside the farmhouse c1900

I realise however that not everyone feels like that about a place which is after all just dirt and stone. Isn’t family all you need to feel ‘at home’? Yet so many people have said that there is one place where their heart belongs and where I wonder where does that feeling come from?  Is it the memories of a happy childhood that creates that bond or sense of belonging? Is it something in your bones, your genetic make-up?  Your DNA?  Back in…

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Men Gurta – Cornwall’s Largest Standing Stone

Men Gurta or the St Breock Longstone stands high on the St Breock Downs within sight of a modern windfarm. Although the view from the hill is as good reason as any to visit this particular stone well worth looking for, it is a giant. In fact it is the largest and heaviest in Cornwall-  which, you might well think, should make it easy to find.  Which it is, once you know where to look but more if that later!

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Men Gurta is huge, it is 4.9m tall (3m of that above ground) and weighs a whooping 16.5 tons but there is also something very striking about this stone, it’s beautiful zebra strips! Continue reading

Hoovered Heifers – It’s Showtime in Truro!

Despite it’s size, Truro is actually a city and the capital of Cornwall. But you would hardly call it a pulsating metropolis especially on one particular day every December.  on that day the city’s main square is filled with all the sights, sounds and smells of your average farmyard.  When I arrived at the annual Cornwall’s Primestock show on Lemon Quay preparations for judging were in full swing.

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You would, I expect, be a little surprised how much effort is taken by the farmers to make their cattle look beautiful. Continue reading

South Crofty to reopen?

Standing with his arms flung wide, as if about to launch himself from his plinth, the statue of the miner looks down the steep hill of Redruth’s main street.  In one hand he clasps a pole pick and in his other hand, palm turned skyward, he grasps a shiny ingot of tin.  But there is no work for this bronze man, his purposeful stance is inane, by the time he was placed here in 2008 he merely represented all that the town had lost.

He became a memorial to a grand and vanished past that perhaps few of the shoppers passing beneath him wished to be reminded of.

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Mining was the source of this area of Cornwall’s wealth but also it’s undoing. Continue reading