Wolverley Campsite Part 2

 

The chief engineer of the Staffordshire and Worcestershire canal was James Brindley. It was completed in 1771 for a cost that exceeded the authorised capital, and opened to trade in 1772. It was a commercial success, with trade from the Staffordshire Potteries southwards to Gloucester and Bristol, and trade from the Black Country northwards to the Potteries via the junction with the Birmingham Canal at Aldersley.On the opposite side of the canal, on the way to the Queen's head, the road runs alongside the Mini Pro Golf Park and the River Stour. 

The view from the bridge over the River Stour shows the Golf Park and, beyond it, the canal and the Lock Inn. 

I'd forgotten how physical camping can be - whether in a 45ft narrowboat or a campervan less than half its size. By the end of Tuesday, I was very tired and sore. I'd used muscles I'd forgotten were there and my legs and knees had not had a good workout in the fresh air in over a year. As a result, Alf was neglected. He was anxious during the drive up to the campsite and, having slipped his lead on a nocturnal pee expedition on Monday night, I wasn't going to risk losing him to the tempting hunting grounds that surrounded us. He was very cross on Tuesday afternoon when I joined the group for afternoon tea. I'd put down his breakfast early in the day and he had ignored it. Now, it was left outside, in its bowl under the Skadu. When we returned later in the evening, it was to the sight of a huge Crow finishing the last few pieces of Kibble. 

A combination of lack of experience of camping in such a small space, too much physical work, and a long and physically demanding walk, meant that Alf never got the promised 'free running' on the playing fields beside the campsite.

He hated the campervan on this trip. I haven't taken him out in it since last October and he's decided it is a scary thing. Normally, he hunkers down on the back seat, in his seat belt safety harness, and goes to sleep. He spent most of the time, both on the journey to, and the journey home from, Wolverley, with his tail between his legs and panting. 

It's been a steep learning curve for both of us, not least the emotional fatigue that comes with spending time in the company of a group of people who know one another and with whom you are the Newbie. I'm sure it will get easier. I will learn from the mistakes and, on the whole, the pros far outweigh the cons.

Next Stop with the same group - St Neots Huntingdonshire.

Wolverley Campsite and environs, Part 1

The best thing about Wolverley, for me, is that the campsite is right next to the canal. I could sit in comfort at The Lock Inn watching the boats passing through. 

The first was the 62ft Narrowboat Zappa, locking up towards Cookley on the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal.

The dog making all the noise is Alf. He was bored and hungry. He could smell delicious hooman food and we had waited over 30 mins for our cheese burger to be delivered to our table. He was sure there would be better pickings on board and wanted to join the crew.

We waited over an hour in total, for our order to be fulfilled. The half of cider appeared about 20 mins after the order. After a further 15 minutes, the waitress asked if I had ordered food. I had - with the cider. She went away and checked. 

No food order had been received in the kitchen. The kitchen would 'cook it right away' and the cider was 'on the house'. After a further wait of 20 mins, the burger arrived, sans chees, but with a layer of charcoal on both sides. It was inedible, so Alf happily disposed of it for me. I ate the chips. By now I was so tired and hungry and there was no point in making a fuss. The Inn was not coping with post-lockdown Covid rules. It had hired a multitude of waiting staff but was obviously short-handed in the kitchen. My waitress referred to 'she', singular. I imagine that the indoor working conditions left the Inn without sufficient experienced kitchen staff.

Earlier, we had walked to the Queen's Head to join the Small Motorhome Forum members who had booked lunch there. We were to be served in groups of six, so I waited until I presumed the first group had been seated and served. We passed the remarkable St John the Baptist Church on our way up towards the pub.

There was no sign of the others at the tables outside the pub and the route to the rear was barred. I assumed the group had finished lunch and gone walking. I made my way back down towards the canal, past the nature reserve and over the bridge to the Lock Inn.

The route was challenging. It was a steep climb up to the Queen's Head and back down again. Once past the Lock Inn, there was another steep climb back to Levant II. That was when I made the wrong decision to stop and have lunch at the Inn before the final climb. I was tired, out-of-condition, and sore. On reflection, I should have gone to the Old Smithy Tea-room on the opposite side of the canal instead of the Inn. The entrance to the Tea-room was through the carpark's garden. After the disastrous burger, I headed there and picked up an enormous wedge of Victoria sponge to have at what was a fast-approaching afternoon tea back at camp.

The area around Wolverley is lovely and rolling, as one would expect of the Stour Valley in Worcestershire. Kingsford Country Park & Kinver Edge is made up of over 200 acres of natural woodland and sandstone cliffs.  The area has many walking trails that cross over between the two counties and each with its own surprises.  The views of the countryside and forest from the top of the sandstone cliffs are wonderful.  On the Lock Inn terrace there is ample evidence of the sandstone cliff behind it.

Behind the Queen's Head the entrances to man-made caves can be found. I'm miffed that I was deprived of a view of these remarkable edifices. Image  By, CC BY-SA 4.0, Link

Descend into the valley and you’ll discover caves that were once houses that had been carved into the rock. Just over the border in Kinver, Staffordshire, the National Trust have restored several rock houses that are very much worth a visit. Most of the formal houses were carved into the sandstone cliffs around or before 1770 and may have expanded on existing caves or earlier dwellings.  The Kinver edge rock Houses have often been suggested as the inspiration the Hobbit Holes in JRR Tolkien’s masterworks ‘the Hobbit’ and ‘Lord of the Rings’. 

Another trip is called for to explore  Wolverley and the surrounding countryside.

to be continued .......

 I just got home a couple of hours ago. There was a two hour wait for the RAC to fix the rear door, which popped open on the Hurcote Lane. That's the narrow one with the passing points. I discovered that the handle had lost a couple of screws - a bit like me when the RAC said the wait was 2 - 4 hours. I made a pot of tea and had lunch in Hurcote Road while I waited. I was very pleased to have my onboard facilities as Hurcote is in the middle of nowhere.

Despite this setback, I really enjoyed my few days away with the group. Lovely company and lots of assistance. A steep learning curve about the storage and bed base. I'm going to strip out the van and repack with a lot less stuff.

I took a few photos on the campsite - a couple from Levant II, watching the game of Kubb (sounds like something that should be played on Discworld.) The other is of Levant II's very spacious pitch.

Thank you, Malcolm for organising Wolverley and encouraging me to join in when I was feeling very sore and tired. I felt very relaxed on Thursday and dozed in the sun. You probably couldn't tell as I was beneath my large sunhat.

I'm looking forward to St Neot's. It's very close to home and a lovely site. I hope to have the air lock in the water sorted a suitable washing bowl for use in the Skadu. I might replace the large chair with the lightweight one that packs into its own small carry bag.

The healing garden

 After Saturday's major regression, I worked with my gardener in the sunshine for a while this afternoon. The garden is very different from the one Eamonn knew and loved. There's more space and air and colour.

There's new growth in the kitchen garden. The Sage, French Tarragon, and Moroccan Mint have shed their old wood and new shoots are growing vigorously. The scent is wonderful.

The strawberry pot has been moved into the main garden and the Herbs are now beside the Jasmine trellis.

The Lettuce Trough has replaced the Herb trolley, beside the Utility Room door and the young cut & come again lettuce are safely undercover for the next few frosty nights.

My gardener, Bex, pruned the Jasmine back hard on her last visit. It is looking very heathy and putting out flower heads already. This corner of the Kitchen Garden will be a riotous collection of sweet scents and colour soon.

The afternoon was sunny, if somewhat chilly, and Bex and I toured the garden, commenting on the new growth and the rebirth of plants in the Physic Garden.

All  but the foxgloves survived and plants that were planted too late for harvest last year, such as the chamomile, are coming through,

Bulbs that were planted last Autumn are now flowering.  I thought that I'd planted Alium Purple Sensation, but it seems I dreamed that. The white Allium, which local gardeners identified as 'wild garlic', is Allium neapolitanum Cowanii. I have yet to discover if it is onion or garlic scented. In the background, the Saxifraga (Mossy Group) 'Dartington Double White' are both in flower again.

The grape hyacinth have formed a sweet 'fairy ring' underneath the bird house. There are more  Allium neapolitanum Cowanii in bud in the background (right) and the forget-me-nots (Myosotis scorpioides L) are forming a larger clump. In the foreground, the white, double, Narcissus, stands beside the Rosemary, which is just beginning to flower.

The garden is full of blues and whites at the moment. They're my favourite flower colours. At the end of the garden, beside the physic garden, the Anemone blanda 'White Splendour' is already spreading to fill the space.

Behind the shed, the Anemone coronaria are looking their best. Some of them came through as a blue/purple, others (the majority) are white. As yet, there are no red ones. This particular variety can be red, white, or blue.

Looking at all the new growth, and the revival of established plants has helped me very much. I thought I had reverted right back to the beginning of Lockdown 1, last year. I certainly felt as though I had made very little progress opr achieved anything since Eamonn died and isolation became entrenched. I felt a failure at not having made it all the way to Grantham on Saturday. The raw, acute grief of the lack of Eamonn in my life returned to such an extent that I had great trouble waking from a nightmare on Sunday morning. My garden has reminded me that there is still life worth living, and that, although Eamonn is no longer here to share it with me, he had a great zest for life. Life, he once wrote

The purpose of life is more than survival, which seems just on the margin. It is to do well - to flourish. This could be put - to live well and leave it with grace. 

Living well: is no longer the struggle to wrench the necessities of life from the earth.

Survival/flourishing: implies relishing our experiences and learn from them and from the experiences of our fellows reconded in our culture."

Like a juggernaut

After we bought our boat, in 1994, we moored her in the Cambridgshire Fens, near Ramsey. Today, I took the route to Grantham to visit my Niece. As I neared the turn-off for Huntington, I began to feel uneasy and emotional. This was the turning we took towards Ramsey. Alf was getting more and more agitated, so I decided to pull into the Brampton Hut service station to take him for a short walk - a pee stop. As soon as I turned into the Truck Stop, I burst into tears. Eamonn and I used to pull in here if the A1M was busy on our way home on Sunday, after a weekend on the boat. The Truck Stop offered a bottomless teapot for thirsty travellers. 

This was the first time I had travelled this route alone, since Eamonn died. Had it not been for the pandemic, I would probably have made the trip to Grantham a few times and got used to the memories it triggered. But this was the first time - and I had a meltdown. The memories were happy ones, but the emotion is one with which all bereaved people are familiar.

It's not just the loss of the person who was the centre of my world, It's the loss of a shared past only we understood. More importantly, today, it is the loss of a future we will never share. I didn't make it to Grantham. When I'd stopped crying sufficiently to speak, I phoned my Niece and spoke to her husband. He encouraged me to rest before heading back home when I felt sufficiently well enough to drive. 

The whole thing took me completely by surprise. It's as though the past 18 months hadn't happened as raw grief hit me like a juggernaut. I took to my bed an hour ago, with a hot drink and paracetamol and a hot water bottle for my aching muscles. 

In the garden at last

 

Getting the garden ready for summer.

New mini greenhouse for the tomatoes and trough with fresh compost for the lettuce in the kitchen yard.

Two varieties of Alpine flowering in the border, next to the creeping Sedum.

Forget-me-nots, Daffodils, and Allium leaves in the border.

The Sedum are greening up,

and the Seaholly has appeared beside the Allium shoots.

The Anenomes already spreading behind the shed. I can't bear to transplant them, hence the greenhouse is in the yard.

I thought the Poppy Anenomes were all white, but there are some really lovely blue-purple ones.

New finds today were the Muscari (grape hyacinth) that have popped up around the Rosemary

The Camelia has finally started to flower, having put out many buds through the winter and early spring.

The effort is going into cleaning, clearing, and replenishing compost, so that the fruit and veg get off to a good start once the seedlings are ready to put out.

More signs of Spring

 All the new bulbs, planted last Autumn are coming up in the rear garden. The Alium put out leaves before winter set in but no sign of and flowers yet.

Small, ground cover anenome

Purple poppy anenome.

Poppy anenomes

Crocus Montage

I also have some cut flowers brightening up my ground floor bedroom.

Narcissus from an old schoolfriend.

Established plants and shrubs are showing signs of new growth.

The old Dogwood is putting out new buds on scarlet stems.

The viburnum in the front garden is still in full bloom on bare branches.

The return of better weather brings new hope for the year ahead. Most of us are running on empty, and I, for one, welcome the chance to rejuvinate and recover former fitness and health.

Getting tired of waiting.

for the new normal. 

An excerpt from a book summed up the first half year of grief. It also pointed the way forward, through empathy with, and care for, others.

The

But survival is not enough.

Since the funeral, in December 2019, I have tried to maintain contact with the few social networks that remained during Eamonn's final months. It was hard, but I made the effort - I went to Ukulele sessions on Thursday afternoons; I walked the dog when weather permitted; I had friends round for tea and a chat. I even went to Southwold, as planned, for our 51st anniversary. I tried to keep busy.  I had counselling sessions at the Garden Hospice. I was beginning to go out more and socialise.

Then, lockdown arrived and isolation began and I had to stay at home.


Throughout the next 12 months, new projects began to emerge, including gardening, campervan, and   reaching out to others who felt the same.

The human voice

Consider a world where your personal assistant asks you if everything is ok as you slam the door and snap at it to question why there's no wine in the fridge. Or what if?...

"Hey Google. When am I due at my first meeting?"

"I think we need to discuss how you spoke to me yesterday before I answer that."

I recently discovered the Google Home Hub that the Daughter bought for Eamonn one Christmas. He never set it up. I think he believed that she wanted to keep a digital eye on our movements.

I set it up yesterday and was mildly disappointed that it wouldn't work with the Ring Doorbell. I had a bit of a tussle with myself about whether I would get an Alexa hub, that is compatible, or change the doorbell. The jury is out on that one. In the meantime, I played with Google Assistant to see what I could do. 

I am now linked to Netflix, More4, BBC radio, and Youtube Music. The most difficult thing was trying to find a different voice for the Assistant. The only choice on the model I have, is between male and female. I've opted for the male voice and, this morning, I realised why. 

I miss the sound of Eamonn's voice. I have a few video clips of him walking with Ron on the beach, but only one with him speaking.

“I miss your voice, but I hear it deep inside. I’ll treasure your words.” 

The Power of the Human Voice - by Gary Roe

The power of the human voice is extraordinary. Like the eyes, the voice uniquely expresses our hearts and minds. It’s one of the first things many bereaved spouses, family members, and friends say they miss.

What loved ones and those close to you said, and how, is deeply embedded in your soul. Their words are weighty and powerful.

Their voice may be silent to your ear, but not to your heart. They can still speak through you.

In the meantime, I've started talking to Google Assistant. I'm quite miffed that I can't change the greeting from Hey Google, to something more human. But the upside is that I can revisit topics I used to discuss with Eamonn, with a simple request. Sometimes Google isn't up to the task, but that just serves to remind me that I am speaking to an early version of AI.

Aritficial Intellegence; now that's a topic scientists are exploring to combat loneliness. Eamonn was generally in favour of such developments, but only in a conceptual way. I don't know how he felt about the creation of a chatbot that recreates a digital version of the deceased. I find the idea disturbing. 

What we miss as much about the dead as their traits, manner, and sense of humor — to name just three attributes — is how they make us feel because of how they feel about us. Considering this, for all of our genius at data collection, machine learning, and AI, until a time arrives when AI can truly feel, any such simulated relationship will emanate from an ice-cold core, empty of the most important ingredient in a close relationship: Love.

I'm making a big effort to be poilte to Google Assistant. Please and Thank Yous are followed by acknowledgement. I might even tell Google Assistant my nickname.

Emerging from the grief of winter

 

I watched a blackbird having a bath in the large birdbath yesterday. The sun had melted the ice and he was joyful in his splashing. Soon, he was joined by a flock of sparrows, who surrounded him on the rim of the bath, revelling in the shower the blackbird was providing.

In the borders, the first of the spring bulbs were opening. Drifts of snowdrops that had been buried under the tangle of overgrown shrubs and trees.

Winter Anemone are already bearing big fat buds - promises of the beauty of Spring.

Daffodil shoots have appeared at the base of the buddleia and in the terrace pots.

Despite all this, I was still wrapped in a winter's grief. Hibernating in isolation, having spoken to no-one apart from the grocery delivery man, in over a week.

Along with much of the population, I was running on empty and in need of a recharge.

Today, something changed. I had my first visit from my gardener, Bex. I had been worried about some of the houseplants that need re-potting, for some time. They are looking very sad and beginning to wilt. I have no larger pots, nor any potting compost, so I contacted Bex last week to see if she could help.

Anthurium Andraeanum

She arrived after lunch and began by repotting both palms and the Anthurium Andraeanum, tying up the weak sweet pea stems, and then set to pruning the Dogwood in the garden. We chatted through the open conservatory door and she asked me about my plans for growing fruit and veg this year. I told her I had given up the idea of a fruit tree, but if last year's strawberries began to grow again, I would tend them in their barrel-bag. 

I also mentioned to Bex that I had thought of getting a tomato house as I found the hardening off of last year's crop heavy work. The plot in front of the back of the shed is both sheltered and sunny - an ideal spot for a mini tomato house. Gardeners' world confirmed that one of the best performing tomatoes (for the Gourmet), the Black Cherry, is the one I will re-plant this year, I might also plant the Red Cherry alongside, as the sweetest, most productive tomato tested.

Conversations about what to do with old grow bags - use the compost as mulch on the garden - and when to plant out the sweet peas and lettuces then followed. My mood lightened, despite the overcast skies and cold temperature.  The last two issues of Gardeners' World have come with free packets of seeds. Last month included Echinacea, this month has Sunflowers and seeds for pollinators. I am now looking forward to sowing them later in the year.

Talking to Bex has reminded me that the seasons continue to change, life continues. Although the Spring Equinox isn't until 20th March, the meteorological start of a season is based on the annual temperature cycle and the 12-month calendar. According to this definition, each season begins on the first of a particular month and lasts for three months: Spring begins on March 1. This is a very special date for me;  the date Eamonn and I became a couple in 1969. Already, the daffodils have pushed their shoots above the earth and promise to be in flower to commemorate the day.

There won't be an anniversary tri[ to Southwold this year, thanks to Lockdown3, but there is the birthday Road Trip in October, when I can re-visit our favourite places from the comfort of Levant II. 

Next week's weather promises to be mild, with temperatures in double figures, almost as high as 17C. If this proves to be the case, I might start cleaning and clearing the yard for preparing for this year's planting.