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Showing posts with label agriculture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label agriculture. Show all posts
Wednesday, 24 July 2019

The loss of distant horizons – almost, but not quite, a literature review…

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On my way to school pickup one smoggy, sweltering summer afternoon, I heard an older woman just ahead of me telling two small boys they’d h...
Thursday, 27 June 2019

My answers to the Neighbourhood Development Plan questionnaire (with a handful of minor edits…)

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Q9 Lower and Middle Tysoe have already met their targets under Stratford District Council’s Local Plan; and yet the village is blanketed wi...
Monday, 25 June 2018

For going out, I found, was really going in…

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Yesterday – coupled with a developing desire to prove my brittle body once more able – the weather beckoned me far beyond the longing win...
Sunday, 28 May 2017

The soul that sees beauty…

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Sunday There is a hierarchy, it seems, to Tysoe’s with-sun-rising birds. As the first sodium-bright slash of dawn slices the horizon, the...
Monday, 22 May 2017

Is this now My Hill…?

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As far as I am concerned, the only thing that can be achieved, when both my mind and body are suffused with deep, thick, viscous torment (...
Thursday, 18 May 2017

Up Hill and Down Dale; or There and Back Again…

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It was always ‘The Hill’ – or even ‘My Hill’ – never given its given name . Not that such mattered. When I was trialling my resurrected sk...
Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Faith, I’ll bear no base mind…

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It is seven months and six days since I last donned my fervent walking boots and headed out of the front door in search of the spiritua...
Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Tomorrow will be dying…

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Here I am, sitting at the garden table, wringing out the occasional, disconnected phrase – with the encouragement of a variegation of b...
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Monday, 6 June 2016

That familiar conviction…

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From time to time, I forget that kestrels can fly: so used am I to seeing them simply suspended ( the majestic puppets of an invisibl...
Friday, 13 May 2016

Wary of the furrows that we’ve churned…

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Who can tell me where I am…? Having worked in agriculture , I struggle to understand those landowners and/or farmers who plant a crop...
Thursday, 26 November 2015

All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey…

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…I’ve been for a walk on a winter’s day : well, autumn’s – but that breeze, “ after summer evermore succeeds ”, truly felt like “Barre...
Monday, 26 October 2015

Code green: “You shall not pass…”

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I know, as a lifelong (but now decelerating) walker, that I have a duty to the owners and tenants of the land I cross (not that we ar...
Thursday, 25 June 2015

Things are looking up…
(or ‘That’s Entertainment’…)

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Once, in a particularly insalubrious pub, an old man with a face like a wet leather satchel gripped my forearm, locked his milky blue e...
Monday, 1 December 2014

In memoriam Joseph Ashby…

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If this field… If this field could cry, then it would; If this field could cry, it would cry For hare, for badger, for silence,...
Thursday, 18 September 2014

Look at it this way…

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A man walks into an empty bar. Gathers up all the darts he can find; can hold. Just. Turns his back to the board, and walks to the oche. St...
Wednesday, 9 July 2014

The Changing English Village (Part 2)

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As I read more and more of Kathleen Ashby’s wonderfully detailed book – and wish that she had stayed in Tysoe, and carried out her...