Landscape

16 May

Posted at 21:38h in Landscape, Scotland by

Ardnamurchan. Barely populated except for the trees. Oak, birch, hazel, beech, larch. Rimmed by empty beaches of the palest sand looking west to islands sitting on a blue ocean. Rum, Eigg, Muck. Beyond them Skye, the Cuillin ridge unmistakeable against a far horizon. At Sanna Bay, with its sweeping golden strand, we sheltered below a small, cairn-topped hill where the grass falls away towards the sea and ate our lunch chased down with tea from the thermos. The islands spread themselves in front of us, smoothly sculpted by distance and light. Eyes right to the peaks of Moidart and Knoydart,...

17 Feb

Posted at 14:18h in Landscape, Spain, Walking by

We often walk the Ruta de la Mineria. It runs through the hillsides where, until the 1970s, lead and iron were wrested from the rock. It’s a walk of about 10km, simultaneously scenic and chilling. Setting out from the village, you climb up into Serena, a tiny pueblo aptly named, through an almond grove and, from there the track winds through the hills and valleys that gave up their treasure to men crouching in deep dark holes wielding pickaxes and shovels through long hours of dangerous work. Disused mine workings still dot the landscape, brick and stone crumbling back to...

01 Feb

Posted at 11:35h in Landscape, Spain by

I’m looking at a piece of olive wood. It’s on the table out here on the terrace and may be put on the fire tonight. The sun is warm here by day, but just after 5pm it slips behind the hill on the far side of the barranca. Suddenly it’s cool, the heater has been switched off, the power cut. When evening temperatures dip to single figures and the cool tiled floors inside the house lose their daytime charm, we light a fire. Most houses here have wood-burning stoves for the winter. The fuel of choice is olive; it’s obvious when...

07 Dec

Posted at 15:49h in Landscape, Uncategorized by

There’s a silver birch at the bottom of our garden. We planted it 4 or 5 years ago, I think. Maybe it’s longer than that given how fast the years fly by. It’s like remembering the ages of friends’ grandchildren. Really? That old? Add a couple of years to the first number that comes into my head then I’d be nearer the mark. In any case, the birch is just a few years old. It fills a void left by the demise of an old laburnum in the garden that backs onto ours. The laburnum used to droop lazily in the...