This blogging lark is interesting. It's leading me to read and do things I would not have read or done otherwise. And I'm liking that stretch.
The other day at The Solitary Walker, http://solitary-walker.blogspot.com/ I read his post on the ur-walk, which he describes as "... the first walk, the original walk, the walk which all later walks try to recapture in spirit. It's the walk which is the beginning and end of all walks." He is detailing this walk in subsequent posts at the moment.
And I thought of my own ur-walk, and because I am a child of the town mine has utterly vanished. I think it is the townscapes that change most with each generation, particularly in the ever-developing south-east. So I shall have to write my ur-walk, for I only have words to conjure it with.
Which obviously takes time. But today I went on one of my daily walks with a camera, as I suspect it may be Titus' ur-walk and quite possibly may end up being my youngest childrens' (they do it enough!).
Excuse all the lack of botanical knowledge and country lore, and I'll try to let the pictures tell the story. Me? I just live here, heart yearning for the smell, smoke and shout of the city. This is my man's ancestral land. Coincidentally, it's his birthday today.
Leaving the village, with Marr Burn on the left, just trickling today to meet the Scaur.
And
then crossing the Scaur, over a very lovely sandstone bridge.
Now onto the Keir Road, and passing the dark path.
Passing Byreholm, the road to Keir continues.
Byreholm residents.
Keir Smithy, birthplace of Kirkpatrick Macmillan.
The view to the left as you walk towards Keir. Geography "A" Level tells me here be drumlins.
On entering the village of Keir, you take a sharp left, and then have to descend back down to river level.
Then you are back at the Scaur, and here is the metal bridge where you can test your mettle by walking over the curved bit from one side to the other. Easiest with bare feet, although not on a hot day. And never in front of the children.
But you don't cross the bridge on this walk, instead you take a sharp left, down onto the river path, then cross a little wooden bridge over a tiny tributary.
The other day at The Solitary Walker, http://solitary-walker.blogspot.com/ I read his post on the ur-walk, which he describes as "... the first walk, the original walk, the walk which all later walks try to recapture in spirit. It's the walk which is the beginning and end of all walks." He is detailing this walk in subsequent posts at the moment.
And I thought of my own ur-walk, and because I am a child of the town mine has utterly vanished. I think it is the townscapes that change most with each generation, particularly in the ever-developing south-east. So I shall have to write my ur-walk, for I only have words to conjure it with.
Which obviously takes time. But today I went on one of my daily walks with a camera, as I suspect it may be Titus' ur-walk and quite possibly may end up being my youngest childrens' (they do it enough!).
Excuse all the lack of botanical knowledge and country lore, and I'll try to let the pictures tell the story. Me? I just live here, heart yearning for the smell, smoke and shout of the city. This is my man's ancestral land. Coincidentally, it's his birthday today.
Leaving the village, with Marr Burn on the left, just trickling today to meet the Scaur.
And
then crossing the Scaur, over a very lovely sandstone bridge.Now onto the Keir Road, and passing the dark path.
Passing Byreholm, the road to Keir continues.
Byreholm residents.
Keir Smithy, birthplace of Kirkpatrick Macmillan.The view to the left as you walk towards Keir. Geography "A" Level tells me here be drumlins.On entering the village of Keir, you take a sharp left, and then have to descend back down to river level.Leaving Keir.
Then you are back at the Scaur, and here is the metal bridge where you can test your mettle by walking over the curved bit from one side to the other. Easiest with bare feet, although not on a hot day. And never in front of the children. But you don't cross the bridge on this walk, instead you take a sharp left, down onto the river path, then cross a little wooden bridge over a tiny tributary. And this is the river path.
At places you can get down to the river. And the dog can drink.
And the path continues, and the sounds are the river, birdsong, and buzzing.
At the end of the river path, you are back at the sandstone bridge, which you cross the opposite way to get home.
This is probably most photographed view in the village, and I know the sun's in the wrong place, or I am, but I like the silhouettes.
So my thanks to The Solitary Walker for making me think and look, just a little bit harder.
And apologies for the spacing, but I was rapidly losing the will to live.
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