Scoar Dale

After a visit from a utility worker, who arrived surprisingly early, I reassessed my plans. The weather was better than expected and so I impulsively decided to go out and paint. I headed to the Wolds and the village of Warter where I turned into the narrow, old, Roman road. It leads steeply uphill, bordered by grass verges and ancient hawthorn hedges, which hide, newly combined barley fields, full of game birds investigating the short stubble. Indeed, pheasant and partridge spill over into the road as I drive uphill. They cause me to stop. I watch as they look at me and confer, before deciding to guide me along the road. They walk quickly in a large group, weaving around invisible obstacles. Having delivered me past pot holes and other ghostly hazards they separate, scatter and disappear through the hedges. I drive past slowly, remembering to say thankyou before continuing to Warren Farm. Here, I follow a footpath sign down a farm road. A small dog, Perhaps a Tibetan terrier, grumphs at us as we approach. He stands tall, but keeps his distance as he dances on tip toes looking up at George. A man with a beautiful, well behaved Hungarian Visla passes and advises me to watch out for a vicious, white.....chicken. I approach the right turn....cautiously and stop dead, there, in front of me, is the ...chicken. I walk slowly, noticing it is surrounded by smaller versions of itself, fluffy, little, white chicks. It eyes me suspiciously as the chicks flood to its feet, looking somewhat like a large boa scarf. However, we pass unscathed and walk alongside a hedge ( next to an ancient boundary dyke) to the point where I can look down Scoar Dale. I quickly set up the pochade box, outline the view and begin to block in. The view is complex and I need to fine tune here and there. George keeps me company and being a social dog, he introduces himself to passing walkers, most of whom, are glad to make his acquaintance. I finish and pack up, getting back to the car via the white chicken and her chicks and feed George. Then I drive to the nearby Cobdale road and park looking eastwards, to the distant flatlands of a turbine rich, Holderness. In front of me are pale fields of stubble, a patchwork of creams. The sun drops and shadows emerge in the stubble highlighting the linear direction of drilling. The fields are full of birds. Partridge gather on a track and have dust baths. Others come close and stand on top of a log. They are so close I can see their magnificent plumage, their orange eyepatch and red beaks. Though I see many white pheasants, and it being the first of the month, I see........ no white rabbits ! At home some great news, a friend who had had a Corvid test, got the result, it was negative, phew, and also that another friend survived a dental investigation.

12x10 inch, oil on canvas board, one of my Wolds Art project and possible future exhibition,

email me for details.

SOLD

Partridge on a log

Look down at

Dust bathing companions, as

Strutting pheasants investigate

Stubbled fields

Above Warter.