Isn't it lovely when the sun shines making a March day feels more like it is May,
A walk around Kilwick, to look for a stream to paint, proved hazardous. I followed a footpath which meandered through a wood, reaching a black, oozing, boggy, squelchy challenging barrier. Then I noticed a couple of half submerged wooden beams, aha, I thought, no problem. I was wearing tall wellingtons, so far, so good, when about three quarters through, George, who was on his lead, suddenly pulled me sideways forcing me to step into the bog....aaargh, my wellington was on it's way to Australia, I managed to recover just in time, an inch from the rim. Yet, as I tried to extract my foot, the wellington would'nt move and I nearly lost it. Slowly, slowly it was released, but there was no way back through this morass, so I carried on, necessitating a lengthy detour, and regrettably with ...no subject to paint. I returned to the car rather overheated, where I removed my muddy wellingtons and decided to head for the safe environment of Bealey's Lane, over at Lockington.
So, here I am, walking to the stream. George, now a tired dog, settles after a dip in the stream, as I start to paint. I think the values are okay, the colours become animated, subtly changing with the light, so I treat them more loosely, to suggest the slightly whimsical. It was lovely to be painting at last, seeing passing people, some of whom would stop for a chat, all cognoscent of the need for social distancing, so all was well. The place is peaceful, the sound of running water and birdsong provide a constant, consistent feeling of mindfullness. Loud bangs from nearby seem to have a slight after sound, a reverberating report, bird scarers perhaps. In the far distance I hear the occasional sound of shooting, a reminder that the local copses here provide game and importantly, gamekeepers employment.
A couple with a brown labrador walk by we smile and say hello, and being a lab, it joyfully immerses itself in the beck eventually crossing it to follow the couple. Later they return, and we talked of an old Hall nearby, the lost village of Winthorpe, Anglo-Saxon digs and ridge and furrows, the older ones being detected by a reverse 'S' pattern linked to ox drawn ploughs...all fascinating, reminding me that history seems more relevant these days than ever ( This link makes interesting reading, go to Lockington, story of a village by Roger Hateley , open History of Lockington then see chapter 7 for Bealey's Lane and chapter 3 for Winthorpe). We also spoke of the notion that black and yellow labs are preferred to brown for shoots, which made me wonder, why, could it be tradition? If so, why?
I look up and see two friends I first met when sketching Hall Garth some weeks ago, they are walking towards me, down the lane at the far side of the beck, towards the bridge. They stop near me and we chat, while George enjoys being patted.
A farmer I had seen before drives up the lane in his Defender and crosses the stream, before shooting in the field nearby. This time he shoots with impressive accuracy, bagging a pheasant or two and I watch the dog work. He returns, fording the beck without effort, though again it reaches the top of the 'Defender's' bumper, and we smile familiarity as he passes. Another young man on a four by four quad passes and slowly, more carefully fords the Beck lifting his legs clear of the water. It is a lovely March day. The sun shines strongly and it is unseasonably warm. George stretches out and enjoys the sun on his side. In front, to my left, are clusters of primroses', lemon gold, almost illuminating as the sun drops.
Loud, bangs,
Spring scarers perhaps?,
Others cause feathers to fall,Making wagging dogs work.
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