Rock Pooling

I love the runs that turn in to mini adventures, when we explore new places and I get an extra few moments to catch my breath. I swear we only went rock pooling because I was trying to postpone the inevitable steep climb back up to the cliff top above St Lawrence. The coastal path is a great route, barreling through tiny holloways beneath thick dark foliage and then out on to a high bluff, the path winding away down to the beach.

Tucked round the corner from St Catherine’s lighthouse is Woody Bay, a deserted stony beach. There’s a small cluster of old low houses above, with quirky homemade greenhouses and trampolines set in to the soft grass. Down below, the smooth stones are almost as inviting, settling in to a surprisingly accommodating shape for my tired body.

We lay on our backs and threw pebbles at targets, before jumping up to lob yet more stones and marvel at their bounce. We discovered a teeny tiny baby lobster and woke limpets from their rocky outcrops. I told Tom how we used to smash the limpets off the rocks for crab bait, which sounds shockingly cruel now! If I hadn’t holidayed with kids full of the best sort of wild, I might never have been so willing to wield a rock. A moment scrabbling around mid-run was a perfect little reminder of childhood summers.

Even after the beach break I didn’t manage to run up the full height of the cliff. We stopped for drinks at the village post office, then marvelled at a peacock family holding court on someone’s porch roof. There’s always something interesting to warrant a quick stop mid-run.

Early Autumn

September has heralded in the most perfect autumn days. Suddenly there’s mist in the morning, defusing the light and giving the bark on the pine trees a pink glow. It’s chilly enough to warrant some knitting, or at least to go home and browse patterns.

We hold the sun’s warmth on still afternoons with barely a breeze, dozing under old oak trees. The twigs feel snappier under foot, everything a little dried out, having spent its summer sap.

Before too long, I’ll be lighting the first fire and choosing some fat historical novel to read. Any suggestions?

Yoga Every Day

Yes, every single goddamn day. Because I was foolish enough to write it on my alphabet year list and because any day is improved by a good stretch.

I thought August would be a good month to start a daily habit, with long days, plenty of sunshine and a quiet work schedule. My August has started off a little more hectic than planned, but that only further warrants the moment of calm that yoga brings.

I’m not following any particular course (though if you’re looking for one, I recommend Erin’s). Just turning up to the mat every day would be a triumph for me. And if the sun gets a few salutes along the way, or I manage that double pigeon without looking like a crumpled chicken, then all the better.

Morning on Mottistone

Holidays are always more exciting when they start with a crazy-early wakeup call. So, even though we weren’t headed for an early airport checkin, or even a ferry ride, we still opted to start our holiday early, with a sunrise trip to the top of the Downs.

At the top of the windy climb, we hunkered down amidst grey skies and watched the land beneath us change colours. It didn’t seem gradual; one moment it was windy and grey, the next the fields were golden and the sky was full of birdsong, a fiery sunrise burning thorough the leafy edges of the forest behind us. I was startled and delighted by the sea change.

The other glorious advantage to an early holiday start is that it demands a gentle pace for the rest of the day. You officially have to take it easy if you’ve got up at 4am. So, we’re settling in to an easy pattern of quiet days with no plans bigger than eating, walking and napping (yes, lots of napping.) Holidays are tough.

First Thing in the Forest

All these years I’ve been living next to a beautiful old forest without ever exploring its depths. And I’ve always dismissed any hour before 6am as entirely inhumane. Yet now you’ll find me weaving between beautiful old trunks before the sun has even hit the canopy. As with most things these days, I blame the dog. Seeing him bound around the paths with the super-speedy enthusiasm of a hound released from his leash is always a cheery way to start the day.

I’ve never spent so much time paying attention to a forest waking up. Every day is different and the same. Some mornings the dew soaks my boots as we creep through a thick mist. We notice the spider webs hanging from the tips of grass blades, keeping their residents dry. At other times the pink light streams way out west to light up the Downs in the distance. We see a buzzard swoop directly over our heads, seemingly perturbed at such an early intrusion.

With the damp green smell and blossoming bird chorus I can pretend for a moment that I’ve emerged from canvas after a night in the wild, rather than having just hopped out of the car. The tall pines take me back to my Humboldt roots and I indulge in memories of backpacking adventures.

Beyond the odd buzzard, most of the wilderness stays well hidden. Good job too. Given Rolo’s predictable passion for sticks I’m all too glad that no squirrels have flashed a tail in our direction.

Early morning starts have become an unexpectedly delightful habit. These summer days are just made for it. I’m not too sure if I’ll still be tramping these trails at 6am in January, so for now I’m just enjoying the delights of the very earliest of summer starts.