Author: Catherine Anderson

Author: Mrs A

Location: West Bagborough, Somerset, UK

Every time we leave the house, the environment looks another shade greener, buds bursting open and brightening the scene. A short walk around the lower hills near West Bagborough took us alongside fields and past inquisitive alpacas that never fail to make you smile with their wooly heads and questioning mouths!

Apple blossom hints at future crops while freshly ploughed fields are seeded and covered in plastic to speed up growth. Spring has continued to be warm and sunny, more akin to September in Australia than the April showers we expect in the UK. We are not complaining though, as we enter our fourth dry weather week in Somerset.

Easter Sunday was a relaxed affair, knowing we had a safe haven to move to, a month’s rent paid up in advance.

We decided to take a ramble back into the Quantock Hills. The beech trees up there have suddenly burst into life, the fresh bright green leaves catching your eye against the dark, mossy trunks. Walking through woodland, squirrels constantly scurry through the crispy leaves, bounding swiftly up tree trunks and leaping away through the canopy. Nervous and skittery, not tame and curious like the squirrels in the parks of my childhood, so no pictures captured.

Easter morning was warm and hazy, and as we climbed up to the highest point in the Quantock Hills, Wills Neck, we could see bands of thick fog down at the coast, stretching out beneath us. We continued our walk over into the National Trust area.

We continued through the heathland, hints of heather which will be bursting into shades of mauve and purple before long. As I rounded a hill I spotted a bird on the floor, clearly assuming she was well disguised against the dry grasses – a Skylark – they have the most beautiful voices and a crest of feathers on top of their heads that sticks up as they sing.

We climbed up the next high point, Great Hill. There we found a curious loose stone pavement, enjoying panoramic sweeping views. We later learned this is a Bronze Age hilltop burial cairn, one of several in this history-rich area.

We climbed down into sleepy Triscombe Village on our return route, discovering another pub with a lovely garden we hope to enjoy a beverage in during peacetime.

A robin followed us along our path on our return route, posing in a holly tree as though it were Christmas morning rather than Easter! Very cute though.

Easter Monday was house moving day – we packed up all our bits and pieces, loaded up Truffy, spent a few hours washing sheets, towels, cleaning, dusting , vacuuming and washing floors before driving about 200 metres down the hill, through a gate and into our new home!

Unpacking was interesting, given we had more food and supplies than space, but a bit of reorganising and we were in. A defrosted pre-made dinner (these days as exciting as getting takeaway!) and a glass of wine and we were settled. Honeysuckle Cottage is our new safe base for a while.

Waking up on Tuesday morning, we did a pilates session in the garden (thank goodness we bought yoga mats!) with an amazing view across the countryside. The flock of sheep being herded past us mid-plank was a bit off putting (on the other side of the fence), but gave us a good laugh. What a world away from the sterile environment of the gym!

After lunch we pulled on the hiking shoes again and took off up the hill towards a bluebell wood one of the village neighbours had told us about. The delicate blue flowers were indeed already starting to pop up amongst the greenery, giving us a lovely display.

Emerging out through the woods we strolled down a lane, finding a bridle way signposted through another woodland. We had no idea where it went, but followed it anyway, comfortable in the knowledge we can find our way back home somehow, and the more remote we are, the fewer people we will come across.

We found ourselves emerging at Three Horseshoes Hill (apparently popular with the ultra fit road bikers), and looped back around using our handy Maps.me app which shows where all the walking tracks are.

The app is not always right, and we did end up walking across a field that had recently been spread with muck (cow poo and straw!), but thankfully it was not too far. More civilised footpaths were signposted from hereon and all going uphill. As we began our ascent we heard a deafening roar. A twin rotor Royal Air Force helicopter was flying very low and right past us. We gave them a wave given they were our first humans of the day. We couldn’t tell whether they waved back.

The climb back up rewarded us with fabulous views of the patchwork of fields around us, the clear blue skies setting off the greens beautifully.

We chatted to our neighbour who tells us that the sky is never normally this clear and blue. The lack of air pollution from planes and other transport is making all the difference. We have to accept feeling a little privileged to be seeing it like this at this strange time.

As we crossed our final field, heading down towards home, we smiled to hear the sound of a cuckoo echoing in the nearby wood, and seeing a spotted woodpecker hammering at a rotten branch in a tree up above us.

I know this is a time of sadness, particularly with so much virus related death happening here, but it seems to be also a time to force us to slow down and appreciate nature and all the life that is present as well.

Author: Mrs A

Location: West Bagborough, Somerset, UK

It has already been two weeks for us in Somerset – it is incredible how time flies! And still the skies are blue and we have not had a single wet day. Is this what happens when mother nature rewards us for reducing our impact on the planet I wonder?

We are minimising our time with other people, most days able to count the other humans we see on one hand, and always maintaining our distance. It’s the rare shopping trips that are most risky, and with constant new advice on how the virus spreads, most challenging to steer clear from.

Thankfully we love pulling on our hiking shoes and exploring, and have done some cracking walks the past few days. Please forgive me if you’re getting tired of seeing the same old scenery on every post – I do try to bring in some variety, and love capturing the new signs of spring as we spot them.

A walk over the weekend took us down a ‘new to us’ (probably hundreds of years old) pathway which wound its way behind the village houses and across the gentler slopes and fields.

We just love seeing the blossom bursting open, birds performing their mating rituals, pairing up and building nests, the increasing buzz of insects along the hedgerows.

Farmers are ploughing and sowing seed in their fields, the soil rich and nutritious, always happy to give a smile and wave as we walk past.

Another walk took us to the historic Cothelstone Manor and the Church of St Thomas of Canterbury. The church dates back to the 12th century. Cothelstone manor was originally given to the Starwell family by William the Conqueror, some time after the Battle of Hastings. It is funny how so much history relates back to King William, no matter where we go.

I’m pleased to say (touch wood!) my airway has remained open since the last set of steroid injections in February, and breathing has been excellent. In fact I am breathing the best right now that I have in nearly six years. The injections are a relatively new and experimental technique for my airway disease, with a bit of a hit and miss approach depending on steroid type, quantity used and technique to apply them. It seems on this occasion the formulae has been a success with my trachea, and all evidence of scarring has all but disappeared.

We’ve been here before though (after a big surgery in 2014 opened my airway ‘permanently’ but turned out to be just temporary), so are not taking this good breathing for granted. I intend to relish every easy breath I take. So we decided to tackle a very steep pathway up into the Quantock Hills.

Suddenly being able to breathe properly has its benefits, as I have effectively been altitude training for 18 years! I literally bounded up the hill, hardly out of breath. Mr A on the other hand made it up, but it was a bit of a tougher slog for him. The hike was worth it, with magnificent views across to the coast, buzzards soaring beneath us.

Up on the hills the bird life is prolific. Not only are pheasants constantly squawking, but walks are accompanied by the sweet song of skylarks and chirruping of the smaller nuthatches, warblers, tits, finches and thrushes. All very shy birds and hard to capture on the camera.

We climbed up to Wills Neck, the highest point in the hills. We will always remember the first time we saw this lookout with a gorgeous shetland pony stood there like a mysterious sculpture, allowing me to talk gently and stroke her nose. We have never seen one up at that point since, and the ponies have never again been tame enough to stroke.

The strange name ‘Wills Neck’ comes from an old Saxon word meaning ‘foreigner’ or ‘stranger’. It seems appropriate that we keep finding our way back there.

The temperatures are starting to increase now too, with daytimes heading up into the early teens. Gone are the thick winter coats and wooly hats, we can now head out in lighter gear.

Our latest walk had us exploring an area called ‘The Great Wood’. It‘s about 6.5 square kilometres of woodland, home to many birds, a variety of trees including Douglas Fir redwoods, and apparently red deer (hiding from us!).

Yet another great 11km walk with a total of six people seen at a distance in three hours. Perfect isolation.

It was Sunday night that we learned about the passing of an old friend the previous afternoon from Covid-19. The news really shook our world. This was someone with whom I used to climb trees, race bikes down the road, spent my first years growing up with. Just 45 years old, fit and healthy with a wife and two children, he just didn’t ‘fit’ the demographic for a fatal end to this disease. Suddenly the virus is getting really personal.

The shock and disbelief has led to tears, and a stronger determination to try and get through this period without contracting the virus, and concentrating on keeping ourselves as healthy as possible.

On Monday night we heard that the British Prime Minister has been taken into intensive care for his worsening symptoms. A healthy (if overworked and tired) 55 years of age, he too doesn’t fit the pre-described ’vulnerable’ category, and reminds a nation that none of us is truly safe. This is a virus that does not discriminate. While someone in their 70s might have mild symptoms, someone younger may not fare so well.

We implore all our readers, friends, and family to stay safe – keep away from other people, and together we can get through this. Look after one another. Virtual hugs from us.