Every autumn/fall for the last few years I have gone acorn collecting on a local estate and successfully grown numerous small oak trees. (No idea what I will eventually do with them all)
This year, a week or so later than planned, I headed off on my annual acorn forage. As I reached the first oak tree along the path, there was no sign od any acorns. Maybe I was too late but there weren’t any signs of their “wee hats” lying the grass…strange…
Knowing that there were other oak trees along the way, I kept walking. I passed two fields of sheep and was level with a field with a horse in it, when I spotted five young sheep at the side of the path up ahead of me. I really didn’t think too much about this. It’s a gated estate so they weren’t in any immediate danger. I was more concerned about getting past them without scaring them.
As I approached slowly, they looked round then set off along the path at a trot in front of me. Were they joining my acorn hunt? They kept going, leading the way, as I sedately walked behind them pondering on how I was going to overtake them.
Eventually the path forked and my five fleecy friends trotted off down the right-hand fork towards other fields with sheep in them.
Stupidly, I assumed that they knew where they were going.
I continued on my up the hill.
There were no acorns to be seen. (A bit of Googling later on revealed that this is a lean year for acorns. Last year was a “mast” year for acorns that produced a bumper crop meaning that the trees need time to recover their energy reserves and haven’t produced any acorns this year…. Who knew?)
What I did find instead was conkers (horse chestnuts). Lots of them! Would they germinate and grow into mini horse chestnut trees? There was only one way to find out. I gathered some up in a bag then began to retrace my steps back up the hill.
As I was approaching the top, I wondered if my five fleecy friends had returned to their flock. A few yards further on, I discovered that they hadn’t. There they were in front of me again.
I slowed my pace and pondered on how to get past them this time without spooking them.
Again, they took one look and began trotting along in front of me.
I really hadn’t added “shepherdessing” to my To Do list for the day!
Were they now going to accompany me all the way back to the gate at the entrance to the estate?
No! All five of them trotted along quite happily until the path forked then they headed off down the same path I’d watched them walk down a few minutes before!
I made good my escape before they decided to follow me.
As a fan of Clarkson’s Farm, I now have to wholeheartedly agree with Kaleb Cooper – sheep are stupid! LOL
P.S. I have now planted my conkers so time will tell whether they sprout or not. I’ll need to wait patiently for spring to determine the success of this experiment.
As Autumn/Fall settles in around us, summer feels like a rapidly fading memory.
Yes, I know that the sun rises every morning but there is something healing on a soul level to be found from wandering along the beach on a warm summer morning watching the sunrise.
When did you last watch the sun rise up over the horizon? Stop and think about that for a moment.
Have you even taken the time to pause and watch sunrise?
I’ll confess it’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to fully appreciate sunrise. I’ve caught glimpses of it through the open bathroom window but that’s been it for quite a while. Something that I need to address in 2027.
Those who follow this blog regularly or who know me personally will already know of my love for a particular beach at sunrose so I apologise if I am repeating myself here.
A very long time ago, as a ten-year old girl, I fell in love with one special beach town. To this day, I have no idea why this particular place stole a piece of my heart but it did.
When it came to choosing a location for the setting of my first “book baby” Stronger Within, it was this town that I chose.
Throughout the Big Green Gummi Bear’s illness, I watched the sunrise at the beach via a local webcam and through social medial posts from local photographers. Those photographers don’t know it but they saved my sanity and gave me something to hope for. For their early morning ventures onto the sand, I will be eternally grateful.
My first holiday/vacation alone was spent in this small town. I’d made a promise to myself that after years of watching the sunrise online that when I could, I would sit on the beach and watch the sunrise for myself and I did…. several times.
There is something magical about wandering down onto the beach when the new day is just a glow on the horizon. The world around you feels clean and new. Walking across the expanse of soft sand towards the ocean, the sand is cool underfoot; a stark contrast to how it will feel later in the day when it feels hotter than the surface of the sun!
Walking along the beach barefoot on the hard packed damp sand with the occasional wave washing in over my feet, watching the sanderlings going about their day, keeping an eye out towards the ocean for dolphins and pausing every now and then to monitor the sun’s journey over the horizon is my ideal way to start the day.
It’s just a pity that that town with its beautiful beach sunrises is three-thousand miles away from where I live.
If I lived closer, I’d walk it every day.
Don’t get me wrong, you get gorgeous sunrises in Scotland too. (Just before any local friends moan at me) Many times in the past I’ve diverted off my route on the commute to work to capture a stunning sunrise shot. Pretty as they are, local sunrises just don’t have that bit of magic that makes my beach sunrises so special to me.
Last summer, as you’ll have seen from my California blog series (if you missed it scroll through my blog) I spent my summer break elsewhere. Watching the sunset at the skate park in Venice Beach was special. Those sunsets surrounded by skateboarders and palm tress were wonderful but I’ve a confession…. I missed my beach sunrise walks.
In an ideal world, I’d love a beach town that had those amazing skate park sunsets and mu magical beach walk sunrises but that’s not possible in the real world. (Yes, my beach town has nice sunsets before any of the locals from there complain but those sunsets don’t have skate park and palm tree magic…although yours do have bandstand magic.)
Now as dark mornings and dark evenings loom large on the horizon for the next few months, I’m already dreaming of summer 2027 and, if the planets align, dreaming of more sunrises spent walking on Rehoboth Beach.
I walked into the apothecary, smiling as I breathed in the familiar aroma of incense. Instantly I felt as if I’d come home. The atmosphere in the small shop was always so welcoming, almost as if the shop itself was giving me a hug, a much-needed hug.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and listened.
My gut instinct told me I needed something for my writing desk. Now all I needed to do was listen and wait for the shop to reveal what it was.
Behind the counter, my friend Rosie was finishing with a customer. She smiled as I waved over. Slowly I meandered round the display cabinets, pausing to listen if I thought I heard a voice but nothing spoke to me. The crystals were silent.
I scanned the shelves of oracle and tarot cards. I am a bit of a magpie for decks of cards so it didn’t surprise me when I realised that I already had most of them on my shelf at home. Oops. The Rose Oracle deck caught my eye. It really was a pretty deck but I knew it was already in my collection and that I’d gifted it to most of my friends for either birthdays or Christmas.
I moved on.
Rosie had a table display of journals, incense burners, and candles but nothing there spoke to me which was unusual.
“Hi,” called over Rosie interrupting my search as her other customer left the shop. “I was hoping you’d pop in. I have something I was wanting to show you before I put it on the shelf.”
“Oh, what have you found to tempt me?”
“This,” revealed Rosie producing a large piece of rose quarts from under the counter. “Isn’t she pretty?”
She handed me the hefty piece. It fitted perfectly into the palm of my hand. Its polished face was icy cold initially against my warm skin. I ran my fingers over the uncut front face noting the lustre to it.
The voice in my head sighed and whispered “I knew you’d find me. Take me home where I belong.”
I smiled, “That’s exactly what I was looking for. I knew I needed something for the top of my writing desk. This is it. She’s spoken.”
“I knew it would speak to you,” laughed Rosie. “I knew it as soon as I saw it. She spoke to me too.”
And so, The Wheel turns as summer ends for another year and autumn arrives. This shift is signalled by the Pagan festival, Mabon that marks the Autumn Equinox. There’s no evidence that the Celts celebrated this time of year but there are records of the Neolithic and Bronze Age settlements marking it. The Mayans also recognised it but the name Mabon itself is more modern. As with Ostara in the spring, this is the time when day and night are equal again.
Mabon, according to Wiccan tradition, marks the second harvest and a time when the Goddess begins her annual transition from Mother to Crone in preparation for guiding the world into the darkest part of the year. It’s a time of balance, a time to give thanks for what has come to fruition (harvest); it’s a time to begin preparing for what must be let go (trees shedding their leaves.)
Personally, I find this transition from the light and warmth of summer into the darker part of the year a difficult time. I love summer! I love the light mornings and light nights and the sun’s warmth! But I recognise that the seasons need to change and that The Wheel of the Year must turn. Summer will be back next year.
Autumn is a time of reflection, a time to spend time outdoors in nature. Let’s be honest, despite my love of summer, who doesn’t enjoy an autumnal walk when the sun is shining and the leaves are beautiful shades of red, orange, brown and copper.
It’s a time of year when even our food choices have an extra cosy warmth to them. While I’ll never be a pumpkin spice fan, I do love cinnamon and apples and sweetcorn – all things associated either with Autumn of the harvest season.
As the nights grow darker earlier, there is a certain cosiness to be found from closing the curtains, lighting a candle or two and perhaps writing a reflective journal…or to plan next summer’s holiday!
Recently I took part in Beth Kempton’s online Summer Writing Sanctuary. During one of the classes along the theme of the colour blue, Beth introduced her virtual students to a tool that measures the intensity of blue in the sky. A cyanometer is a circular instrument invented in 1789 by Horace-Benedict de Saussure, a Swiss physicist. There are 53 different shades of blue on a traditional cyanometer and the device helped early meteorologists to determine that the moisture levels in the atmosphere impacted the colour of the sky.
The writing lesson for the day included writing a poem based on the theory of the segments of the cyanometer. Cyanometric poetry?…. not really sure what you would call it but here’s my study in blue. (start reading in a clockwise direction from the small arrow back to the cell with the arrow)
Blue Eyes
And for those who can’t read my handwriting…..
Baby blue eyes
Watching clear blue skies
Endless blue horizon
Ocean waves crash ashore
Blue umbrellas fill the beach
Blue deckchairs too.
Summer scents of sunscreen on the air
My blue Coppertone spray just visible in my bag
A little girl in a blue spotted bikini
And a little boy in blue shorts
Play in the waves
Their blue bucket and spade forgotten in the sand,
This year America celebrated its 250th birthday on 4th July. That also coincided with my last full day in California. I expected to see flags everywhere in the run up to the 4th but no… like everything else California seems to take a more chilled approach to the semi-quin-centennial celebrations than I was accustomed to seeing on the east coast.
As it was my last full day on the west coast, I was determined to make the most of it.
By 10am I was on the beach for my last chance to sunbathe and play in the Pacific Ocean. For the past couple of years, I have spent the 4th of July on the beach at Rehoboth Beach De where space was at a premium from sunrise. A total contrast to Venice Beach. I wandered leisurely across the sand and got a front row spot without any issues. Even by the time I was packing up to leave several hours later there was still ocean front space left for anyone who wanted it. Bizarre!
The boardwalk was already busy as I crossed it on the way back to my hotel to get freshened up.
My master plan was to shower, relax in the shade for an hour then walk to Santa Monica Pier for a late lunch/early dinner.
It was a beautiful walk north to Santa Monica. The Strand was busy with couples and families out walking and the cycle path was crowded with folk cycling, folk on electric bikes and scooters, folk on roller blades and skateboards. If it had wheels, there was someone on it!
What struck me though was the lack of patriotic dress. Where were all the stars and stripes shirts and shorts? Don’t get me wrong, there were a few but nowhere near as many as I had anticipated.
The parks along the way were busy with people out enjoying a picnic; the parking lots were busy with people sitting beside and on their cars and trucks watching the world go by.
As expected Santa Monica Pier was crowded. Was this really my final trip out there? I was more than a little sad about that.
Food was my first priority. On previous visits, I hadn’t gone to Pier Burger. I’ve no idea why I hadn’t to be fair. I just hadn’t. Much to my surprise there was only a short queue outside it and within a few quick minutes I was enjoying (really enjoying!) a Pier Burger and a Sprite back out in the sunshine.
Appetite quashed I headed through the crowds to the end of the pier. It wasn’t as busy out there as I’d suspected it might be. I resisted the lure of the souvenir shop that boasted that it was the last shop for 2448 miles. I can’t say the same for a couple of the others, including the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co on the way back…. oops!
I couldn’t help but wonder as I crossed the well-worn boards for the final time “Would I be back one day?”
On the walk back to Venice Beach there were noticeably more 4th July shirts on display than earlier in the day but still a distinct lack of flags flying.
I passed what looked like the same two guys as on a previous afternoon sitting on the wall playing chess.
Watching some of the homeless population raiding the trash cans for recyclables to sell or for food to eat tugged at my heart and not for the first time…
It was now after 5pm and there was every fashion style imaginable on display – folk out for the evening in their designer clothes, teenagers in swimsuits, joggers sweating it out as they pounded through their run but with most dressed like me in t-shirt and shorts.
There was already a party vibe about Venice Beach as I arrived back at the boardwalk with huge queues lined up outside the first two bar/restaurants.
I returned to my hotel room for a couple of hours to finish packing before venturing back out at sunset in time for the 4th of July fireworks display.
The sun had already begun to set when I set off again for my final trip to the Venice Beach skatepark. I’d walked along there at sunset every night of my stay trying to capture that elusive skateboard jump shot at sunset.
Halfway to the skatepark, there’s a glass fronted building where the units on the ground floor display unusual art exhibits. Above this is a first-floor terrace and presumably apartments. (One room has a life-sized giraffe in it) As I approached I could hear that their party had already started. There was a DJ playing, the terrace was crowded and there was also a circle of dancers on the boardwalk. This was definitely where the 4th of July party was at! With no other option, I danced my way through the crowd.
Some clouds had rolled in so it was a rather muted but still stunning sunset. I stood watching the skateboards for longer than usual, knowing that this was my last opportunity to watch them. I’d come to recognise a few faces and enjoyed watching them hurtling round at breakneck speeds. The tall, elegant girl with the roller boots was there too. Someone had moved and oil drum/trash can to the edge of one of the sections and several folk were attempting to jump over it, some with more success than others.
It was getting chilly standing there so I decided to go for a last wander through the shops to get in out of the breeze for a bit. I was tempted to buy a second Venice Beach hoodie to keep warm but decided against it. (My suitcase was a tad full and a tad heavy.)
As darkness fell, sporadic fireworks started to go off up and down the coastline and closer to the boardwalk. The official fireworks display was being set off from a barge down at Marina del Ray, south of Venice Beach but I didn’t feel inclined to walk so far knowing that I would need to walk back in the dark. (When the sun goes down, more of the local homeless population appear on the boardwalk to sleep under the trees or in the public restrooms.) I decided to err on the side of caution and view the fireworks from the grassy knoll south of the skatepark. There were already a few of the homeless camped there for the night but I could see that there were folk gathering on the beach in front so I headed there instead.
A few moments before the official display began, someone let off a huge firework to my left. It whizzed over my head before lighting up the sky in a shower of green. I got the fright of my life! That had been a bit close for comfort! Others were being set off around me and I’ll be honest; I was a bit spooked.
I watched the first ten minutes of the official display then decided “if you’ve seen one firework, you’ve seen them all” and set off for home.
The boardwalk after dark certainly attracted an entirely different crowd! The DJ dance party was still in full swing as I danced back through it. All around me, fireworks were lighting up the night sky.
As 4th July celebrations go, this had been one to remember… especially as the fireworks continued to go off until the wee small hours of 5th July. Well, I guess the country is only 250 once.
One key location that’s synonymous with Southern California is the world-famous Santa Monica Pier. I was excited to tread its boards!
The walk from my hotel at the northern end of Venice Beach, along “The Strand” towards Santa Monica was exactly what I had anticipated Southern California to be like – palm trees, endless beach, beach volleyball courts, joggers, cyclists, skateboarders, VW Camper vans in the parking lots loaded with surf boards, cool cars. I quickly fell in love with that two-mile walk to Santa Monica Pier!
Santa Monica Pier holds a unique place in American history and has appeared in countless tv shows and Hollywood movies, most notably as the finish line for Forrest Gump. It also marks the end of Route 66 that connects Chicago to Southern California. (More on that shortly)
The pier first opened in 1909 and unlike many pleasure piers, its original purpose was more practical than recreational. Santa Monica Pier was originally built to carry sewer pipes out into deep water and away from the beach. In 1916, the pier’s original design was modified and the Looff Pleasure Pier was incorporated into it. These combined structures make up what we now know as Santa Monica Pier.
The first time I approached the pier I was filled with child-like excitement. I was finally visiting Santa Monica Pier!
Having climbed up the wide steps leading up from the plaza at the lower east end, I was greeted with a more familiar “boardwalk” feeling than I had experience in Venice Beach.
One of the first buildings I came to houses the pier’s historic carousel. It appeared to be closed and I never saw anyone riding the beautifully painted carousel on any of my visits. Not far beyond it is the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. restaurant and gift shop famous for its Forrest Gump theme. (I resisted the lure of that particular gift shop until my very last visit)
Stretching ahead of me was a beautifully chaotic boardwalk scene- amusement arcade, street entertainers, various gift and souvenir shops and stalls, Pacific Park amusement park and the pier’s famous Ferris wheel, the Pacific Wheel.
At the very end of the pier there’s a lower-level fishing pier that felt like an oasis of tranquillity after the buzz of the main pier. I stood at the railings gazing out across the Pacific Ocean. Next stop from there is Hawaii, some 2448 miles to the west if the sign outside the most westerly gift shop on the pier is accurate.
Pigeons rather than seagulls are the feathered pests of the pier. They’re everywhere! I fell into the habit of walking out to Santa Monica Pier for a late lunch/early dinner most days (I became rather partial to Smashie burgers) and when I sat down to enjoy my meal there would be pigeons nearby grudging me every bite.
Every visit to the pier, a bit like the Venice Beach Boardwalk, was different. On one visit there was a music festival in progress. On another, there was a tightrope walker walking from the western end of the pier across to the Pacific Park corner. I frequented the various gift shops, debating what souvenirs and gifts to take home and ended up purchasing keyrings, pens, fridge magnets, tees, and a tote bag. I’ll be honest, I had gathered quite a collection by the time I came to pack my suitcase at the end of my trip…oops!
Near the start of the pier is the famous Route 66 End of the Trail sign. (There’s another older Route 66 sign round near the entrance to Pacific Park.) The mother road, Route 66, is celebrating its centenary this year. Is the signpost the actual end of Route 66? No, but it is the symbolic end. The actual end is in Santa Monica itself.
As the end of my California adventure approached, there was still one thing that I hadn’t done at the pier. I hadn’t ridden the Pacific Wheel!
On my penultimate trip out to Santa Monica Pier, I decided that that was the day to ride the famous Ferris wheel. (It was 2nd July and I figures that it would be quieter than on 4th July when I planned to pay a final visit.) I stood in line at the ticker desk to buy my ticket ($15 to ride it!) only to be told that there were no single riders allowed on the Pacific Wheel. The girl behind the desk said that the only way I could get to ride as a single rider was to speak to the ride operator to see if he would let me share a gondola with some other riders. I’ll admit, initially, I was gutted by this but I’ll confess to also being a bit “hangry” at the time. Sulking, I went to get something to eat and sat gazing up at the giant wheel as I ate my burger (Yes it was another Smashie burger) I hadn’t come all this way to be thwarted at the last hurdle!
When I was finished my meal, I went back into Pacific Park and spoke nicely to the ride operator, explaining my dilemma. He understood and went to speak to the young couple at the head of the queue of ticket holders who were waiting to climb aboard. Luck was on my side! The first couple he spoke to agreed to share their gondola with me! (They were a lovely couple form Kentucky who had been touring California for a week. It was their last day before flying home.) The views from the Pacific Wheel were fabulous! I felt as if I realty was on top of the world as I gazed out along the California coastline to the vastness of the Pacific Ocean beyond.
On my final trip to Santa Monica Pier (more on that in the final blog in this series) I finally succumbed to the lure of the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co gift shop and bought myself a tee that says “Life is like a box of chocolates” on the front.
Santa Monica Pier had certainly been a box of delights!
My hotel while I was staying in Venice Beach was just off the north end of the famous Venice Beach Boardwalk.
Officially it’s called Ocean Front Walk but to the world it is Venice Beach Boardwalk. Unlike other boardwalks that I have experienced on the east coast, this one is a concrete walkway that runs north from Marina del Ray to Santa Monica. (There’s also a parallel beach bike path running alongside it.)
The Venice Beach Boardwalk is the second largest tourist attraction in Southern California, attracting around ten million visitors a year. (Disneyland is the biggest- just in case you were wondering.)
There are several key attractions that make the boardwalk so famous. Windward Avenue with its iconic Venice sign strung across the street is the main centre of activity. Just to north of it is the open-air gym, Muscle Beach (although the original Muscle Beach is actually in Santa Monica.) Slightly further north and jutting out into the beach there’s Venice Beach Skatepark. All along its two-mile length there are street vendors, entertainers, fortune tellers, musicians plus bars/restaurants and the best people watching opportunities in the world!
Every walk along the boardwalk was different!
I tended to meander along it late afternoon or early evening, ensuring that I was at the skatepark in time for sunset. (Yes, I was chasing that elusive shot of a skateboarder in mid-air at sunset.)
The first evening I wandered along, still pretty jet lagged, there were two female street entertainers on stilts dressed as giraffes dancing. They were mesmerising to watch!
Along near the Sidewalk Café there was a musician sitting on the wall playing an acoustic guitar then later in the day (they may have done it throughout the day but I only saw them in the evenings) he would swap his spot with another musician who played the piano. The piano sat there wrapped in a tarp when not in use.
The vendors who stretched the length of the boardwalk were selling everything and anything from hand painted skateboard decks, signs, paintings, jewellery, crystals, dreamcatchers, beaded hummingbird ornaments, clothes…you name it, it was most likely for sale.
Jack Sparrow, sometimes accompanied by Bootstrap Bill (at least I think that’s who the guy was meant to be) was usually to be found beside a boom box playing the Pirates of the Caribbean music looking to earn a few bucks by posing for photos with tourists. I resisted temptation although he did comment one night in my direction “Yes! I made her smile!” Well, what girl could resist the charms of Captain Jack Sparrow! LOL
There were fortune tellers aplenty offering tarot or psychic readings.
I also saw one of the legends of Venice Beach Boardwalk- Diablo (real name apparently Amir Edward) suntanned and oiled in his leather speedos with horns glued to his forehead. I’m sure he’s a lovely guy but I opted to give him a wide berth. I was also a bit scared to sneak a photo of him. He was so intense looking!
There was also another local that I saw a few times who was entirely yellow/orange – hair, skin, clothes, shoes, the lot. Colourful but why?….
Along nearer Muscle Beach, the boardwalk was busier and a bit edgier feeling. Numerous “wannabe” reggae stars hung about there, offering their CDs to passersby. Usually a polite “No, thanks” was enough to ensure safe passage past them but on once occasion “No thanks,” wasn’t cutting it and it cost me $30 for two CDs which the two guys signed, before I was able to continue on my way. That rattled my confidence somewhat. After that encounter, I tended not to stray so far south, making the skatepark by unofficial boundary line.
From one end of the boardwalk to the other, you’ll always hear music whether its street performers or boomboxes on bikes, there’s no shortage of music in the air.
Perhaps it was because I was a woman on her own, but I felt that I needed to keep my wits about me at all times. There’s an edge to all that artistic eccentricity.
My favourite way to end each day was to hang out at the skatepark as the sun began to sink lower in the sky. There was always a crowd gathered round the fence watching the action.
The public skatepark first opened in 2009 and features steps, rails and two bowls, one of which looks like an empty swimming pool. It attracts skateboarders of all ages and abilities.
After a few nights spectating, I began to recognise the regulars- the shirtless blonde guy with the red baseball cap, the couple who skated round following each other at high speed, the young blonde girl who flowed round the bowl like water. As I watched I got a sense of the skatepark’s dynamics. There were a handful of younger teenagers who clearly idolised the older skateboarders. When one accidentally got in one guy’s way wrecking his run, it was almost heartwarming to see the older boy playfully chasing the youngster round trying to crack his twisted-up t-shirt off his butt like a whip. Everyone knew their place and respected the pecking order through some unwritten code.
Then there was the tall willowy girl in roller boots. Almost everyone stopped to watch her. So graceful. So fluid and boy, could she jump!
Each night as the sun sank below the horizon, I turned to head back to my hotel thinking “Maybe tomorrow night I’ll capture that elusive jump shot.”
