Tarka Trailling

 

Yesterday I kicked myself out of a cosy-duveted bed to walk in North Devon.  I think I drove on auto-pilot, fuelled by Tesco chocolate milk from the meal deal I picked up as I had a couple of small glasses of red wine the previous night and that is more than enough to make me feel fairly seedy. Enough not to want to make a packed lunch at 6.30am.  

Parked up in the train station carpark at Barnstaple, the lure of a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich called to me.  It's been a tough week.  An old friend from St Leonards died from kidney and lung failure - I found out, by text, at work. And a long term friend is slowly losing a brave battle with cancer.  Steadfast friend that I am, I find it hard - it's the August that does it - the same month as I lost another friend 6 years ago.  Memories!

Fuelled, and fortified and very slightly more awake I walked up to Fremington Quay.  North Devon is like Cornwall - full of holiday folk ; Tarka shared his trail with a huge rush of bikes - families with little kids on bright bikes, elderly folks on electric bikes, and lycra clad men who thrashed past at speed.  

And the occasional walker. I passed one flagging couple as I walked back and we had a little banter about tea and cake - his knee looked dodgy but I hope he made it as the cake is very nice.

It set me up for an epic battle with the weeds, grasses, and most of all the brambles of Kathy/Peter/Morag's overgrown "secret garden"  A very warm battle, indeed but so mind altering in a good way.  Hard work digging out a border with good company and a very huggable labrador who likes to share her beautiful blonde fur with me.  All over my navy shorts!

It's the time of year that nature goes spectacularly to seed.  Weeds and wilds.  People are like grass - they don't last.  Not forever.  Not on this earth anyway.  Not for now.  But in nature I know nothing goes to waste.