The W of the Whimper

This is the way that the blog ends, this is the way that the blog ends,…..*

Well, not quite. We’re still here and we’ve seen off November and emerged victorious once again. Of late it’s mostly dark, or I’m stuck indoors busy. But the boys and I did escape and spend a couple of hours not quite getting to the Pepper Pot (again). We discovered heaps of leaves with a frozen crust…

Somebody’s den deep in the woods…

And lots of fungi on and around the pair of fallen beeches which we often visit…

* Not with the B of the Bang, but with the W of the Whimper.

The W of the Whimper

Out of the Mouths of Babes….

Rose hips

During a very busy weekend, in the midst of the wettest of wet Novembers here in the North-Wet of England, a brief window of opportunity for a walk opened during a glorious bright afternoon. The boys were in their beds napping, TBH was concocting a couple of delicious curries for that evening’s guests, but A was free…

‘Stick your wellies on girl, we’re off for a walk.’

‘Isn’t it nice that it’s just you and me Dad?’

Which prompted A’s recollections of all of the other times we have walked together. Which was the first chapter of a never ending (almost) monologue on A’s part. Walking with A is very different from being out with either of the boys.

When I pointed out to A the way that the sunshine was illuminating remaining leaves in the hedgerow she said: ‘I think that you would like to be a forest teacher Dad’.

I should explain – the younger pupils at the village primary school, including A and B, spend Wednesday’s in the grounds of a neighbouring school learning in the outdoors. This recent development is one that A relishes, and which she calls ‘forest school’. And she’s right about me: how nice it would be to teach in the open air instead of in a classroom……

Down at the cove the tide was out and the light from the low sun was so bright on the mud and channels that A and I had to avert our eyes. After climbing into the cave and investigating the stream, A took to filling her pockets with stones ( there were some stones in her coat pockets already – presumably from her last visit) carefully selecting specimens to represent each of the different colours and textures she could find.

Out of the Mouths of Babes….