Lake District language

A quick look at a map of the Lake District and one realises there is a need to undergo a quick course in understanding local key words, which are Norse place names left over from the Viking invasion.    Otherwise we are going to get lost, seriously lost.

So here goes.   Just a few words, mind you.  Just to make sure that one recognises the markers on the map.   I will start with the photographs below.

Jackson and Isabel are standing on a pile of rocks, half way up the slope.   Not any pile of rocks, but a cairn, which is a marker to show the way, upwards in this case.    Very important when the mist is down and everything looks the same.

 Dry stone walls.   We had to follow this wall down the slope.   Keep it on your right, the instructions advised.   Dry stone walls in the Lake District were built 200 to 400 years ago.  This wall goes right up to the moor (a flat, often marshy, uncultivated land) at the top of this slope.   We had climbed 350 metres by this stage with another 150 metres to get to the moorland.   Not that we went any further, mind you.  After climbing up 350 metres we had, had enough.

 Fell land, in other words hill or mountain land.   Made up of scree, rocks, moss, lichen, grasses.  Once the land was covered in forest.    That is before the stone age man cut it all down, about three or four thousand years ago.  There are fell walkers and fell runners.    Yes fell running is a very popular sport.   Not for the faint hearted I might add.   Walter and I can be classed as fell strugglers, puff, puff, puff.  

A pike is a mountain peak.   Probably the word 'peak' came from the word 'pike'.   The picture below shows a distant view of Helvellyn Pike, which is the third highest peak in England, some 950 metres high.

 A beck, which is a stream.    Easy one that you might say, except if you are told to follow a certain beck.   Mysterious?  Yes.

I love this word.  Tarn.   A small mountain lake  And there are lots of tarns up in the fen country.  This tarn is called Red Tarn, which is on the moor under Helvellyn Pike.

 Dale is a valley.   Gill is a ravine.   Any word ending in 'thwaite' means a clearing in the woods.    And so it goes on.    We could not find a glossary of terms anywhere by the way, so had to do quite a bit of research to find the meanings of the words in this blog.   I am glad I found out about gills, as I did not fancy falling into a ravine, just because I misunderstood the term.   Oh dear.

A view of Ullswater Lake, from our vantage point from the cairn, on the path to Helvellyn Pike.    A wonderful lunch venue.    In the sunshine too, then it rained, and rained, and rained.  

And so on to more adventures.

Lake District, Cumbria

Last Saturday we travelled up to the Lake District for a lovely week in the wilderness of low mountains and lakes.  I say low mountains, because the peaks are not that high, not compared to the mountains in NZ.   The area looks very similar to the Lindis Pass in Central Otago, but with stone walls and very old buildings, plus a few lakes.  However, we are to find out that the peaks of the Lake District are not benign, even though the highest peak is only 977m above sea level.   

I know, one might say, the dust had not yet settled since the last trip.    And I must say I did not even bother to unpack the suitcase this time.  But we love travelling and seeing new places, and this is the first visit to the Lake District, or Lakeland (not the shop by the way, although a large Lakeland shop is in Windermere), in the twenty years we have lived in the UK. 

Isabel told everyone, we were off to Lakeside.  For those people who are not from this part of the world, Lakeside is a large shopping complex on the other side of the water.   In fact, the amount of people and cars up in the Lake District during the Easter break, combined with the large number of shops, certainly made one think of Lakeside Shopping Centre.  There is no escaping civilisation, traffic and shops.   Not in this country anyway. 

We left at 6 a.m. in order to avoid the heavy Easter traffic.   And it was not too bad, considering, until we hit the  turn off to Windermere.  Bumper to bumper traffic on a narrow country road.   Which was better than bumper to bumper traffic on the motorway.

 Our first view of Lake Windermere.   Daffodils out in bloom.   Beautiful.    No rain either.

 Dry stone walls.   A distinct craft.   And we are to see lots of these walls, right up to the mountain peaks.   Built in the days before machines.  Hard work.  Sore backs, callused hands.

 Our house, built of local materials, i.e. rock, and it looks as if the dry stone wall method was followed when the house was built.   Very solid.   A large house by English standards.   A large loft, which can sleep many people, four bedrooms and two bathrooms on the next level, two lounge rooms, a dining room, kitchen, utility room and bathroom on the ground level and a very large basement with table tennis table at the bottom.    Our 13 members of the family were quickly dispersed throughout the house.   So much room.  And all centrally heated.   Perfect.

 Then it was off for the first walk, down to Lake Windermere.

Scott decided that he did not need an extra pair of socks.

 A long lane, and no traffic.

 I feel at home.  A piece of old rusty farm machinery.

 And the moles are here too.   An extra large mole hill.   There is plenty of room for moles and people here.

 And the lovely sheep with the black faces.   I feel a little guilty about the NZ lamb that we are to eat the next day for dinner.

 We are all in a 'get the best shot' mood.   Cameras out.   Action shots.   Not yet.  We will reserve those for when we climb up the peaks.

The view across Lake Windermere.

 Not really dressed for outdoor activities.   Except for the jacket, which does not match the dress and leggings.  I need to get into the outdoor mood.   None of this city living stuff here.

Emma and Steve enjoying a brief moment of sunshine.  As we are to find out.

And plenty of adventures awaiting us.

Room transformation

After 20 years we have finally taken down the dreadful suspended ceiling in our bedroom.   Why has it taken so long?   Well the job was just too daunting.   Obviously years ago, the owners of our maisonette put in suspended ceilings in the bedrooms, because there was no soundproofing barrier at all between our maisonette and the maisonette above us.   We have changed the other bedroom ceilings, but our ceiling was the most difficult to remove, due to the materials that were used and the size of the room.   So we left it there.  But we were determined to do something about it, when we returned from our trip.   And we have.  And the end result, after five weeks of hard work by Patrick, with some help from Donna, Scott and Walter, is fantastic.

The suspended ceiling with one panel removed.   The cavity was filled with fibre glass insulation.   Scratchy.  And it was backed with chicken wire.   Not good.

First of all the super king sized bed needed to be dismantled and the wardrobes emptied.

And treasures were found in the wardrobe.   Such as all my old riding gear.   No need for the hat, see picture below, any more. I gave up that rather dangerous hobby sixteen years ago.  I also found my little treasure trove of old ornaments that Kylie confiscated in 2001, when we last renovated our house.   She thought I had thrown them out, but I had hidden them at the back of the top shelf of the very tall wardrobe.  One of the items was an extremely heavy brass iron which I bought in Singapore in 1973.   Luckily I found it before it fell on Walter's head as he moved the wardrobe.    I have been ruthless this time, Kylie.

The next task, the removal of all the old wall paper, followed by the removal of the suspended ceiling.

Patrick and Scott hard at work behind the wardrobe.

An interlude in the work.   Mother's Day afternoon tea.   A tight squeeze in the conservatory due to all our belongings stored at the other end.

Lucy and Isabel made this delicious honey roll.   Very clever.

We now have a new insulated ceiling.   Two layers of wall board and a layer of fibre glass insulation.    And all painted white.   It looks wonderful.    A very difficult job though, and much patience was needed.

And no wall paper.   Patrick has managed to straighten the walls, so they are now painted.   Super sophisticated.   And a wooden floor.  No carpet to collect the dust anymore.

The mess at the end of the conservatory.   Where will I start.   The clothes were there for the two weeks we were in Holland, and surprise, surprise, the top layer of clothing faded, but not evenly.  I should have covered  them.   More of my clothes bite the dust, so as to speak.   At least I did not lose them.

And now we have moved back in, with the help of Lucy, who told us how to move the bed without dismantling it completely.   Well done Lucy.  

The final job will be to sort out all our pictures, before we make a decision about which ones will be put on our pristine walls in the bedroom.   We are very happy people.   Thank you Patrick.   Brilliant ideas and super work.

Moles - maybe no more

I no longer feel benign towards the mole - they are solitary animals - that has inhabited our garden.   A mole, for the information of people in Australia and NZ is a tiny little creature, about the size of a large rat.  Moles are black and furry and blind of course.   I know that if you have read 'Wind in the Willows', you probably will say 'dear little creatures'.  But they are not, I can assure you, moles are a pests.   Well that is my view anyway.

The garden, on two levels, is riddled with mole tunnels.   They are even under the house, I am sure.  The tunnels cause the lawn to sink in places so that it looks like a rippled piece of green carpet.   This combined with the bare patches of soil where the hills once stood, make it look a very moth eaten carpet.  

And the mole hills  rise up on the lawn, to be flattened, only to find them rise up again the next day.   The hill is the excess soil from the tunnels.  It has to go somewhere of course.  Buy why my lawn.  

And often I dig a hole in the garden to plant a new shrub and find that there is nothing but air under the surface soil.   

Bloody moles.

I came back from Holland to find a mole hill against the wall of the house, in between the paving and the wall.   Forgot the lovely pebble stone effect.   Now it is a soil and pebble stone raised effect.

Scott flattened this mole hill, when he mowed the lawn.

 But there is hope, I think.  Because in one mole hill there is a small hole, just big enough to get a mole out.   And around the hole the soil is flattened.   I think a fox has eaten this mole.   Honestly, it was not me.   No spade, no standing out there in the dark waiting for a little head to appear.    No it must have been a fox.   I hope he enjoyed his meal.   Full of fat worms, from my garden.

 And now I wait, for the next mole to inhabit the garden.   It won't be long, I am sure.   My garden has lovely big fat worms, and lots of ready made tunnels.   A mole haven.  

Garden - getting ready for summer

It is that time of year again.   There is a spring in my step, because it is time to open the little shed, put on the gardening gloves with the hole in the finger and get the tools out.  I also need to check the compost bin to make sure that it has plenty of lovely crumbly soil in it, rather than lots of weeds, grass clippings and vegetable peelings (and mice?).  And most importantly get the garden back into some resemblance of order.   

Luckily I gave everything a massive cutback before I went to Australia last October.  All I have to do is lightly trim the hydrangea bushes.  But all that seems a long time ago.   So much happened in between October and March.    Late Spring and Summer in countries down under, lots to see and people to visit.  And now we are well and truly into Spring here.   Wonderful.   No winter.   

Scott has been busy while I have been in Holland.  He dug out all the bamboo roots which I had poisoned last October.    A rotten job as the roots went down very deep into the soil.    They were very reluctant to come out.   And the day was extremely hot.  The remains of this fork gives an indication of a ghastly job, now completed.  Thank you Scott.   I love you.  

No bamboo now.    Fantastic.

A new concrete path beside the house, to replace the 1929 rustic path.  Put in the week before we left for Australia.  But no time to enjoy it then.   And no slipping over now, when we put the rubbish bins out.  I love it.

The gardening gloves are out.  New ones, as the hole in the old gardening gloves ruined the finger nail polish on my thumb nail.  I cannot have that.   The fork is there.   Not the one that Scott destroyed.   Luckily I had two forks.   And the plants I bought in Holland.  Now to get into it.

First I had a look under the shrub beside the patio. I think a fox has been resting here all winter.  A large hole.   No one at home in the house during winter to disturb it.  

Back to the garden.   A bit crowded I know.   But I am inspired by the gardens in Holland where everything fits in, and drastic pruning is a must.  I am in that frame of mind too.

The two new thornless blackberry bushes are behind the blackcurrant bushes.  I just hope they don't go completely mad.  The raspberry cane is behind the three gooseberry bushes.   The potatoes are in the black potato bags.   The two apple trees are in front of them.   I have put the cabbage plants in one tunnel house, and in the other tunnel house there are lots of runner bean seeds (I am inspired by the huge crops of beans in Rudolf and Conny's garden).  The tomato plants are encased in left over pieces of triple glazed roofing material from the conservatory.  Very clever thinking there but a problem if we get some wind.   And then there are rhubarb plants.   All from one piece that I broke off from Emma and Steve's garden.   Thank you Chris for planting such delicious rhubarb when you lived there.   In the corner there is the clump of silver beet, which has survived the winter. The seeds I bought in NZ in 2010.   And at the front of the garden, but too delicate to see, are the three blueberry bushes.    I am being very hopeful as they are acid lovers and I the soil is not completely acidic, even with the old horseshoe planted amongst them.

Another view of my petit little garden.   So neat and tidy do you think.   So Dutch.   I am going to throw seeds into the edges just to give the garden a flowery edge.    Beautiful.   But who will look after it when I am away?   Scott, are you listening.

The herb garden.  I planted all the parsley plants (20c each from the garden shop in Houten).  I sorted out the chives, so that I will no longer have to pick the pieces of grass from the chives I have cut for the salad.  Grass does not enhance a salad.

And finally we cleaned up the patio and put down our green outdoor carpet, which will enhance the area, I hope.   That's if it dries out from the recent rain.

And now the temperature has plummeted.   Typical.  I hope my new plants survive.

Houten - two weeks finished already.

We are now back in the UK, after a lovely two weeks in Holland.   But all good things must come to an end.    So here are a few photos to finish off the trip.

Window ornaments that are a bit different.  Maybe a bit large and over the top.  They remind me of something!   

 The beautiful flowering tree in front of Aaron and Kylie's house.   By the time we left it had started to develop leaves too.

 A peaceful image.    Very still water, and stark white houses.   A modern look.

 I loved this not so perfect house and garden.   Rustic.

 In Houten there are roundabouts for bicycles.   The traffic must be kept moving in an orderly fashion.  Most definitely.

Mia's 9th birthday afternoon tea.    A really lovely afternoon, enjoyed immensely by Mia, and by us all too.

And afterwards Walter showed us how to disco using Mia's new dance programme on the Xbox Kinect.  Definitely a star dancer.  I am not sure what his rating was though!   But Mia and Abi certainly were certainly very good at dancing.

So here we are back in the UK, and the sun is shining here too.

Machines

I love the machines in Holland.    They have a machine for every job, or so it seems, and many are very sophisticated.   And none of it lies, old and rusty, on farms or in building yards either.   Machines are taken care of, used and then recycled somehow.    I am impressed. 

There are machines for cleaning out the canals, a shredder plus cutter on a boat.   Very efficient.    All the machines needed to lay a cobbled road are impressive.   And that is not including the number of men needed for the job either.    There are machines that move furniture up the sides of very tall houses so that it can be lifted through windows.  So much easier.    

So I thought |I would include a few machines that I saw on this trip to Houten.

This machine is a crane which lifts the dormer window up to its position on the house.    Each day I could see the crane from the top floor in Aaron and Kylie's house, as it moved along the streets replacing dormer windows in state houses.   Raphy loved this machine.   

No ladders required here, but a machine that lifted the window cleaner up to the height required, and hey presto, the windows are cleaned in comfort.

 The farm machinery!    Not unusual I know.   But these big brutes had just been involved in the transferring of liquid fertiliser from a truck into the farm dispensing machine.   I think they were off to spread the manure onto the fields.    The smell told us this was probably an accurate assumption.

 The machine which unfolds so that it can spray two rows of fruit trees at a time.    No organic farming here.

This is not a local machine, I know, but a cute bicycle and carriage sitting outside a shop selling Indian ornaments.   

 Unfortunately there is no photo of the grass cutting machine as the driver was just too fast.    He cut the strip of grass in front of the house in seconds, and then he was gone.   I have seen him racing around the parks at a super fast speed.    I think he is practising to win a competition for the fastest grass cutter around, or maybe he is really a Grand Prix driver, trying to earn some extra money in between races.