Or ‘Paving our Personal Piece of Paradise’, a Life Truth and a Bat Bonanza…
We are saddened to hear on the grapevine that The National Trust are planning to close the site at Ilam to extend the carpark. While my head knows it probably makes sense my heart feels Joni Mitchell had it right:
‘Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got til its gone
They paved paradise
And put up a parking lot…’
I don’t know how much resistance there will be to the plans but I do feel the urge to find some railings to chain myself to.
We arrive in glorious sunshine and are pitched and have eaten dinner within the hour. We are neither below the crows or next to the sheep this time and for a brief beautiful moment in time we hear the sound of silence.
Unfortunately it doesn’t last long and almost as if it were planned both the birds and the beasts start up – very, very loudly.
Within minutes though the bleating and carking is drowned out by swearing as Darrell drops the red hot remoska onto the awning floor and burns a perfect remoska shaped hole.
“If you had done it it would have been carelessness”, he says as wields the scissors and the trusty gorilla tape. “Because I did it, it’s an accident”.
Ok then, so now I know…
We walk to the church and then through crowds of shorn, vocal sheep with black faces. One has escaped and is heading off down the road. Darrell directs a sheep rescue and I am instructed to round her up. “Today’s good deed”, he says smugly as he shuts the gate behind her. She trots back to her flock bleating loudly. They chorus a loud welcome.
Feeling rather deafened by the countryside we cross the fields to Dovedale and follow the darkening water to the stepping stones.
We cross to the other bank and stand as bats flit above our heads. A nearly full moon has risen above Thorpe Cloud and we cast perfect shadows.
Back in the the village the sheep bellow as they march purposefully in long lines lit only by yellow lamplight…