(Just like Ronnie Corbett!)
I did manage to get out into the countryside again for a walk. My intention was to climb, but this was frustrated by several aspects of the experience. My chosen destination was a crag just outside Skipton, called Crookrise. It was chosen because I know that there are several very amenable routes there suitable for my lack of fitness, and there is a good walk up to the crag.
In the event I didn’t actually climb, but settled for the walk. It looked as if nobody had been there since the autumn, because paths were to heavily overgrown. Normally it would be a popular destination for climbers, but it was actually difficult to find a way down to the place I wanted. A wet winter and the virus have both left their mark. It wasn’t possible to escape the realisation that nature was asserting control. The corpses of birds killed by sparrow-hawks seemed like a warning that I didn’t really belong there. Then I pushed aside the branch of a pine tree in order to get by, only to find myself catapulted into the wall, cutting my elbow. Giving up the unequal struggle, I settled for a good scramble and a walk along the ridge. Nature was clearly asserting that it is in charge, and humans are only permitted there on its terms. I know my place!
Yesterday I was in the garden, checking on the progress of the things we have planted this year. I remarked to my wife that the beans seem to be coming along well, and she quoted to me W.B. Yeats’ poem about the Lake Isle of Innisfree, and his “nine bean rows, and a hive for the bee.” I have just nine bean plants, and the bees belong to our neighbours. I know my place!