The last walk of 2011 takes place on one of the loveliest days of the winter so far, in fresh bright weather.
If I ever wanted to do something requiring good weather, I would choose an Erpingham and Calthorpe WI walk day, because the weather is almost always lovely, and here we are again.
The Christmas walk has produced an excellent attendance ( has rumour gone around about Megs mince pies?) and as on previous occasions we have an honorary male non-member along on the walk. We are promised best behaviour.
Although it looks like a glorious day it is cold, and warm gloves and hats are in evidence. It had rained hours ago and a local walk on good ground through the village, is in prospect. One of the nicest things about walking familiar territory is the joy of witnessing seasonal change, and seeing the familiar with other people who have another point of view on the landscape. The clear bright light and the just washed feel of the recently rained on countryside make this a fresh and lively walk, and we step out.
Led by Meg we set off towards Calthorpe and pass the lovely old church. I had never noticed before that the post box was at one time built into an old wall. The wall has all but vanished, leaving the post box standing in the only section surviving. It makes you want to write letters!
Views across the fields are glorious.You can see structure more clearly when the leaves are off the trees, and the air sparkles.
Of course, this is a working rural environment, and some of our sights are less lovely.
We head down towards the ford at Scarrowbeck. This road must be the sort of ancient track called a hollow way: the field banks at head height or above, indicating generations of use that have worn down the level of the old footpath.
The depth of the road surface means that we pass the undercut tree roots above our head, spotting dozens of large and small holes in the ground, a veritable animal village in the bank.
Our gentleman companion is very interested in the scents and traces all around. The residents have the sense to stay indoors. It is fascinating to see how the tree roots, now exposed, have developed underground. Many have been so undermined that they look as if they will fall at any moment, but they have looked like that for years.
This is a narrow lane so we stand back to allow for oncoming traffic and to take time to admire the view, even to appreciate the beauty of weeds. In abundance even horsetail can look lovely, (just not in my backyard.
Although the heavy rain last night has made the beck run fast, it is low and flowing beneath the road surface at the ford. The fields are heavy with mud, so we take the road back towards the village. There are horses in many of these fields. One elegant curious horse, on his own, shows an interest and comes over to chat. Another group together in their field, are also interested in this herd of brightly coloured humans.
Up towards School lane Erpingham church comes into view, seen above a rise, and then through a bare and thorny hedge.
We stop by a field where someone has long ago planted a ring if birch trees that wave tall and straight and somehow significant. Why a circle? Why just here? What happens here on moonlit nights?
The walk down the lane takes us past the school. What a big racket from such small people.
Nearly home and we stop to admire a still heavily laden crab apple tree in Jan's garden, thick with rosy crab apples that glow in the sunshine. It stands near a birch and the contrast of red and white is very festive.
Now for the results of todays hat competition. Closely fought, but the prize goes to the brightly coloured knit.
The best bit of a walk is sometimes the cake.
So it is Christmas, (near enough to forget the diet) and Meg has home baked mince pies waiting for the hungry walkers. No local authority order can keep us away from these delights, and there are seconds.
We are well trained and boots are off at the door.
The mince pies are as good as they look. Of course our New Years resolution is to walk off the pies in 2012.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year