Solstice week concluded

[shewhomust]

helenraven's post about the trip to Lindisfarne prods me into posting about the end of our week there, which was shaped even more than usual by the tides. Lindisfarne's a tidal island, accessible and inaccessible at times of day which shift as the days pass. This worked well for us on Tuesday, when we were able to dine out in Newcastle and still get back to our beds on the island. By the end of the week - well, I'll come to that.

On Wednesday we drove up Tweeddale, through Cornhill and Coldstream to Kelso. I love the Borders: the Highlands are more dramatic, but harsh and barren, between the rich green land to the south and the open lands and big skies to the north. The wet summer had left the fields an almost luminous green. Coldstream is a nice little town, and we picked up a leaflet with a guided walk - another time we might visit the museum.

We returned via Wark, because durham_rambler wanted to see the castle; and as we drove towards the village, a large mound of grassed over rubble did indeed dominate the road, but we were distracted by having to brake quite suddenly to avoid hitting a hare. We paused to poke around half-heartedly, and I think might have seen more, but not much more, if we'd made the effort. But it was late, so we headed home, braking rather less abruptly on the way out of the village to avoid a couple of pheasant out for a stroll, and drove through the receding tide onto the island.

The solstice was observed on Thursday: which is to say that some of us got up at half-past three and walked down past the castle, where we gazed at the total cloud cover and consulted our watches and eventually conceded that the sun was now as risen as it was going to be. I blame durham_rambler, who refused to get up: if the ritual is not observed, how can the sun be expected to sise? But there was some magnificently rosy pre-dawn cloud:

After which R. walked out to Emmanuel Head, and D. and I returned to the village by the lane between the fields, and the rest of the day passed in a haze of sleepiness and rain.

As did Friday. Too wet to do more than stroll round the visit, tide times too awkward to visit museums or other wet weather entertainments on the mainland. What could we do? We stayed home, read, did crosswords, may have opened a bottle or so - I'm not complaining.

Comments

[gillpolack.livejournal.com]

I love the solstice picture in particular. Here the winter solstice heralds the bitter weather, which is what we're getting right now.

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

The only thing to be said for the winter solstice is that the days stop getting shorter - and that if you feel inclined to celebrate that, you can do so at a more civilised hour.

Not that there's much to be said in favour of our weather, at the moment.

[weegoddess.livejournal.com]

This is one of those posts that makes me still glad I read LJ, albeit sporadically these days. Solstice here is not nearly the big deal it is where you are. Or maybe I just don't hang with the right bunch of people. (more on that over a cup of tea someday)

Having spent last Solstice (the dark one) at Stonehenge gives me a whole new appreciation for the events. Perhaps we'll have recent Solstice stories to tell you when we see you next. ;-)

[shewhomust.livejournal.com]

One of the things I love about LJ is that posts don't vanish just because they are no longer the latest post. Drop in when you feel like it, I'll be here.

And I don't think that solstices are generally a big deal, I think it's just us (whoever 'us' may be). Though the further north you go, the more you notice the changing length of the day...