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A few posts back, I looked back at my 'car history'...sort of...and equated each combustion-engined mechanized-memory with a few natural history based recollections, (along with some more obtuse recall) ......y'know, how yer do...
Well.......for no sensible reason that I can think of......I find I now do the same with "Houses I Have Known".......a short history of buildings I have lived in and, of course,  the associated 'natural' history nostalgia they invoke.
Why? ......I hear you ask.........as well you may...... er....I have no idea.......nevertheless...actually, trying to find images of each particular abode via the witchcraft of the Great God Google was an interesting exercise in itself and sparked a whole shed-load of off-shoot investigations in a whole host of directions,  laterally and loosely prompted by typing in simple addresses and the bewildering variety of results it engineered....the wonderfully wobbly world of t'internet has a lot to answer for......


My early childhood was spent in a very typical urban environment...…all purpose-built housing estate/Scout Hut behind the shops and Church based Community centre.
But it did spawn what was to become a lifelong interest in ornithology, outdoor adventure and obviously, an aspiration to become a real live professional explorer when I grow up.

Dutch bungalow of renown.....with much climbed roof accessed from bedroom window...just a bike ride away from the much visited woodland nature reserve...and blurry pic courtesy of old estate agent ad....the real house was never out of focus..as far as I can recall.


Fossils, Fluorspar, Finch and Cydrax......
Blatantly obvious bird-hides home-made out of soggy sacking and errant tent poles.

Then.........

Wonderfully , a move to idyllic rurality........to what was to become the 'family' home for all time.
Village location, mid Northumberland surrounded by glorious field, wood, stream and country lane.... a free, natural playground of boundless dirty-kneed adventure, and total release for a boy of horizon seeking intent...

Badger, Fox, Tit and Wren. 

Horses, Dogs, Chestnut and Elm, Oak, Ash and muddy animal print. Streams coursed, trees climbed....Foggy Bashers and Conkers.....

Endless sunny days of wandering in ever increasing circles amongst the folds and features of the local landscape. Hours sat in trees or by the bank of a stream......just being there. Or.....long winter walks in Christmas card white and wind-chapped autumn blusters along bare-hedged dampened lanes...

Onwards and ......downwards.....a brief first time sojourn in teenage rebellion.....an angst ridden episode of Kerouacian proportion in.......a distant city ( I have trouble believing it even now, that I should in my 17yr old wisdom decide to ' run away' to the bumhole of all cities (sorry)..to exist in sordid isolation.

A first floor cold water bed-sit in horrific inner-city squallor... 

Loved every minute of it...!   Weirdly.

Made friends, found life, and fully explored the underbelly of city existance.....I did not have a clue what I was doing. Heigh Ho.

Watneys Red Barrel, hedgehogs, bluebottles and illicit chemical recreation. The life-style of this misguided choice pretty much ensured that any interest or acknowledgement of the natural world was well and truly submerged in alternative activities. A time was had.

Next......in almost unbelievable contrast......a sublime residency in a stately home set in its own grounds and enveloped in beautiful rural surroundings once again.  

I shall not bore you with the details of how this came about, but my home (and place of work) became a suite of rooms in the staff wing of a rather splendid English country pile.....

Rook, Crow, Pheasant and Wagtail.

Pigeon, Dove, Robin and Blackbird.

Rabbit, Deer, car-bodge and Folk music....

This return to a more natural surrounding reminded me of, and reinforced my interest in, the wonderful world of ' naytcha'. A vague mish-mash of daily happenings all taking place amongst beautiful countryside...... village pub on the doorstep. Sweet.

ERM......and then this happened....

I went to live on an island in a windmill....nearly.

.....Rented rooms in house next door, but spent most of my free time, when not beach combing and traipsing around the local countryside, imbibing Rye and Dry in featured old mill.

Funny old life, innit.

Skua, Fulmar, Gull and Cormorant.

Cow, Donkey, Butcher's Van, Demis Roussos and waffles.

 Don't ask, I shall never be able to explain...

Upon return to the mainland m' hearties......

A spacious, if ramshackle, several bedroomed, out of focus terraced flat in a semi-rural setting......very sociable environs and comfortable lifestyle of little responsibility......but with, by now, an undeniable obsession with climbing up rocks on the sides of mountains. To the exclusion of all other aspects of life.

Raven, Grouse, Buzzard and Tubular Bells.

Cortina, pine forest and frame- rucsac and crampons.

(another blurry pic from annals of estate agency records)

And then....because of stated fixation with hauling my bones up any piece of vertical rock I could find, a whole series of temporary homes were experienced, in various parts of this country .....and others....including residencies in articles not usually regarded as living spaces per se...

                                                   Cottages

Hostels

Vans

Caves

Drying Rooms

Tents

Bothys and Bivvi bags...

.....and sometimes, proper grown-up houses....well, the floors of which that were borrowed from long suffering friends and acquaintances.....

Eventually settled in Gods own garden for a while....playing outdoor games and being paid for it.......bliss.

Too involved in activity to notice individual nature thingies!

But still recognising that all encompassing contented pleasure of being in, being part of, and being totally immersed in that mountain environment.

Every morning rising to be greeted with the sights, sounds and 'feel' of that treasured landscape....the air itself almost tasting of outdoor adventure....

Of course, yin to my yang then ensued...

A move to work in an inner-city based outdoor training establishment meant....

city street upstairs flat in amongst millions of other ......but .....

Backyard birding became important....

Sparrow, Starling and Tit on bird feeder and table the saving graces.....

Prowling cats and lead-living dogs abound...

An odd dual existence experienced as I plied my trade of outdoor activity amongst the brick walls, bridges and shopping- trolley infested waters of a ravaged cityscape....

But next came...

....a glorious return to rurality.......and some.....

A small roadside cottage in beautiful vale as my games of outside pursuit take me and my young family into pastures anew.....bliss re- visited.

Otter, farm stock, and all manner of upland wildlife of both fur and feather variety....

Bivouac nights and canoe trips. Jess the Dog.

High moorland and fellside softened by wooded valley and tumbling river. Felt rather than observed natural surroundings flush with flora and fauna.

Contrasts R'Us......as ever...when reality demanded change...

A modern housing estate visitation was dubiously experienced upon return to urbanity until.......

.....a quirky family home on the very edge of this urban unvirons, backed onto farmland became the longstanding, happy place of choice.

Back garden wildlife and regular forays to nearby rural places satisfy the nature longings within......

DA da daaaaa.......

Changes in personal circumstances dictate I then go live in a cupboard in a wing of a large country house for a while....

Strangely.......became a much liked abode for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was immediate access to the large country estate in which the house stood.

Kids camping in the grounds and sleeping on floor....

Amateur woodland husbandry and greenhouse herb growing...

Of course, then came the flip-side....

....a strangely pleasant period of upper flat living, again, in city center as personal circumstances change once more!....

Scraggy mobs of starlings, gulls and tired looking blackbird, thrush and spuggies.

Nearby country park an absolute god-send of natural tranquility....if a little litter and charva infested...

So.........

.....a latest move to a pleasant terraced house back in my 'home' small country town.......but.........watch this space........rumblings of a move to the long-wished for rural remoteness are being again evoked...but meanwhile, as has been previously reported elsewhere in these bloggy scribblings, I enjoy the proximity of woodland, river and 'country' life.....and take real joy in living amongst the local landscape.

No buildings were harmed in the making of this blog.

....and some pictures have been changed to protect the innocent.

Birds, huh ...

What makes us have a favourite bird.....or two....or three ? What is it about a particular species that sets it above others?
Is it just appearance?
Has it got something to do with the bird's perceived character?
The way it behaves...it's actions?.........who knows.
We all have them....favourites.
Ok, academic or 'scientific' interest in a specific type may be justified and explained, and be a reputable reason for special attention, but why do we 'like' a particular type of bird more than others.....for no discernable reason other than....." I dunno, I just do".

For me, I think, it mostly stems back to a childhood thing.... Maybe.
A vague mosaic of water-colour memories of first sightings and identifications of birds until then only viewed in illustrations or photographs in grimy-thumbed pocket-sized bird-books.
I-Spy and Observer.
Collins.
Wall charts.
.......fumbling, blurred glimpses through inept plastic binoculars...
Days spent wandering in fields and woods, notebook and sarnies at the ready.

Always seemed to be in either shirt and shorts warm summer sunshine or wool-wrapped and gloved, crisp pristine snow.

Anyway, whatever the reason for my own favoured list of suspects, seeing any one of the chosen few still gives me an unexplainable little spurt of special pleasure..!

Actually, to be honest, if Desert Island Discs ever comes a'knockin, in the same way that there is no way I could ever narrow my musical choices down to the allotted number, I can't see me limiting my favourite birds to just a few.........the more I ponder, the longer the list becomes...impossible to select...

It would appear that I'm just a whore when it comes to my avian-aimed affections...…nevertheless, here's just a few initial contenders for inclusion in the posse.......for a host of disparate reasons.....and in no particular order...

John.....meet Brian.

A disgustingly uncivilised early morning start .....when....

.....at about 6.30am, I stumbled about in the half-dark wishing I had prepared my outdoor stuff last night for today's ' away-day'( like a proper grown-up would)....Manage to blindly stuff assorted gear into rucsac, throw boots and various 'just-in-case' items onto back seat of car, and trundle off towards 'The Lakes' with a vague intention, but no particular plan, to partake of a day's walking  amongst the beloved hills of Cumbria.
The first half hour of urban-cautious gloomy driving serves as a progressive wake-up for me as I leave the familiar home patch.

I sharpen up as I join the main carriageway that heads determinedly across country.

The morning light starts to slowly strengthen and exposes the smeary dirt that filters the brightening day through my screenwash-droughted car window.
Heater on, radio tuned-in to early morning d.j. inanity, cardboard-tasting "energy-packed-cereal-bar" between my teeth, I realise I have mis-matching socks on....not important. The fact that I have a moccasin on my left foot and a similar, but definitely different, bedroom slipper on my right is more sartorially challenging. Still.....once I get to where I'm going they will be replaced with walking boots.....so all is well. Stopping for petrol may raise an eyebrow or two however.
About an hour and a bit later, I pull into a particular roadside rest stop. I am still 45 mins or so from my un-planned destination, (it being un-planned, how do I know?) but it has become a firm tradition of mine to take ones breakfast at this one particular establishment without fail, each and every time I traipse across the Pennines to the District.
I boldly sport my characterful footwear with impunity into the eatery and of course, order 'the works'. Cholesterol city with knobs on......but it not 'arf hits the spot..... Every time.

Suitably refreshed and at least a couple of pounds heavier, I accept the complimentary comments from the checkout girl regarding my choice of shoe style, rejoin my car and continue my journey onwards.....onwards towards the  horizon-glimpsed mountain skyline.

(As this is purportedly a natural history blog, perhaps I should  maybe mention the sightings sighted upon my journey so far....
Well......I sighted baa-sheeps, horsies, moo-cows, some birdies and a very flat Brock the Badger who was resting by the side of the road).

I make a snap decision a little later, and head towards a less visited area that promises a less than strenuous walk of promised interest that I had had in mind for a while.......so why not today.

After threading the car up a very interesting "Back-Road of Steepness", I eventually park the car in a splendidly situated "Lay-by of Tranquillity" overlooking an attractive vista of Lakeland 'foothills', and get out to stretch my legs in crisp, cold, but sunny morning air.
An appealing old stone-built Church sits quietly within it's girdle of Yew and Holly next to where I'm standing, and after sorting out my pack and apparel, I wander along the shaded path to take a quick, quiet look inside the cool, silent building.

As ever, there is something about the interior of an ancient church that I always find incredibly peaceful.
The architecture, atmosphere, aroma and 'mood' of these places always evokes a feeling of subtle calm and pleasure......and despite not having any discernible religious convictions, I really soak up the historic and I suppose, spiritual aspect of these places.....

Anyway......I sit for a short while and then, on my way out, read some of the Parish notices posted in the low, slate-roofed entrance porch. The appeal for donations towards the cost of replacing the vestry window frame is still current and appears to have some way to go before reaching it's modest target, and Mrs Pargeter is still welcoming volunteers to help with the floral arrangements for the church. I notice a birds nest moulded into the eaves over the door.
I make my way back along the path to the old Wych gate, and turning the corner round the weather worn dry-stone boundary wall, head out and up the grassy slopes behind that lead me away out onto the fell....

The route I am taking quickly and steeply rises up onto a ridge that runs centrally down the length of a quiet, beautiful valley, itself brooded over on both sides by ranges of much more impressive hills. The ridge I follow steadily lifts me above the wooded and pastured low lands. A broad and sparkling river in the valley down to my left is glimpsed through it's leaf-laden course, and down to my right, steeply brackened hillsides fall away to flatten out into the green-soaked vale below.

The way ahead emerges as I rise up and over the first shoulder, and gifts me, as I walk, with a constant and magical view of the length of the valley and even further beyond.....the distant higher hills forming a hazy but definite skyline of mountain slopes and peaks.

The ridge I walk undulates with rocky outcrops and the occasional still mountain pool. My way weaves it's tread between marshy areas and tussocky plots, but always offering a wide expanse of view all around. My altitude may not be great, but is enough to give me elevated sight of my hill-bound surroundings. With the higher hills around me, and my lofted route above the valley below, I feel enveloped in this mountain scene.

The day has steadily woken up around me, and by late- morning, I am walking in bright, clear cold-sharpened conditions, a thin sun in an open sky trying to touch the landscape with the coolness of the air still gently breezing through.

Distant patches of glistening snow still remain on the shoulders of higher ground, making pleasing contrast to the rock and green-hued contours of the surrounding fells.....

I amble along.....enjoying the views...the sights, sounds and feel of this favoured environment. The familiar physical insistence of walking on uneven ground, rising and falling along the back of this featureful ridge...

A pair of what I think are Ravens swoop and dive mid- distance in front of a small fortress of crag.

A little further, I reach a spot that makes me halt and sit awhile. A small spinney of weathered pine pictorially frame the mountain scenery ahead, and I munch on a few crumbling bits of shortbread that have somehow survived my early morning preparations. A slurp of flask- warm tea and a crunch of apple as I gaze fondly over the scene of hill and valley before me......and am content.

 

 

I gradually start to drop down to the lower slopes at the end of the ridge through the gently increasing stand of pines, and then oaks and ashes, to eventually emerge and sweep back alongside the valley's resident river. A slightly elevated path leads me through the light-dappled birch and beech which line the banks of the water..and I lope along back the way I came, but this time enveloped in beautiful woodland scenery.

 The course of the river then slowly winds out of the woods and leads me through the sheltered valley of open pasture.....



A couple of figures, heard before they are seen, work on a broken section of the dry stone wall, replacing the stones that have fallen....a timeless skill.....the occasional comment in strongly accented voice floating over the steady clink and clatter of stone meeting stone....all the time being observed by the posse of un- concerned sheep gathered around who themselves periodically pass comment...

I pass further along the valley and the way leads me through the splattered yard of a farmstead that offers beverage refreshment and home- baked cake to passers-by......no-one is about, but a hand-drawn notice written in orange crayon invites me to help myself to what is on offer in the tins laid out on the trestle table in the porch.....and to leave a financial donation in the milk churn by the door.......thank you.

So I do.

A flock of blustering geese honk me on my way as I leave.

I gradually make my way back towards my starting point along a few miles of earth-packed track guided by weaving dry-stone walls. The fellsides rising steeply either side of me enclose the lushly greened valley in protective custody.
Apart from the occasional herdwickian bleat, and the hardly noticed, but steady chirp of ...whatever was chirping..my guess is tit, finch and blackbird......I stroll along in gentle, quiet solitude.
I appear to have acquired a stick somewhere along the way, and I wield this splendid adornment rhythmically as a time-honoured rustic walking aid. A rod of weathered ash, the ends of which in the near future, would be spliced and bound in sturdy sisal string to improve longevity and performance. He would be named John, and would join the stick called Brian in the umbrella stand at home.

I reach the car mid afternoon in warm sunshine and a cloud of irritating flying insects, I feel quite tired as I realize I must have walked a fair distance over fairly rough terrain with a lot of up and down...I de-boot quickly and donning my mistakenly selected footwear of earlier, I jump into the car to sit in escape from the flies.....and to ease my slightly aching muscles before the drive home. I feel a familiar welcome weariness that comes from the pleasure of outdoor exertion.
Another vehicle, I notice, has parked in the other corner of the small space allotted, and it's elderly occupants are similarly engaged in sitting....a plastic cup of something being held by each. They clearly have not ventured beyond. They smile, nod in my direction and raise their cups in gentle greeting........acknowledging our shared experience of enjoying a nice day out in the country.

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