Category: Aireyholme
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Solmōnaþ — Cake, Mud, and Lowered Hopes
It is Solmōnaþ. Cake Month. A rare cause for cheer in the damp gloom of February. In the Anglo-Saxon calendar, Solmōnaþ sat where February is now. It marked a time when offerings were made to pagan gods, back when England was less Christian and more heathen. The idea was simple. Feed the gods and hope…
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Letting Sheep Be Sheep
I cannot quite tell whether these sheep huddling under the gorse to dodge the sleet are tough old “moor” sheep or soft “lowland” types, but either way they carry the usual reputation. Sheep, like cows, belch methane, methane warms the planet, and that is that. Or so we thought. A study with the esoteric name…
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The Silent Machine
A heavy plough stands sulking in a farmyard, built like a tank and already freckled with rust. It was made to tear into the ground and turn it over without mercy. Now it does nothing at all. You see this sort of thing everywhere. It stands as a quiet sign that our view of soil…
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A Path Marked Clearly, Only it Points Left
About twenty minutes today went on scrubbing the graffiti off the rock faces, as I posted yesterday. Fortunately, it was water-based. They are not perfect, their shadow still lingers if you squint. Still, it is a sight better than the mess that was there before. Progress, slow and steady, like pushing treacle uphill. On the…
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Hiding the Snowbones
I woke to a fresh cover of snow and a wall of fog. One lifted the spirits, the other did its level best to flatten them. Ten minutes after leaving the house and starting the climb up Roseberry, the sky had a change of heart and slowly thinned to an azure blue. The temperature inversion…
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Merry Mōdraniht
Christmas seems to arrive earlier every year. This Christmas Eve the summit was packed to the rafters. This view follows the line of the old ironstone tramway. Now labelled a Permissive Path, it runs alongside the Public Bridleway that is Aireyholme Lane and is largely ignored, so it feels like just a box-ticking exercise. Long…
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Roseberry Watching Over Enclosed Land
The nearest field in today’s photograph marks the site of the old farmstead of Summerhill, born out of Great Ayton’s enclosure of the common land in 1658. At that time, the commons stretched all the way to the top of Roseberry, open and shared in a way that would soon vanish. The enclosure was carried…
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A Quarter Century of the Right to Roam, More or Less
Today brings a double milestone for those in England and Wales who find the open air rather more enticing than the sofa. It is twenty-five years since the Countryside and Rights of Way Act 2000 marched through Parliament and twenty years since its promised freedoms finally reached the boots of the public. Since then, the…
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Aireyholme: The Humble Launchpad of Empire’s Favourite Navigator
From the summit of Roseberry Topping, the Cleveland landscape performs its finest impression of timeless rural charm: undulating green fields stitched together by hedgerows, with Aireyholme Farm sitting unobtrusively in the middle like it’s been dropped there by a distracted cartographer. This was the patch of the country where the young James Cook grew up,…
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Down among the Thistles
The hedgerows are heavy with the spoils of summer. Blackberries shine darkly in the shade, crab apples blush among the leaves, and Rowan berries hang in bright clusters. Rosebay Willowherb releases its silky seeds to the wind, while the thistles too surrender their down, sending it drifting like smoke across the fields. Thistles are cursed…