12:24pm Wednesday 29th July 2009
By Denis Watkins
Strange weather for July For the last few days I have walked above the Pentre Ifan Cromlech in the early morning in wintry weather. Today, one of the better mornings, the heavy rain had stopped and left flooded tracks, torrents in the nearby river and streams where they had not been before.
This morning, there was a lot of mist, which I like, as it soon starts to clear in wraiths from the lower slopes or sits stubbornly in the occasion valley. Bit like the cold bits you sometimes see in winter when frost refuses to disappear.
Best of all was a big fox I saw at the top of Green Lane which came down one bank, trotted up the track for a few yards, and then, and in hurry, climbed the other bank. The last I saw of him was his brush disappearing. That was yesterday.
Today, I walked past Ty Canol earlier than usual as I wanted to be back before Daphne left for Crymych and her pilates class. There, outside Ty Canol in the early morning, was a buzzard sitting on the low stone pillar opposite the house. It waited till we were fairly near, Freddie behind me, before slipping away over the grass, huge wings stretched, and about a couple of feet above the ground.
There also seem to be more rabbits around than usual. Or perhaps it was because we were early. Red kites are now often around, particularly towards Carningli, with their distinctive fork in the tail. I used to see a buzzard with missing feathers in one wing. Haven’t seen him for a while. Hope he is OK.
My favourite sight is the herd of hill ponies which, usually, have gone higher into the Preselis at this time of the year. Over the last week I have seen them sheltering behind the massive rocks or, in drenching rain driven by the wind, lower down amongst the bracken and some stunted trees.
With most of our visiting relatives gone - one lot to Seattle and another to Edinburgh – our next visitor will be at the end of August. The Seattle group, or two of them anyway (Kirsty and Tracey), took advantage of a two hour pony trek from Carolyn Morgan’s stables round the corner from us.
For once the sun shone, the sea was blue around Dinas Head in the distance, and the afternoon was about as good as it gets. My Scottish cousin, Doreen, laid to rest for me any remaining “hiraeth” (nostalgia) for remote Galloway where I grew up.
It has gone. The second homes, the new and expensive houses, the disappearance of the old lowland dialect rarely heard. (We were not allowed to use this in school – although they never went as far as hanging a sign round our necks as happened in Wales with the Welsh language.)
We have bought another kayak. This one big enough to accommodate Freddie.
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