Old dogs

The weather broke clear and it was time to go to the woods.  Nov 5th, bonfire night in the UK and that means roasted chestnuts.

Roasted chestnuts of course means a trip to my favourite wood in the area and the sweet chestnut trees contained within.  Some recent winds will ensure there are plenty on the ground to be collected.  Last year was disappointing, not sure this is going to be much better, but live in hope and accept what you get.  It is a very quiet wood, very rarely see anyone else there so hopefully the wildlife will not mind me taking a pocket full of chestnuts to commemorate the day.

The eldest dog is off to the vets as well today so there is an additional reason for going.  The “just in case” reason.  He has developed a nasty barking cough, it has the sound of windpipe issues in a breed known for windpipe collapse.  He is also rather old now.

There is a slim chance he does not come back from the vets.  There is a higher probability the days of anything more strenuous than a romp around the garden is going to be curtailed.  So for all these reasons it was time for a walk.

The recent rain has made the ground underfoot “claggy” and standing water was in evidence when I got out of the car.  Nothing too concerning although my trainers are being pushed to comfortable limits by the mud.  The farmer has ploughed up the footpath along with his field.  The path is marked well enough at either end on the landscape and better etched in my mind.  A simple matter of stomping out a new path.  It felt good to be breaking in the path for the season.

Two of the dogs were breaking in their own paths, the youngest stuck by my heels.  Brains beyond his years as the other two fools kept half an eye on me as they meandered about on their chosen routes.

The lack of path is only temporary, there is always a well defined path through the farmers crop, no complaints there.

Ahead of me a rich canopy of trees, more than I expected in green leaf.  Getting under the canopy and the relatively hard ground will be nice after clod-hopping.  All around is stillness, there is not even wind enough to stir the leaves.

The footpath always leads me to the exact same spot in the wood, there is a clear boundary between wood and farmland.  The same view greets me each time I enter the wood but every time it is different.

 

For years I have tried to square a circle.  Should I continue to return to places I know and love or go and experience new places and perhaps love them.  What makes this wood better than other woods and if I do not visit other woods am I missing out on something?

This usually comes about when planning an extended trip and more often than not my beloved Dartmoor is the place I end up.  There is always the nagging feeling I am missing out on a “new” experience by just going back to Dartmoor.

Today with my old dog and his two younger companions I realise it is not the place it is the memory.  This wood is a favourite because I know it and it is always showing me something different.  My experience and memory of this place has growth rings as surely as the trees.  It is the same with Dartmoor, it can always show me something new and add to my knowledge of the place.

Today it is autumnal leaves dusting the path, in the spring it was a carpet of bluebells.  In the summer the ferns grew and you could barely see the path and much was hidden from view.

The trees that blew down in the late 1980’s lie, living where they have been lying for 20 years.  I remember them vertical, the shock of seeing them blown down can still be conjured up without difficulty.

There are many beautiful places I would love to see, but I am not going too.  They would be brief experiences, treasured no doubt, but with no great depth to them, not like this little wood I know so well.

Today as I went through the wood deciding which bit of fallen branch would be suitable for a ceremonial burning on the greater bonfire of Nov 5th another fellow with a couple of dogs came into view.

I had selected my two foot long bit of branch, wet through, I was imagining the sparking and cracking it would do when put into the flames, certainly very suitable for bonfire night.  A number had failed scrutiny for any number of “not quite right” reasons.

The two groups of dogs circled each other determining if this was fight or friendship and the man and I pretty much did the same in a more subtle manner.

There were the positive elements, a dog walker in a wood that takes a bit of getting too.  From his point of view though I have just picked up a stout looking branch, that cannot be so good.  He looks down at it.

“A branch from my favourite wood to burn on the fire tonight”  I say.  You can feel the tension leave the scene.

“You from around here?” he asks.

This tends to mean how many generations are planted in the local graveyard.  Anything less than three means your an “in-comer”, although this has changed a lot recently as the towns spill out, imagining themselves to be in the “country” as long as they can turn it into a townscape as fast as possible.

“Family been here long enough to see plenty of changes for the worse”.

The chap nods his head, yep we are on the same wavelength.  We have a pleasant chat, two blokes in a wood with 5 small dogs.  He has been coming to the wood for 40 years, he has the edge on me.  Remembers a time when people regularly visited the place, now he was surprised to see me.  Just as surprised as I was too see him.

Autumn was his favourite season in the wood, although he liked them all.  He liked it more than spring.  I could understand his reasoning, but it is going to take some thinking about to decide if I am in agreement.  There is a lot to consider.

I knew I had been accepted as a kindred spirit when the fellow said how wonderful the autumn colours had been and what great photographs he had got when he had been out with the local hunt.

Hunting is one of those flashpoints, you don’t mention it unless you want an argument or know your on pretty solid ground.  Countryfolk hunt, townies don’t.  If you are a countryman against hunting, then you only think you are a countryman is pretty much how the logic runs.  That or you don’t have enough generations in the local church.

It was nice to meet the man and another memory ring has been grown in the wood.  I wandered about happily, collecting a few sweet chestnuts and taking some photographs.    There were places where the ground was heavily strewn with chestnuts in their prickly outer casings.  Walking through was very slow as the dogs picked their way along very gingerly. 

Water was running in the little stream that goes from one end of the wood to the other. The first time this year I have seen the water running in it and it was good to see.  A lot of the year has been very dry despite the rain, which makes the sort of sense these things do when you experience them.

It was time to turn back and go home, a vets visit is looming over us.  I expect to be returning with the old dog but there is never any harm in getting another walk under his collar.  His sister used to walk with him when he was a puppy.  She has been dead two years but I am sure she still walks with him in this wood.

 

Footnote:
I waited to post this as I did not want anyone wondering the fate of the old dog.  He returned from the vets and has some pills which may help him.  Bottom line, he is an old dog, but as fit as can be expected.