Clonteen, we saw a few larks and Jack disturbed two snipe – which set off with a short sharp chirrup and then fly – incredibly fast – in a zig-zag motion before settling into a straighter flight path. Other than that it was mainly rooks flapping black against the clearing sky.
Adrian was in a very thoughtful mood as we tramped. The (truncated) trip to Wales has obviously set something off in him and, since he’s returned, he has been talking a lot about his family roots, originally in mid-Wales – Dolgellau, Bala, Aberystwyth, Machylleth and environs. He says that, although he doesn’t think he would want to live there, he does feel a pull – the good old hiraeath I suppose (please forgive my spelling). It got us thinking about whether we are genetically bound to some places – the land calling in some way to our DNA. Which led me to feel quite bereft as I really don’t think my family has one place of origin (well, obviously we do, but it must be lost in the mists of time). I think it would be wonderful to feel you have a ‘soul’ place – somewhere to which you truly belong. We are all such wanderers nowadays – moving so far from our roots. But, as Adrian says, if we all stayed in the same place, we’d never move on – and, as he pointed out, we two would never have met.
It was an interesting, thought-provoking discussion and one that made me understand, maybe for the first time, why so many people are entranced with discovering their family trees. I have never really seen the point as – firstly I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t find any long lost rich ancestors who might want to drag me into their wills and secondly I find it hard to drum up any connection to mere names on birth certificates. But a village now…..or a farm….or a hillside – now those would be worth discovering and owning (in whatever subtle way one could). Because, go back far enough, and we are all country dwellers.
We saw a couple of riders on the horizon but didn’t meet a soul until we got back to the car and ‘good morninged’ a chap who was about to exercise four Springers and two black labs (all in very good nick and obviously working dogs). As we drove back the sky looked a bit ominous. The mist had settled snugly down in the combes – looking very odd and almost artificial, as if someone had patted down a bunch of cotton wool.
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