Post 18/2024 Carbis Bay Cornwall UK. Greening. Blossoming. Sprouting. The natural world is bursting its bounds in spring. The scent of new-mown grass meets us on our walks. Some advocates, though, suggest that in May one should pause mowing. Give bees and butterflies and others a change to flourish. Give place to pollinators and nesting wildlife, they advise.

Paused mowing at Trerice

A visit to Trerice this week, a small Elizabethan manor house near Newquay, showed free-reign given to grass and wild flowers in the apple orchard. An Elizabethan knot garden, next to the orchard, is planted in lavender–a coming attraction for people and bees and butterflies.

Trerice, near Newquay, remains little changed since it was built in 1573. Today it is a National Trust property, located about 29 miles (47 km) from Carbis Bay.

Clodgy Point on the South West Coast Path

Our longest walk of the week took us on some back roads and streets to Clodgy Point on the South West Coast Path and then back into St Ives and on to Carbis Bay (8 miles). Fine weather, fantastic views, good chat with fellow walkers who were observing the ocean perched on a rock.

Exhibit at Penlee House Gallery

An exhibit of paintings by Harold Harvey (1874-1941) opened at Penlee in Penzance on 1 May. Harvey was a member of the Newlyn School artist’s colony which flourished from 1880 to 1940. He is noted “for his sumptuous interiors — and a flatter and more decorative style of painting.” Brighter colours and bolder compositions.

Unfinished

A summary of the week, plus our months here, remains unfinished. Here’s a bit of it.

We had an engaging Fellowship Walk on Sunday afternoon sponsored by St Anta church.

Tuesday we visited with Ann over dinner and walked home in the dark on a quiet St Ives Road, closed overnight for paving a stretch through Lelant.

On Saturday we took the 16A bus home from Penzance for the hour-long, 12-mile, country road journey back to Carbis Bay. At one point, for at least a half mile, we followed a cow that had commandeered the road. After apparently escaping a pasture field, she, ignoring all efforts of oncoming traffic to turn her around, nonchalantly continued on to Gurnards Head Restaurant where she turned into a farm lane. Home.

That’s my favorite road route. It’s narrow, winding, traffic subject to turn out lanes, some old stone buildings cheek by jowl with the road, ruins of tin mines reminders of the thriving 18th,19th and part of the 20th century industry. The journey leaves me almost breathless, agog, open-mouthed at the wonder of moor, small fields and sea–and surprises that appear along the way.

The hardest part of this last week in Cornwall is saying goodbye. We’ve said it to many of our friends and will have opportunity to say it again to a few more. We’ve got one or two walks in mind. Marty has packing in hand. I’m sorting stuff for my backpack. Fridge is almost empty.

Glory be. Despite the wettest season here in a long time, we seem to have made the most of being home from home. As we used to say, “It’s been real.”

-John