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550 Varieties of Pear
Brogdale National Fruit Collection was the first place I visited in Kent last weekend. Apparently it contains 'over 2,300 different varieties of apple, 550 of pear, 350 of plum, 220 of cherry and 320 varieties of bush fruits.' I declined a tour of the orchard and instead consumed chocolate cake. I found an impressive sounding list of apples adorning a wall, but it unfortunately lacked descriptions, so it was a bit disappointing. Apparently, next week is the plum festival.
I rushed away from the farm and headed to the sea. Three parallel rows of beach huts rose on the hillside at Tankerton (near to Whitstable in Kent), bright colours beaming amongst threatening skies. Signs pointed out that naturism is not tolerated. I startled a flock of birds by walking to the most island-like bit of the beach, hidden behind a river.
Around sunset, my mum and I headed to Shoreham, for the yearly Hiroshima memorial. Songs were sung and moving tales were told before children rolled up their trousers and carried paper boats with candles in to the middle of the River Darent. We watched the candles float away, flames flickering in the distance, and then tried to follow them as they continued onwards.
Chocolate-brown Sand
Many years ago, I walked with my grandparents on the glistening chocolate-brown coloured sand of Pett Level (near to Winchelsea) and found beautiful stones (some of which I still have). My mum and I decided to revisit the beach, which she remembered as seeming rather sinister. The tide was in and not much sand was to be seen, mainly just shingle. The cliffs still jutted out, allowing an emergence of the fondly cultivated worry that if you walk around the next corner, you may get cut off by the tide. I crouched into holes, where the sea had began to form caves by carving out the stone of the cliffs; I took photographs that showed the gently curved rocks and the turquoise strip of sea; I scraped up the unusual brown sand with my fingers.
The Lost Haybales Looming behind Harrow Meadow
The field behind Harrow Meadow is on a hill and as I walked towards the haybales, they looked almost as if they may have been formed by aliens, looming golden circles underneath the blue sky. The top of the field was scattered with these round creations of chopped-up corn and with the valley rising in the background, looked spectacular. Unfortunately, like the rest of the photos I took at the weekend, the haybales have been corrupted, the haybales are lost.
Brogdale National Fruit Collection was the first place I visited in Kent last weekend. Apparently it contains 'over 2,300 different varieties of apple, 550 of pear, 350 of plum, 220 of cherry and 320 varieties of bush fruits.' I declined a tour of the orchard and instead consumed chocolate cake. I found an impressive sounding list of apples adorning a wall, but it unfortunately lacked descriptions, so it was a bit disappointing. Apparently, next week is the plum festival.
I rushed away from the farm and headed to the sea. Three parallel rows of beach huts rose on the hillside at Tankerton (near to Whitstable in Kent), bright colours beaming amongst threatening skies. Signs pointed out that naturism is not tolerated. I startled a flock of birds by walking to the most island-like bit of the beach, hidden behind a river.
Around sunset, my mum and I headed to Shoreham, for the yearly Hiroshima memorial. Songs were sung and moving tales were told before children rolled up their trousers and carried paper boats with candles in to the middle of the River Darent. We watched the candles float away, flames flickering in the distance, and then tried to follow them as they continued onwards.
Chocolate-brown Sand
Many years ago, I walked with my grandparents on the glistening chocolate-brown coloured sand of Pett Level (near to Winchelsea) and found beautiful stones (some of which I still have). My mum and I decided to revisit the beach, which she remembered as seeming rather sinister. The tide was in and not much sand was to be seen, mainly just shingle. The cliffs still jutted out, allowing an emergence of the fondly cultivated worry that if you walk around the next corner, you may get cut off by the tide. I crouched into holes, where the sea had began to form caves by carving out the stone of the cliffs; I took photographs that showed the gently curved rocks and the turquoise strip of sea; I scraped up the unusual brown sand with my fingers.
The Lost Haybales Looming behind Harrow Meadow
The field behind Harrow Meadow is on a hill and as I walked towards the haybales, they looked almost as if they may have been formed by aliens, looming golden circles underneath the blue sky. The top of the field was scattered with these round creations of chopped-up corn and with the valley rising in the background, looked spectacular. Unfortunately, like the rest of the photos I took at the weekend, the haybales have been corrupted, the haybales are lost.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 12:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 12:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 12:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-10 11:28 pm (UTC)If peaches don't grow much there, are they relatively difficult to find (in stores etc.)?
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Date: 2005-08-11 09:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 12:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 11:26 pm (UTC)High 50's/low 60's is probably my ideal outdoor temperature: slightly cool, so it's comfortable rather than hot to be out walking. If i can't have that, i prefer colder rather than hotter.