A blustery day crossing the fields of Lincolnshire, seeing a herd of deer and a flock of long wool sheep.
Reaching a field with a high fence I was a little irritated by the sign on the gate. It referred to "mummy deer" and not approaching their calves. Firstly, if they were mummy deer were their calves (or fawns) not baby deer? Secondly, why use a word like "mummy"? Were they expecting the reader to be a young child. Even if they thought a word like a "doe" was not likely to be understood, "mother deer" would be a more mature description. With such thoughts I walked into the field and caught the attention not just of a mummy deer but a whole herd of deer. They all looked at me with their ears pricked up, standing very still while watching me cross to the other side.
Herd of domestic deer watching me. |
My next unexpected animal encounter was seeing a flock of Lincoln Longwool sheep, which are large and have an abundance of wool. A little shed sold items related to the sheep or manufactured from their wool and explained the longwools were a rare breed.
Tealby was a pretty little village, especially attractive as it had a village community shop selling coffee and cakes by the 1930's village hall. Fortunate, as the Tea Room I hoped to find was closed. I had tea and more sustenance at a later café at Ludford Parva. Aside from such attractions I walked across fields, of which those of rapeseed were most attractive with their yellow flowers.
The day turned blustery with periods of high winds and rain as I crossed exposed ground following the straight lines and right angles of the Viking Way. Now in places, instead of white pebbles of chalk exposed in the soil of the fields, or the clay of valley bottoms, there were orange chunks of rock in some of the fields. Maybe it was the Tealby limestone, an easily eroded rock used to build some of the Churches and houses.
Typical track. |
Track by rapeseed field. |
In the afternoon my path took me over open grassland to the River Bain. Following this brook, swollen with recent rain, I reached a small lake. Birds were swooping and fluttering over the water. I asked a group of passing men if they were house martins or sand martins? They replied in a manner that brooked no dissent that they were swallows. Which shows how poor I am in bird identification. I could see no red neck or long tail feathers but they were moving fast at a little distance. At least it was a sign of spring arriving.
River Bain. |
Donington-on-Bain was my resting place for the night at a bed & breakfast. As I walked to the local pub for some venison casserole I met again the two students and fellow walkers of the Viking Way who I had chatted with yesterday.
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