11 June - Gardens and footpaths

The weather in the UK has been unseasonably cold and rainy since we've been here. Even the news presenters are moaning about it on the morning shows. For the next week, we're expecting rain almost every day, anywhere from a 27% chance of rain to a 90% chance of rain, so we realized that we had to take advantage of every sunny or semi/sunny opportunity we had. It was pretty nice this morning, if cold, so we decided to walk to Dyffryn Gardens, a National Trust property. Bruce had walked partway there yesterday on his quest for an old pub, which turned out to be closed on Monday, so he was familiar with the footpaths. I guess I should explain that Brits love to walk in the countryside and feel they should have a right to open spaces. This right occasionally comes up against a property owner who wants to block access for whatever reason. So ingrained is this feeling that everyone should be able to access the countryside that a society called The Open Spaces Society was formed to protect rights of people to access public lands and they have taken legal action when those rights are threatened. That's the background. Now, all footpaths are not created equal. Some are well marked and well maintained, some are not. We set out on a footpath that went through a neighborhood and saw this cutie in a field.

As we headed down the next footpath we saw this:

Not quite sure why we were cautioned. Chickens, as I have learned, are very nice people. The further we went, the narrow the path got.

A bit further along I was hit by the scent of ramps. Sure enough, they were growing all over the wooded area we were passing through. We treat ourselves to ramps in the spring when Central Market sells them (at $19.99 a pound) and here were hundreds of them growing wild! Oh, temptation. On we went, up and over a fence

and came to a signpost.

These are footpath markers. Of course, they don't say where the footpaths lead, just that they're there. Big help. This is part of the route that Bruce had scoped out the day before, so he knew where to turn. We found ourselves on this beautiful path.

At the end of the path, we climbed over a wall into the yard of St. Bleiddians's church.

We checked the door to see if we could take a look inside and were approached by an older man who looked very concerned about what we were doing. I explained that we wanted to see if the church was open. He explained that it wouldn't be, then told us that he was there to visit the graves of his mother and grandparents. He pointed to a huge tree with a bramble underneath and explained that the graves were in the bramble. He said he'd given the church money to look after them and they'd done so for a while, but now the bramble was so thick he couldn't even see them. He said if he'd known he would have brought loppers or something but he guessed that he'd just have to give them some more money to sort things out. The poor fellow looked so distressed and I think he just needed to vent his feelings. He bade us farewell and headed back to the tree.

We exited the churchyard and found ourselves on a narrow road just as it started to rain.

After a steep downhill bit we reached a field full of cows that held our next destination: St. Lythan's Burial Chambers, a Neolithic burial ground. We walked across the field, carefully dodging cow patties as we went. It was quite a sight.

As we reached the stones the heavens opened and the wind started blowing. It felt like the temperature had dropped 10 degrees. We stood there waiting for a break in the rain and just soaked in the atmosphere (no pun intended). How amazing to be standing in a spot that Neolithic man held sacred.

The rain had let up a little so we decided to continue on our way to Dyffryn Gardens. On the way out of the field we stopped to read the plaque explaining the meaning of the site.

As we were reading, some of the girls decided to come over and say hello.

We must have made a good impression because as we started down the road, a few more girls came out to say goodbye.

We came to the turn off for the gardens at last, and the sun came out in celebration.

There has been a manor on this site since the 7th century. In the 16th century the site was acquired by the Button family and the first house was built. In 1891, the estate was sold to John Cory, a wealthy coal merchant who, in 1893, built the current house. It is beautiful and, of course, closed for renovations.

John's son Reginald was a passionate horticulturalist and collaborated on the garden design with Thomas Mawson. As well as sponsoring plant-collecting expeditions by some of the leading botanists of his day, Reginald Cory took part in several trips to South Africa, the Caribbean and the Atlas Mountains. His financial support for these excursions meant that he received a share of the seeds collected. The gardens are reputed to be absolutely gorgeous from June through September. Of course, that's when the weather is normal. Since there has been an extended period of cold, rainy weather, the garden is not in its usual summer condition, but it's still lovely. From the top of the hill where the Alpine garden is planted, you get a terrific view of the property.

There is a reflecting pool filled with water lilies.

And a perennial border that, in a month or so, will be beautiful.

I've decided to skip the photos of the Folly and the rose garden, because they're mostly pictures of dirt and plants waiting to bloom. Here's the Pompeian garden.

Happily, it has a roof so we could seek shelter because the skies had opened again, the wind was blowing and it was cold. Not a bad place to wait out a rain storm.

The tropical garden:

The lovely tarp garden:

Okay, I made that up.

A row of peonies still in bloom:

There was also a small glasshouse with some exotic plants and interesting statues.

As we were walking toward the exit, the sun came out and Bruce took advantage of it.

We found the exit and started on the long walk home. Mostly we were retracing our steps, but those nice downhill walks were now very challenging uphill walks in the sun, (Pant, pant,)

The scenery along the way, however was lovely.

It sounds odd, but I thought this tree had such personality. I half expected it to start talking like one of those apple trees in the Wizard of Oz.

On one of the roads we came upon a memorial to the local quarrymen and a plaque commemorating Queen Elizabeth II's platinum jubilee - bit of an odd juxtaposition.

We took a different footpath this time that made me regret not bringing my machete.

Really, there's a path in there somewhere. That's actually the nice part. The tough part is covered in blackberry brambles. We came off the path, hiked down another road and came to the Horse and Jockey pub, the one that was closed the day before when Bruce hiked here.

We weren't the only ones there. There was a barmaid glued to her cellphone and an old man with a walker, a voice like gravel and a cough that rattled the windows. Ah, the romance of country pubs.

From there it was only twenty minutes or so walking through the countryside, then through neighborhoods till we reached Wenvoe and our digs.