It had been a month since I had last been in the north and, as I took to the road once again, there was the familiar frisson of excitement that always runs through me as the journey begins. This time, however, there was something more… a longing that hovered between fear and anticipation. Last time, the heather had just begun opening its petals… and we had enjoyed a month of unusually hot sun. Would it still be in bloom?
The moorlands that I love are where the heather flowers. Most of the year, the moors are brown and gold. When the bracken unfurls its fronds, they glow with a vivid green… and when the heather blossoms, it paints whole hillsides with its distinctive hue; the air is fragranced with honey and the land wears its soul, at once regal, soft and earthy.
The road led me through six counties and a change of season. In the south, the trees still wear the deep greens of midsummer. Further north, and the touch of ochre dapples the leaves… barely visible yet but assuring me that autumn is not far away. Wildflowers still bloom, vivid against the dry stalks of gilded grasses and clouds of downy seeds follow the breeze in search of a home.
I love the autumn, and I feel in tune with the change in the air, as my own seasons turn with those of the year. But, for once, I hoped autumn would stay its hand, just a little while longer… just for the heather. As I round a bend near Bakewell, there is a far-distant hill that gives me my first glimpse of the moors. When, at this time of year, there is a sunlit streak of purple, my heart lifts and sings. This time, there was only an unrelenting smudge of brown and for a moment I felt near to tears.
Perhaps I was wrong… maybe it was just the dark grey clouds that robbed the hills of colour. But no, my next glimpse confirmed my fears… the best of the heather was over and I would not see it in full bloom this year. For a moment, the disappointment was all I could feel… and a wry acknowledgement that I was being ungrateful. I almost carried on driving.
Instead, I turned the car up towards Curbar Gap and found a place to park. I had an hour or so before I was meeting my friend in Sheffield… and although the heather was over, I love the moors. It is a place where the earth sparkles with quartz from thousands of years of wind and rain whipping the surface of ancient stone. A place where the cobwebs of the journey and the tatters of my disappointment could survive no more than a moment in face of its beauty.
Only expectations lead to disappointment. I have been blessed by past summers… I had seen the first buds break this year. I let the wind blow away my silliness; I need only be grateful for the beauty I have seen… and for this moment… and enjoy my hour amongst the stones of the high places of the moors that I love. I let disappointment go. I have seen enough heather to bring me joy for a lifetime. To see it just once would be enough to imprint it forever in memory, and yet I have seen it bloom for more than half the summers I have lived. I have walked in it, slept in its fragrance, laughed, loved and learned within its misty haze. I can call it up in my mind’s eye and paint the mountains purple. If I close my eyes and conjure a vision of some personal heaven, it holds the perfumed bluebell woods of spring and the fragrant heather of summer.
And yet… there was heather. Not the great, glorious swathes I had hoped for, but the last, tenacious shreds of beauty, sheltering in the lee of the stones as the wind whipped over the Edge. I walked between the gritstone boulders, drinking in the distant hills and the green of a landscape undaunted by drought. Stern iron skies reached down to embrace the earth and, in that moment, there could be no finer place to be. I was content.
The land is a wonderful teacher. Had I succumbed to the disappointment engendered by expectations, I would not have walked the land here, nor been open to its beauty… nor the heather nestled between the rocks. As I turned to retrace my steps to the car, a rift opened between the clouds. A stray sunbeam touched the hills below me… and where the sunlight melted the shadows, there was one brief flash of glory that lit the land for me… and the last of the heather.
Oh, sometimes, Sue, you make me homesick for my childhood walks.x
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I know how you feel, Judith. I am lucky to be able to go north these days, but for too long that wasn’t possible…and it tugs at your soul x
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Gorgeous, Sue! Your skill and the way you describe the land is precious and the images are lovely!! Jordis
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Thank you, Jordis x
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Beautiful post, Sue. I’m glad you got a bit of heather after all. ❤
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So am I, Alethea x
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You are a brilliant traveler. If you can’t have what you hoped for, you find something wonderful in anything you find. I’m sure you make an absolutely dazzling companion.
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There’s always something to find and enjoy 🙂
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So glad you found the heather! A stunning read, as always 🙂
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Thanks, Esther. The heather was a gift, gven the sumer we’ve had 🙂
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Yes, something you definitely didn’t expect to see and all the more special for it 🙂
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Especially that last flash of light 🙂
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Wonderful, Sue. I’m so pleased you stopped driving.
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So am I, Mary 🙂
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Just wonderful. You love the spaces I love and you write about them so splendidly it is always a pleasure to come to your blog 🙂
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Thank you, Peter, I know you love these places too and it is a pleasure to share them.
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What a beautiful soaring post, Sue, and accompanied by gorgeous photos. Your love of the land, the hills, the seasons, and the heather comes through with amazing reverence and joy. This post made me happy and grateful this morning. ❤
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Thank you, Diana…it is a case of having heather in the blood 😉 ❤
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Your description and photos of the moors are fabulous. I remember seeing them for the first time in 1977 when I married my Yorkshire hubby. I thought they were amazing. Then again in 1989 when I stayed a month in York and took a trip to Haworth. That’s the first time I saw the heather in bloom and was awestruck.
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The heather up around there is fabulous. It beggars belief that such tiny flowers could cover whole hillsides…
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Gorgeous photos and description, Sue! I visited Scotland in May some years ago, saw lots of yellow gorse but no heather. I guess it was too early in the year. I’ve always regretted not seeing fields covered in purple heather. What a sight it must be. Your description of it reminds me of seeing fields of Texas bluebonnets in the spring. Breathtaking!
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The heather is late summer, Lyn…and quite unforgettable when it is in bloom 🙂
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I’m sorry that it wasn’t what you were hoping, Sue, but you managed to find beauty nonetheless. The wild land and views are so lovely there.
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You can’t miss the beauty of these moors, whatever the season 🙂
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Sue, a stunning story with beautiful imagery from story to photos. And wow, is it already autumn there when it was so hot not so long ago? ❤
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Pretty much, Debby… morning mists and leaves beginning to turn… ❤
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Wow, that was quick. 🙂
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All the pictures are beautiful but the last one is stunning! Thank you for taking us along with you!! 💕
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The heather in flower is always an amazing sight ❤
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It’s very easy to see why!
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Have a look at this and you’ll see why 🙂 https://scvincent.com/2017/08/22/playing-in-the-heather/
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I can see why you’d want to get lost in it 💖
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It is easy ❤
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The land really is a wonderful teacher. These are some of your best photos, Sue. I dearly loved this post and your beautiful words to complement the photos. Well done!
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Thank you, Jennie. The land has taught us since the beginning…but like children, we do not always listen 😉
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🙂
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