Cathedral of Hope

On March 17, 2026 By Annika PerryIn Art, Conservation, Environment, Inspiration, Writing41 Comments

It’s not every day I gatecrash a christening, and especially one held in a floating church!

Stepping inside, I’m bathed under the resplendent colourful lights of the roof tiles. The mixture of ethereal colours is enthralling, and they dance in the sunlight; it feels both playful and miraculous. It’s unbelievable that the giant roof is all made from rubbish found along the shores, by using plastic reclaimed from the sea and moulded into tiles. I stood under hope. I stood in the Cathedral of Hope.

A few years earlier, church communities – and numerous other organisations – in both Norway and Sweden felt the despair and discouragement of so many, particularly the younger generation, about the climate crisis, the state of the environment and the seeming disregard for sustainability in life.

A dream was inspired to seek a way to give their, and our, spirits hope for the future. The cultural, artistic and interfaith project, created by the artist Solveig Egeland, wanted to show that something bad can become good through collaboration and care. The environment was and is, a huge concern, and as the coast dominates life in western Scandinavia, it was natural that this became their point of departure.

In various vessels, they scoured the coastline of western Sweden, heaving up debris from the sea. From the rubbish collected, they found enough plastic to make the 4,000 recycled plastic tiles that form the magnificent roof. Its 300 m² mosaic of 50 colours is built on the Scandinavian stave church design from the 1100s. With one big difference — this one is on a wooden barge!

Three years in the making, the Cathedral of Hope (Håpets Katedral) made its pilgrimage in a series of visits to West Swedish coastal towns in the county of Bohuslän during the summer of 2025. Pulled by a tug in a slow, majestic sail of the sea, the sunlight glittering in angelic shimmers across the tiles, it entranced everyone who saw it.

I’d read about this wonderful build before our yearly travel to Sweden, and we arrived just in time to visit it in a nearby town in August 2025. I was ecstatic.

Walking to the quay of Fjällbacka, the steady flow of people were in almost carnival spirits, children running back and forth, a mix of languages with visitors from Europe and further afield. It was as if we were walking on a cloud of expectation. Even before seeing this new creation, it had more than the desired effect, hope brought us here, hope carried us down the street, between the colourful shops to the left, the granite rocks sloping to the road on the right.

Ahead music and the tones of excited chatter wove their way over the crowd who slowed at the entrance to the harbour.

My first sight was not of the floating church, but a beautiful wooden Clipper festooned with colourful ribbons, musicians on deck and a gangplank welcoming visitors on board. The quay itself was a sea of people, ambling between stalls offering food from across the continents and local crafts to view and buy.

What an unexpected surprise, what a wonderful festive start to the day out.

Yet, all the new arrivals, including myself, strained our necks, looking left, right, straight ahead. Where was the main attraction?

As if one, we all stopped. There. It was just over there.

It felt right. Not a jaunty central place of exhibition rather a more humble mooring near the Clipper, smaller in comparison but exuding strength and a heavenly presence.

Pulled by its very existence, I no longer saw anything else but the floating church, its wondrous stave roof gleaming almost to the water. The colours were as wavering as the sea, glittering and hypnotising. At times, bold primary colours were brightest; mostly there was an array of glimmering sheen. Exotic and mystifying, I was drawn closer.

Coming closer, I saw the entrance, it was mythical and gothic, regal and folkloric, harkening back to the medieval era of merging Christian and Viking emblems. Two stout logs were on each side of the entrance and two smaller logs form a tall arch above our heads, above which hung a circular colourful motif. Called The Sustainability Rose, this was created by school pupils from plastic and oak found on the coast.

I stepped inside and paused. How could it be so much lighter here than outside on the sunniest of days? The glory of colours swept around me. A sense of joy filled me, my spirits lifted and took flight. For weeks I’d dreamt of this moment. I had arrived. This was my pilgrimage.

In the centre, tall sturdy logs held up the roof, the lines smart, the golden hues of the wood matching the colours at play inside. A hushed, awed silence filled the surprisingly large space, as everyone gawped, took photos, arching necks back to look up. To the seam of the roofline, in perfect harmony.

Inside my head, one sentence played on loop. This is from rubbish. I was in awe of the incredible vision that led to the Cathedral of Hope and thankful for this gift, by its creators to us, the visitors.

Emotionally overwhelmed, I sat down on one of the chairs, looking up to the altar.

Only now did the real world intervene. A pamphlet lay on the chair. A sweet christening leaflet. Of course, it was a working church as well, for non-denominational services, meetings, concerts, exhibitions, lectures and much more.

The priest in his ornate vestments, whom I’d spied outside earlier, stood at the front with a young couple and their baby. At last, I noticed a smartly dressed contingent surrounding them, their bubble of excitement palpable.

An usher leaned over to me and she kindly asked if I was with the group as the church was temporarily closing for a christening. I smiled and said no as I joined the throng of visitors reluctantly leaving this most unique building. My soul was tugging me to remain just a while longer. Glancing up and back, I saw the light as I listened to the gentle lapping of water on the wooden boards. A floating church, the aptly named Cathedral of Hope.

Long may it sail and continue to be a space of reflection, dialogue and inspiration, reminding us that as soon as we dare to hope, anything is possible.

©Annika Perry

‘Born With A Silver Spoon’

On February 20, 2024February 20, 2024 By Annika PerryIn Art, History, Hobby, Travel, Travels125 Comments

My respect for the staff of the big houses, such as the fictional Downton Abbey, grew this week as I set to sprucing up my silver spoon collection.

Long neglected, it has lain gathering dust in the loft until the recent redecoration of a room brought it to mind. A new blank wall, a whole new canvas beckoned to be filled and up to the ladder I headed to hunt out something appropriate.

Tucked on a shelf the two cases lay next to each other – perfect. Not the entirety of my collection, there are many more in boxes, however these forty-two represent some of my favourites.

They were in a sad state; dirty and blackened and well overdue a clean-up. Cherishing them once more I washed them individually in a bowl of soapy warm water, rubbing them as clean as possible, drying and buffing up to a shine. This took more time and dedication than I’d expected and my esteem for the staff handling the silver in the big houses grew ever more, in awe of their perseverance and dedication!

Although many are gleaming and glittering some still are rather less than shiny. For now, I am not resorting to silver polish as online warnings recommend that if used at all it is important to acquire the right low-dosage one! Who knew!

All children (and many adults too!) love collecting things and as well as bookmarks, spoons are my niche hobby. Many were gifted to me, mostly by family, as well as bought by myself. I love to travel and the spoons represented somewhere exciting and exotic; a memory of special times and other eras; the designs opening the doors of untold mystery and excitement.

The collection is split into three categories: The United States of America, Europe and The United Kingdom. Enjoy browsing through the collection with me! Which are your favourite ones?

For those in America, can you find your state’s spoon?

As a child I was mad about anything to do with space and especially the space shuttle – imagine my joy at receiving this spoon.

I’m particularly fond of the two spoons from Los Angeles and New York City with their golden hanging ornaments.

For those in Europe, can you see your country’s spoon?

When young we visited Greece many times and I have wonderful memories of our time in Corfu!

The slender shape of the Dutch milkmaid spoon is striking and there is exquisite detail of the woman herself, the two pails balanced perfectly on her shoulders.

Here are the spoons from Great Britain.

Have you ever been to any of these places?

Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament are looking splendid on top of the silver spoon.

I remember being surprised that the local Hedingham Castle (which I’ve written about here) was similarly designed with the building on top.

Finally, one spoon fell in between all categories although it ended up with the American.

Leif Eriksson, also known as Lucky Leif, was a Norse man born in the late 900s, believed to be the first European to reach the shores of America. His father, Erik The Red, was originally banished to Iceland, before moving with his family, including Leif, to Greenland.

According to the sagas, Leif and his crew were said to have been blown off course while sailing from Norway to Greenland, eventually landing on Vinland in Newfoundland.

So much history within just each spoon! It is such a unique way of commemorating a place or moment.

Writing my post I became interested in spoon collections in general and intrigued to learn the following:

Silver spoon collecting became popular in the 1800s following the birth of tourism and especially the Grand Tours of Europe. By the late 1800s this European fad spread across America.
The first souvenir spoon produced in the United States, in Washington, D.C. in 1889, featured a profile of George Washington and was created to mark the centennial of his presidency.
Interest waned following World War One and is a marginal hobby nowadays.
My collection is palfrey in comparison to the world’s largest collection of 30,000 owned by Des Warren in Mayfield, Australia.
The phrase “born with a silver spoon in his/her mouth” is well known and is assumed to mean the child grew up wealthy. However, the idiom originated as a way of saying that the person never seems to get sick. There was a belief that the silver offered germ-killing properties and in the past children who were fed with silver spoons (which was a luxury often reserved for wealthier families) were typically healthier babies.
The most expensive silver spoon was sold for $32,500 / £26,000 at Heritage Auctions, London in 2021. It was manufactured in 1790.

Do you tend to buy a memento of your time visiting somewhere special? Or perhaps you have an unusual hobby or collection yourself? It’s great to chat away in the comments!

Finally, many thanks for David Prosser for mentioning how good the Red Dragon of Wales would look upon a silver spoon! They exist and look amazing- a new one I would love to be my next silver spoon!

HOMAGE (to an old Oak)

On June 22, 2023June 22, 2023 By Annika PerryIn poetry, The Fenland Black Oak Project, The Jubilee Oak Table, Travel, Writing129 Comments

"My photo of the Jubilee Oak Table in Ely Cathedral. It is taken from one end and one can see the full length down. At the furthest end a group of visitors are gathered, touching the table, peering underneath, reading information leaflets. The table is set in the expanse of the cathedral with lofty stone arches all around."

HOMAGE (to an old Oak)

Beneath God’s arches resides the travelling table,
Its glistening onyx boards a contradiction.

After all, it should not be here,
how is it possible
after its 5000-year journey?

One fair day as the Stone Age drew to a close
an acorn took root amongst the giant oak forests
in the East Anglian Fenlands.

As the moon cast its ethereal light
upon the monumental 60-metre trees
the sapling flourished.

It joined the canopies of the other oaks
Shrouding the people beneath
Protecting, becoming part of their landscape.

This, the Jubilee Oak, was indestructible.
Until the world altered.
Until the sea levels rose.
Roots loosened, it crashed
To its airless grave.

Untouched for five millennia
Resting in the pitch black of peat
A preserver.
Untouched until the 21st Century,
When at last
Unearthed!

Fourteen metres of black oak
released from its shroud of earth
Fourteen metres of jet-black oak trunk
Survived, intact.

The magical fusion of the ground’s iron and
the tree’s tannins
creating the black in the oak
ensuring this holy grail of wood.

Experts consulted, advised and directed,
a sawmill from Canada flew to help
To saw on site
Ten perfect consecutive boards.

With the craft of carpentry
the combination of skill and passion
the unity of artistry and knowledge
ALL paid HOMAGE to the beloved Oak Tree

A table designed, boards planed and dried.
The Table for the Nation completed.

In majesty, it resides beneath God’s arches.

Now it is time to pay OUR respects.

In reverential silence, visitors gaze upon the table,
making a pilgrimage along its length
Then back up on the other side.

Fingers caressing the boards, eyes admiring the sheen
of darkness. A play of light and dark,
An incongruous anomaly in reality.

Now and then people bend down,
Admiring the copper sheath below,
Then up they appear,
once again walking along
tracing the winding mysterious curves of the boards

Sweeping curves mirroring
the expansive Fenland Landscape,
as sweeping as the sea that failed to devour it.

The black oak
Present
In all its glory.

©Annika Perry, June 2023

"A close-up of the table showing the beautiful patina of the wood."

Note: The above post was inspired by a visit to view the Jubilee Oak tree while it was in residency at Ely Cathedral, Cambridgeshire, UK. (It is currently at Rochester Cathedral, Kent.) The table was unveiled in honour of HM Queen Elizabeth II in 2022, the year of the Platinum Jubilee and hence its name.

The ancient oak trees grew to a height of 60 metres (197 feet) and dwarf oaks of today whose average height is about 20 metres (65 feet).

Read more about The Fenland Black Oak Project here.

"A cross-section of the table, showing the varying sheen of dark to light brown surface and highlighting the beautiful sweeping planed wood."

THE SPIRIT OF THE FEN

On May 13, 2021November 19, 2021 By Annika PerryIn Travel, Travels, Writing151 Comments

THE SPIRIT OF THE FEN

The grace of an invisible hand flits across her cheek,
an ethereal sensation.
She leans forward, longing for more.

The bombardment of silence thunders in her ears
whilst the meandering of bumblebees
is amplified to
Concert crescendo.

Eyes closed,
she senses the trials of thousands of years
Swirling around her soul.

The ghostly guide tugs impatiently
At her hand.

‘Not yet’, she replies.
‘Soon, very soon.’

First she needs the grounding
Of the boardwalk.

As far as the eye can see
Reeds and sedge dance in the breeze
A bewildering display unleashed.
The unified being pulsating with life;
Its energy palpable.

The cerulean sky reaches
To infinity.
Unhindered by obstacles it sweeps down to
The sunbeam of golden land.

Ahead indistinct voices drift towards her
The unknown language beguiling.
The air punctuated by thumps of axes
Trees hewn by brute force.

A canopy of oak leaves looms above her
She shivers, sways and swoons
Into the arms of the mystical being.

©Annika Perry, May 2021

‘The Spirit of the Fen’ was inspired by my recent visit to Wicken Fen, the oldest Nature Reserve in Britain. Immediately I sensed an enchantment within the ancient fenland of East Anglia.

An inventive and enjoyable set of boardwalks has been created around the fen to allow visitors to the site whilst protecting the landscape and wildlife. It was thrilling to step out just above the water, gazing out upon the bewitching scenery.

The fens are made up of the fens, marshes, reed beds, farmland and woodland. There is a deep peat soil that is kept wet by rainfall and clean, chalky river water.

Within the low lying water reed and sedge are grown for harvesting. The latter is used for thatch roofing which is still used for many older buildings within the country. The earliest recorded sedge harvest was in 1414.

Furthermore, the fens are rich with a variety of floral and fauna with over 9000 species of animals, birds and insects thriving in the area. I only saw a handful of these alas! Charles Darwin in the 1820s favoured the spot for finding beetles.

The reserve was founded in 1899 by the National Trust to preserve its iconic habitat and the first parcel of land was donated to the Trust by Charles Rothschild in 1901.

Although some parts of the southern fens were made into navigable waterways by the Romans called the ‘Lodes’, the majority of the fens were barely accessible before they started to be drained for farmland in the seventeenth century using windmills. Wicken Fen remained undrained and continued as a business for peat and sedge until the end of the nineteenth century.

Although Wicken Fen is currently quite a small area a new 100-year project was launched in 1999 to mark the 100th anniversary of the first acquisition. The Wicken Fen Vision is seeking to expand the fen to a size of 22 square miles to preserve and increase its exceptional biodiversity.

Finally, it was fascinating to learn about Bog Oaks upon leaving the Nature Reserve. These are remains of trees preserved in the waterlogged peat and just such a tree was unearthed in 2016 whilst a ditch was cleared, pictured below. Some bog oaks are from the Bronze Age and it is staggering to think that before me lay a tree trunk from possibly 4200 years ago!

The magical aura of Wicken Fen stayed with me long after my visit, the peaceful, harmonious presence lingering within. It will not be long before I return to this unusual place of natural beauty to explore more!

FANFARE WITHIN

On May 3, 2021May 4, 2021 By Annika PerryIn Travel, Travels, Writing119 Comments

We left without fanfare, a couple pulling out of the drive without a fuss. The ado was all within me, here an orchestra was in mid-flow, a crescendo of excitement, a flurry of violins, the brass instruments joining in! As we turned down the road did I spot a bagpiper wishing us farewell?!

Our first trip away for nearly two years already felt surreal and mirrored my many dreams of this moment. Days earlier it was with disbelief that the suitcases found their way down from the loft, the cool box washed and aired! My packing list was referred to repeatedly (yet how did I forget my Kindle which later resulted in a magical time surrounded by books in the local W H Smith’s!)

The origins of Ely Cathedral reach back to 672 when Etheldreda, daughter of Anna, king of East Anglia, founded an abbey on the site. It flourished for 200 years until it was destroyed by the Danes. In 970 it started again as a Benedictine community.

From afar the cathedral of Ely dominated the skyline, a glorious breathtaking sight, an architectural wonder! A constant as we approached the city and how it must have seemed a miraculous creation to the citizens nearly a thousand year ago.

The current cathedral dates back to 1083 when it was rebuilt under leadership of Abbot Simeon. Work began when he was 90 years old!The monastic church became a cathedral in 1109.
The West Tower was completed under Bishop Geoffrey Ridel (1174-89)
The monastery at Ely was dissolved in Ely by Henry VIII in 1539. It suffered less than many other monasteries yet countless statues were destroyed together with carvings and stained glass.
The cathedral was refounded in 1541. The first major restoration took place in the eighteenth century, then in 1839 and lastly in 1986, completed in 2000.

Along with the cathedral the River Great Ouse is the heart of Ely and it was here we headed upon our arrival. We took a gentle stroll along the promenade of canal boats and pubs, through the park to the fields beyond. To one side the river, beauty of the natural world, to the right the regular rumble of trains, in between we walked a parallel path. The honks of swans and the hoots of trains became the backdrop to our stay. Our stay on a canal boat.

Ely is an ancient Cambridgeshire city that lies on an ‘island’ in the Fens which were mostly drained in 1630-52.

Yet time tick tocked by and now my husband picked up the pace, a short cut through the woods became a long lost way past shops and houses. Ahh … there was the Jubilee Park and its famous Eel statue. There was the goal … The Riverside Restaurant!

*The statue of the eel in Jubilee Park represents the local eels which were caught in the fens for food and are thought to have given the name to the Isle of Ely – first mentioned in AD 700s by Bede!*

Masks donned we confirmed our booking and registered our arrival before being shown to our table. With only outside dining permitted we happily took a seat overlooking the river and path, safely distanced from other souls.

I picked up a menu yet found myself unable to read! A skill learned from young abandoned to this momentous occasion, the first meal from home for over a year. As my drink arrived I teared up when the food came, I cried! With joy and sadness. A joy that this was possible again with confidence, trust (& jabs!). Sadness for what we have all endured, are enduring and for some countries still overwhelmed by horrors. More than aware of the fragile nature of all our lives.

At last, it was time to check out our canal boat and even gaining entrance was an adventure, through a boatyard, along a metal walkway and across another boat. Already the front of the canal boat beckoned me to unfold the seats and table, to just absorb the peace of the water.

Inside the spaciousness was a welcome surprise, as were the chocolates and wine!

We were set!

Finally, under current restrictions, the cathedral was not open but I have visited this glorious building previously including the stunning Stained Glass Museum. You can read my post about it, An Illuminating Art, here.

For the trainspotter fans, a couple of videos of the railway traffic through Ely are available on my YouTube channel here and here.

PARALLEL LIVES

On April 30, 2019 By Annika PerryIn Sweden, Travel, Travels, Writing134 Comments

The first time I met myself was a few years ago. Once again this Easter, after a day of travelling, I arrived at last at the houses in the midst of the forest. And there I was! As if I’d never been away! A disconcerting sensation, a time-shifting eclipse. As if my conscious self in the UK had been switched off, just as the awareness of my Swedish self powered on.

It was as if I’d walked this gravel road every day, not just for the two weeks over Easter. One spectacular afternoon I witnessed the sun searing through the trees.

The forest itself proved startlingly alive, alluring; the air brimming with oxygen, the colours clear and vibrant. Certain events, unknown to my Swedish self, reminded me that I had not been there after all. When did the big fir tree topple down? Or rather break away as a neighbour later pointed out, the top half cracking away from the main trunk, to land neatly in the birch copse.

By the coast the combination of sea, sky and rocks struck me anew, the views intoxicating, like a punch of joy to my heart. My other self had let me down, let me forget this body blow of beauty.

The blues all around were broken up by the array of colours of the rocks, the stark trees, the dainty flowers growing in the granite cracks.

Here and there people had contributed to the enjoyment with a sense of fun creating a child’s seat set amongst the rocks.

The two weeks were filled with overwhelming joy, laughter, conversation. Where walks transformed into meditations, where books became all-consuming, where thoughts sought and found clarity in the vastness of nature.

How could life be anything but this?

Yet I return home … my other home, to my other self. Yet the one in Sweden clings on to my spirit, not quite ready to release me from its hold, my soul swooping amongst the trees, across the waters.

I am here, yet there. I’ll never forget standing on the deck on Good Friday, gazing at the full moon in all-consuming awe of epiphany. The pink aura transported across space to minuscule us! The magic of the cosmos captured in a finite second. There am I, part of the wilderness, here am I, longing to return.

“We carry our homes within us, which enables us to fly.” John Cage

Treasure of the World

On October 18, 2018October 18, 2018 By Annika PerryIn Nature, Travels, Writing152 Comments

Two weeks ago, my husband and I had the opportunity of an extended break in the historic and beautiful city of Bath. Whilst there not only did we explore the amazing Roman Baths, dine at the lavish Pump Rooms, we also set one day aside for nature.

In the midst of Autumn what better place to visit than the National Arboretum of Westonbirt.

With over 18,000 trees we were spoilt with autumnal displays and happily wandered for four hours along some of its 17 miles of pathways (one of these amongst the treetops!).

As is often the case, Westonbirt was the vision of one man; in this case a wealthy landowner, MP and gardening enthusiast Robert Halford who started the Arboretum in 1829. Since 1956 it has been managed by the Forestry Commission.

Today it boasts over 2,500 species from all across the globe, and ‘is internationally renowned not only for the diversity and importance of its collection but also its breath-taking beauty’.

“And into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” John Muir

“The world’s forests are a shared stolen treasure that we must put back for our children’s future.” Desmond Tutu

“I never see a forest that does not bear a mark or a sign of history.” Anselm Kiefer

“In a forest of a hundred thousand trees, no two leaves are alike. And no two journeys along the same path are alike.” Paulo Coehlo

“An autumn forest is such place that once entered you never look for the exit!” Mehmet Murat Ildan

“The strongest oak of the forest is not the one that is protected from the storm and hidden from the sun. It’s the one that stands in the open where it is compelled to struggle for its existence against the winds and rains and scorching sun.” Napoleon Hill

‘TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP *

On December 5, 2017 By Annika PerryIn self-publishing, Short Stories, Travel, Writing137 Comments

Sometimes we don’t need to travel far to journey a long way.

With a publication agreed weeks ago it was with a song in my heart and a dance in my step that I prepared for this major event in my life.

My first book was due out in the world!!

A wonderful celebratory party away was planned…local to us all but a special place to be spoilt and dine in style!

As the date for publication drew closer, delay followed delay and to my shame, lowered my spirits. Worst of all was the lack of communication from the producer and broken promises. In my naive trust, I waited and believed. Until now. At last, our cooperation had to be terminated.

As for the celebratory weekend – I was all set to cancel. My family refused to accept this, insisting that after all the book is ready; apart from the elusive cover! (And final proofread before publication!)

So we set out to celebrate life and what has been achieved – I hope you’ll join me in reliving the wonderful weekend.

20171202_143743

It’s not easy to get anywhere high up in Essex…it’s a pretty flat county but Wivenhoe Park is situated on top of a hill and it is here that Wivenhoe House was built. Wivenhoe House’s fascinating history stretches back to 1759 when Isaac Rebow asked Thomas Reynolds to build the mansion house, which is now Grade II listed.

Stepping out of the car we admired the same landscape painted by the English Romantic artist John Constable in 1816.

John_Constable_-_Wivenhoe_Park,_Essex_-_Google_Art_Project

The building escaped mostly unscathed apart from a few broken chimney pots following the country’s worst earthquake in 1884, was requisitioned by troops during WWII before becoming the original home to Essex University in 1964. It is now a hotel.

Wivenhoe_House-adnd-Edge-hotel-Tony_Forsgate

The university campus is close by in the park, the tall 1960s tower blocks iconic and for the first time ever I wander amongst them, past a delightful library full (!) of students, past a modern theatre, into the main campus site.

Lakes and fountains adorned the area; ducks and coots pecking amiably on the cold ground. A stunning sunset greeted us and we paused to let the peace and beauty sink in – not too long though as the bitter chill bit through our coats.

20171202_154225

Heading round we realised how hungry we were on seeing this unusual cafe…a Routemaster double-decker bus cafe – closed alas but probably just as well as dinner was soon.

The hotel was impeccable with friendly staff who were eager to help. The bedrooms were superb.

20171202_140757

The balcony overlooking the park was a bonus – even if it was too cold to use the welcoming table and chairs.

20171202_140811

The brassiere dining room was delightful and we were welcomed by the sommelier who recommended his original cocktails. How could we refuse! By the end of the evening, my spirits rose even further when presented with the ‘Congratulations’ platter.

The next morning we just had time for another walk around the grounds; this time to hunt out the two famous cork oak saplings which had been smuggled into the country in the boots of General Redbow following the Peninsular War. What had they witnessed in their two hundred year existence, I wondered?

These impressive trees were both enthralling and majestic; languidly they grew along the ground as well as upwards, their trunks dramatically pock-marked and small leaves reaching in bunches for the sky.

20171203_110401

Gazing at the trees I felt a certain sense of calm for the first time in weeks…their strength and timeless aura transcended my worries and concerns. During this trip, I once again became re-aligned, my inner journey to renewed energy and belief reignited during our short sojourn.

Finally, my deepest apologies to you all…your warm, generous and enthusiastic support for the publication of my short story collection has been overwhelming and it has been hardest to let you down. I hope you will bear with me and kindly ask for your patience until the launch of my book.

20171202_160107 — Supermoon photo taken through the trees in the evening.

‘Painting is but another word for feeling.’ John Constable.

I would just substitute the word painting with writing in this case!

*There’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip is a very old proverb, similar in meaning to “don’t count your chickens before they hatch”. It implies that even when a good outcome or conclusion seems certain, things can still go wrong. (Wikipedia)

AN ENCHANTED HAVEN

On July 5, 2017 By Annika PerryIn Nature, Travel, Travels, Writing117 Comments

20170701_110433

Last weekend I fell a little bit more in love with life.

Every journey I set off on, I feel a flutter of excitement, a bundle of palpable nervous energy, never quite knowing what to expect. A short weekend break booked on the spur of the moment a few days ago was no exception! For our first trip away on our own in fourteen years, my husband and I decided our anniversary was a perfect opportunity for some time-out; June had been, for various reasons, a hectic stressful month with little opportunity to just stop and be together.

North Norfolk proved the perfect haven; a blissful retreat from our busy schedules and our brief sojourn there seemed to last a week as the peace and tranquility washed over us, tension headaches easing, laughter and lightness returning.

How could this vast empty beach fail to soothe? Trudging through the slip-sliding shingle, the bracing wind playing havoc with my hair, my brain cells vibrating under the onslaught – I felt alive!

Hints of fishing were evident from the odd boat pulled up far on the beach, however, it is hard to believe that this was busy port until it silted up in the 19th Century.

Nowadays tourism is the biggest industry in the area – although Cley proved to be quiet, with visitors dotted around the town, coast and visitor’s centre.

Isn’t nature our greatest artist, I wonder, standing for the longest of time looking at the waves crashing on the shore, hypnotised by the wondrous displays with each roll. I’m mesmerised.

Cley-next-the-Sea is protected from the vast and powerful waves of the North Sea by a steep shingle bank, behind which there is saltwater marshland separated by the narrow New Cut; on the south side of this is a huge expanse of freshwater marsh.

Both areas are alive with the flurry of unusual bird life and it was a joy to celebrate the natural environment; a bird-hide providing helpful reminders of the names and characteristics of the avian visitors.

Here though we were the outsiders, the intruders. We stepped with ease, avoiding the fenced off nesting area and viewed in awe the terns and skuas as they majestically claimed the skies; the egrets reminding me of my trip to Florida, the geese almost hidden in a patch of distant marshland.

Pausing by the reed beds I close my eyes and just listen…the music of the wind drifting into my soul, the rustle of the leaves creating their own rhythmic sound, soothing, in harmony with the bird calls.

Whilst others muttered at the lack of mobile signal I celebrated the return to ‘olden’ days and scouring my purse for coins I headed to the red phone box to call home. Memories of university days flooded my thoughts, my whirlwind of emotions as I recall hours spent calling from these tardis-style contraptions!

The village has a lovely quaint feel to it; many buildings are reminiscent of its former Flemish trading partner with gabled roof lines and many built using the local Norfolk flint. The main road, although narrow, winds its way through the centre of the town with lots of mysterious alleyways leading around the back of the village, often into people’s gardens!

Gourmet meals punctuated the end of our days and at one restaurant we were welcomed on our special day with complimentary champagne, a strawberry slice resting at the bottom of each flute. The food was sublime, an ecstasy of tastes and occasions that will long live with me!

As always I admire the strength and vitality of the flora as even in these somewhat inauspicious conditions flowers flourish; particularly striking is the yellow horned-poppy, native to the area.

It’s been a long while since it’s been this hard to leave a place – one of those times when all elements of a trip conspired to offer us an exquisite time filled with joy every moment. On the car drive home, I sit in silence, savouring the sense of contentment and resolve to carry this harmony forward into the everyday, letting the lightness shine brightly into the days and months ahead.

20170701_110834

Finally, many thanks to Klausbernd and Dina (Hanne) at The World According to Dina for inspiring me to visit Cley-next-the-Sea – their photos and description of the village and surrounding area caught my imagination a while ago. Alas, we didn’t have time to arrange to meet up…next time hopefully!

GHOST CRABS ET AL

On September 13, 2016 By Annika PerryIn Florida, Holiday, Writing79 Comments

**‘Hey folks! Have you got the photo yet? I’m getting pretty bored with this posing lark!’**

I noticed the perfect round holes first.

What lived in these burrows visible across the beach? Soon after I began to catch glimpses of the elusive crustaceans as they scuttled across the sand and as if leaping, disappeared into their holes. Impossibly so, I felt as the crabs were far broader than its habitat. Intrigued I wondered about their appearance, colouring. Not the usual dark brown crabs from the North Sea coast, that much I could see.

Then one morning one of the mysterious ghost crabs obligingly paused by its burrow and looked up. Its expression was priceless; slightly disarming, slightly grumpy. It stayed still. Waiting patiently as camera phone was found, put on correct setting, sun glasses removed in order to see the screen. Ready at last! The black piercing eyes were unmoving, its shell pale and almost translucent. In contrast the legs shone with gentle light golden hues, furry-like at the tips. The two claws were of uneven size; a characteristic of the ghost crabs – so named for its pale complexion and chameleon ability to blend in with its environment and the shading of the body adjusts according to the time of day.

The first morning I was mesmerised by a flock of large birds swooping and gliding across the ocean. Five clearly visible although other days up to eighteen would fly across the water close to shore. Suddenly one dived into the ocean before quickly reappearing. What were these majestic birds? Soon I had my answer. Pelicans! I was in utter awe; before I had only seen Pelicans in zoos. It was a joy and privilege to view them on a daily basis in the wild. Often during meal times three pelicans would pass within two metres of our balcony, their heads and wings clearly visible. An awesome overwhelming sight and we sat in silence savouring the experience.

One particularly elegant and regal bird was a constant visitor on the shores, purposefully striding along the waters edge, its crisp white plumage gleaming in the sunlight. Always keeping its distance from each other, the little egret, a type of heron, occasionally bopped its black beak into the wet sand before moving on with its striking yellow feet. Time stood still as I watched the egret; sheer peace and harmony. The only time it seemed bothered was as the wind increased following the hurricane and then it tucked its head snuggly against the body, seeking lee within itself.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Partly hidden under the bottom wooden stair down to the beach, the turtle’s head stretched beyond the step. Oh no! It should have returned hours earlier back to the sea but then I saw its injury, a large chunk of shell lying by its side, no doubt attacked by the seagulls during the night. My heart went out to the poor animal. After our walk it was still on the beach, but heading in the right direction. Later it had disappeared, hopefully after making its own way to the sea!

Geckos galore! That is the only way to describe the paths around the condo building by the car park as geckos of all sizes crowded the paths. I had to keenly observe the path I walked along, particularly as the baby ones were only a cute centimetre long!

The sunlight sparkled from this alien orb on the sand; hypnotic in its strange beauty. Was it alive? The answer I found out was no as this was the the ‘jelly’ remains of a jellyfish. Called the mesoglea, this is the last part to decompose when a jellyfish dies, usually after being torn apart by fish, turtles or rough weather. It doesn’t sting but not knowing that at the time I wasn’t taking a chance!

Butterfly clams were a delight of tiny proportions. Visible briefly as the waves washed over the sand, the butterfly clams use the water to move around on the beach before quickly burrowing themselves again. This recurrent movement is known as the “dance of the coquina”. Although it was difficult and rare to catch sight of the clams themselves, their shells were scattered across the beach and the child within me eagerly collected a handful of the 15-25 mm empty shells.

Finally, a mystery! These little birds were a common sight on the beach, pecking away at the sand along the water’s edge. They were among our favourite animals in Florida, so cute and particularly endearing as with each oncoming wave they would dash quickly away up the beach, their little legs stepping so fast. Despite numerous conversations with other walkers along the stretch of coast we became no wiser as to what these birds were actually called. Can anyone help? Below are my first attempt to upload my own videos from Vimeo – fingers crossed they work!

I hope you have enjoyed the visit to the animal kingdom from New Smyrna Beach; my next post will visit the bricks and mortar of the towns in the area.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: