Updated: Mar 1
It has been a busy week on the farm as we pick greater quantities of fruit and vegetables to supply the stall and some of Bryhers restaurants. We have also cut our silage and hay, the winter feed for the cattle and horses, always a lovely feeling to have that job done but it is hard work.
So this morning it is a simple pleasure to be wandering down the track on my own, towards Green bay for a peaceful swim.
Although there is activity, boatmen, workers, the island retains a sleepy, quiet feel.
The hedges are bursting with lush new growth, the scent of pinks fills the air and pink campions, towering ferns and hogweed line the track.
A young puffed up female blackboard, not long out of the nest, is hopping and scampering around in this big new world she’s found.
The sound of the doves is a lulling harmony to the chirping sparrows.
Along Green bay several little sailing boats float gently on the incoming tide and the mooring ropes that in winter lay dormant on the sand, are now full of punts and boats to hire.
Soft grey shades are reflected in sky and sea, a thick covering of cloud hides the brilliant blue beyond. The water is cool and clear as glass. I swim towards the quay at the far end of the beach. One sailor is up and on deck, pottering with the ropes, otherwise the sailboats remain in sleepy silence as I swim past them.
These tiny ships that now sail to Scilly for pleasure are descendants of those greater ships that once sailed to and past Scilly in days gone by. Then these islands were feared, the rocks on the horizon that we now adore, were a deadly foe for the sailors.
As I sit, back on the beach, listening to the water lapping in, I wonder how this little island felt to those who found themselves rescued and sheltering on it once their ships had been dashed upon those rocks.
It remains a haven for many, now as it did back then too.