healingwords: poetry for the soul

The colours of mountain flowers this year seem more vibrant than ever. Maybe it is the result of being locked away for two months and coming back into a natural world livened by spring rains, lack of contamination and peace. I am sure the bees and wildlife have enjoyed this quiet time. 

Here is an amazing example of nature's incredible capacity for propagating life. It always cheers me to see tiny weeds breaking through concrete, trees hanging on to sheer cliff faces battered by winds.  Here these tiny succulents are colonising bare rock, with only a sprinkling of pine needles softening the hard stone. They looked like a minature grove of trees, their bright green leaves drawing the eye. 

This butterfly flitted around me on the hillside path but refused to sit still with its beautiful wings open. I am interested in the contrast between its closed wings, when it was almost perfectly camouflaged and its open winged display. At rest on the path it was hard to spot, thus hard to catch for a predator, whilst its bright red and gold flecked wings are designed to attract a mate.  

This is the view this morning from the hillsides of El Carrascal, over the Vall de Pop towards the Mediterranean. It was a beautiful morning, full of birdsong, gentle sun before the heat built, wild flowers marking the path in shades of gold, purple blues and pinks. An exhilarating walk.

I was struck the other day by the wonderful palette of greens in the small patch of land by the spring at La Rompuda. In one small area there were pines, holm oak shrubs, abandoned olives, bright cherry, a fig tree and a camp corner where green reeds towered over my head like a cane jungle. 

This beetle was scurrying so quickly to get into the shade that I was not able to get a well focused photograph. He looked like a tiny dinosaur, a relic from the past. I watched as the creature disappeared in the undergrowth. 

The hillsides in this area of the Marina Alta in Spain are all crisscrossed with narrow terraces, stone walls raised as the soil is cleared. They cling to the slopes and in many places are still planted with almonds, olives and grape vines. More are abandoned, especially those high up the hills with poor access. It is humbling to think how they were built hundreds of years ago, dating back to the Moorish population living on this land. They would have had just their hands and maybe donkeys to walk the hard paths up to the terraces, to take advantage of every metre of available land and make it productive. 

The terraces in the countryside around the village are dotted with daisies. I was out an hour before sunset, already many of the flowers in the shade were closing. It reminded me of the origin of the word daisy, 'day's eye', as the sun drops and the petals close over the yellow suns. 

The terraces around the village have historically been planted with olive trees,  almonds, grape vines and 'garrofers'. In recent times orange and lemon trees have replaced many of these dry zone crops, despite the need for watering in this drought affected area. In my thirty years here I have seen the loss of the carob as a comercial crop. I can remember the hessian sacks full of crisp, black pods in every village garage and the sweet smell permeating the village in Autumn. The carob used to be sold as pig food but now it is now longer commercially viable the seeds litter the ground and the trees grow wild. They have a very particular gnarly bark and the trunks often hollow out as new branches loop down to the ground and perpetuate the tree. 

It feels like a long time since I was in the campo taking this photograph. In reality I have often spent weeks at home due to ill health but the idea I can not go out makes this time seem different to my general winter self isolation.  The hills around the village are striped with terraces, many now abandoned with ancient olive and carob trees wilding amongst pine and holm oak. Others are still worked, cars now replacing the donkeys and men climbing the steep paths on foot to their land. These walls were raised by hand from the stones picked from this rough land to make the terrace strips capable of growing essential crops. Olive oil is still made in our area from the olives grown in the valley and its hillsides.  I find the continuity of this way of life reassuring. This land has lived through war, drought, hunger, enforced exodus and poverty but the oil, honey, wine and crops grown here have nurtured life, flavoured food, cured ills as families found love and fun t...

On my last walk before being stuck indoors 10 days ago I came across an enclosure of goats and kids on a terrace in the 'campo'. They had grazed the ground inside bare and it must have been close to feeding time as they all scampered to the fence to see us, clattering up the wire, poking their heads out as far as possible. The kids were able to get there head and neck out enough to graze the remaining green shoots outside the fence. Some years ago herds of goats and sheep were more commonplace in the countryside, shepherded from field to field and goats milk and cheese was made locally.  I was surprised to see a herd a few weeks ago, spreading out under olive and almond trees, eating the shrubby new growth.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This manhole cover was one of a number topping hidden water pipes in the campo near the river bed. Each cast iron cover had different patterns, part of a rich history of decoration visible on municipal iron elements around the village. This one reminded me of people at prayer. In a region blighted by drought and flood it is as well to pray to the water Gods.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

These seed pods on a tree in a street in St Feliu reminded me of the robot heads on an advert for smash potato when I was a child. Street culture is one of the most enjoyable aspects of Spanish life. The weather allows us to sit outside sharing a coffee or a beer most of the year and 'terrazas' in towns and villages are buzzing with families, school run parents, retired groups of men and women, workers taking their break and visitors enjoying the scene.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This image is of the 'Gorg del Salt', the waterfall cascading into a deep green pool, part of the river system known as the 'Barranc de L'encantá', the Ravine of the Enchanted. The river cuts through the rock, collecting in pools and falls.  The legend of the Enchanted is a local myth dating back to when these lands were populated by the descendants of the Arab Kingdom of Al Andalus. When Felipe III decreed the expulsion of the Moorish population the people of the Vall de Gallinera were forced to leave. The legend states that they left a wonderful treasure hidden in a cave in the Barranc, which stretched for 14 kilometres from the village of Planes to the mouth of the river Serpis near the village of Beniarrés. The treasure was guarded by a young women who was enchanted to be its guardian. Various versions tell that she was a beautiful maid from the waist up, with the lower body of a goose, who wore a golden crown that shone with sunlight when she left her c...

It is often said that the sense of smell is a major trigger for memory. When walking in woods in Spain the scent of pine on the air often takes me back to a treasured time I spent in Canada, living in a cabin in the woods near Kootenay Lake. The combination of pine on the breeze and the tranquility of this reservoir at Planes took me back to that special place.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

I came across this beautiful cat on a roof terrace of an empty house in Pego. This was obviously her place, she seemed at once serene and in charge of her place.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Another scrap of debris on the beach from the recent storms. The coast still looks battered and many of the beaches will need resources to recover before the tourist season. This egg was larger than a hen's egg, gulls do not seem to nest on the low dunes so I think it has been washed up from cliffs down the coast.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

It is a  beautiful weekend in this area of Spain. The sun is warm, the damp of the last few weeks has lifted and the countryside is flushed pink with almond blossom. This is to be enjoyed while it lasts, a windy few days can blow the blossom away and already the hint of green leaf is showing on the trees. Today will see more people out walking, enjoying the show. I wonder how long this lovely sight will last. Almond growers can not compete with American imports and many of the almond groves have been abandoned. Without care and yearly pruning the trees grow wild with less flower. We are living through a time of change in the farming patterns as traditional crops lose value, part time farmers age and a new generation is not working the land.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

The walk around the Muntanyeta at the Marjal was as peaceful and refreshing as ever. However the route is not looking its prettiest. The banks and reed beds have been shorn and on a dull day the cut cane gave an overwhelming paleness to the scene. Look a little closer and there is change. Gorse flowers are hinting yellow, pussy willow buds turned from white to green in a week and bees were buzzing all over the tiny buds. A week ago the greed buds of this plant were tightly shut. A week later the onion weed was open and this bumble bee was buzzing around. The silky looking stamen looked like onion but I didn't get close enough to see if it had a smell.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

The wind blowing across the explosion of fluffy reed in the Marjal marshes near Pego reminded me of the waves on the sea. The light hazed over the golden brush and the scene looked like a classical painting. Every time I visit the marshes they look different, as the seasons turn and the vegetation changes. Soon the rice paddies will be planted and the muddy earth will turn green with shoots of rice.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.