Stop, look, listen

As I was settling down to sleep last night I heard the whine of a mosquito nearby. Both Clare and I have been bitten, but neither seen or heard evidence of the offender(s). This time the insect was inside the lamp shade on the bedside, unable to find its way out, or maybe too tire or sick to fly up or down and escape. It was easy prey, retribution for all the itching misery we've both endured. I'm unrepentant of taking its life!

I woke up at seven with the sun's early light dimmed by high level cloud turning into haze again and it was humid. A morning to endure patiently, put finishing touches to my end of stay report and Sunday sermon. I go over things time and time again looking for better ways to express what I want to be heard.

At half past one, Adrian called to give me a lift to the Chinese restaurant where John and Judy took me on my first evening here. We were joined by Judith, another church council member for a meal to say thank you for my ministry to them. How kind of them! I had Tai Chicken salad for a starter - small slices of meat on a bed of lettuce made soggy by an overdose of salad dressing which was like mayonnaise thinned out with a little lemon juice. Nothing to suggest South East Asia about it. 

I followed this with something called 'Fuzhi' I think, a mixture of pork, beef, fish and chunks of king prawn with a few bean sprouts and other unrecognisable leaves on a bed of rice. This was served in a savoury brown sauce in an oven hot cast iron pot. Chinese hotpot I guess. It contained more protein than starch, went down comfortably and stayed down. Not a dish I would choose to eat again. Nevertheless, the company was enjoyable and conversation interesting. I was surprised that the house wine was labelled almost entirely in Chinese, apart from one tiny corner which read 'Rioja'. Quite a good one too,

It was four by the time we parted company. I returned to Church House on foot to be sure of getting most of my daily exercise quota, and get my digestion working. Walking alongside the N340 I noticed for the first time the avocado bushes in the orchards either side of the road starting to bear fruit, albeit numerous and still tiny. I'd love to be here long enough to learn how the bushes are managed by the fruit farmers. They had multiple headed flower stems early on when I was here. Where the fruiting is really prodigious, branches must get very heavy. I wonder if some of the fruit fail to develop if packed close together, or if some fruit are harvested early and sold. In the shops they often come in a variety of sizes. Spending time in a place where small scale commercial horticulture is part of everyday life arouses curiosity. There's so much I'd like to know.

The slopes of hills and valleys all along this coast from shore to summit are covered with dry stone wall terraces. Some of the lower ones are given over to cultivating avocado, if not aubergine, carob, citrus or almond. But there are many more higher terraces which are empty, overgrown, abandoned. I wondered if these were the relic of some sort of water catchment scheme to supply the lower levels, or stabilise the ground. 

Then I came across a simpler explanation, in an article about coast path walking trails in this area. Vineyards. Large scale vine cultivation from the 18th century onwards. But no longer it seems, although the terrain is harsh enough to suit many varieties. Was it phylloxera that killed off the industry in the l9th century? Or the economics of transporting the finished product to market? Or not profitable enough to sustain commercially in an impoverished region? I'd love to find out why.

Oh dear, here I go again. Fascination with the environment in places where I sojourn, leading me to look for the relics of past industry. In Mojacar it was minerals transported by rail from the sierras to the sea. Same in Watchet Somerset too. When first in Nerja, discovering relics of the sugar cane industry. Then in Rincon de la Victoria and in Malaga the coastal railway (now a walking path), which transported cane sugar to port. How a landscape and its ecosystems tell you a story, if you stop, look and listen.

When I was eleven years old, one of my birthday presents was an autograph book. My Dad wrote inside the front cover those three words 'Stop, look, listen' - his lifetime advice to me. It took me half a lifetime to realise these words can be found on panels alongside railway tracks, especially at junctions. His job in the coal mine was running the underground transport system, and ensuring its safety. 'Stop, look and listen' was what he made sure everyone did in order to stay alive in a dangerous environment. My life and context are utterly different from his, but his words of advice apply to me equally six decades later.

After a generous lunch I didn't feel much like an evening meal. I settled for a couple of ripe peaches and a handful of black olives with a glass of white wine. Then a walk up the hill and back, and then bed. 

Prairie in the park

Another warm day with clouds and sunshine plus the occasional shower. I spent the morning and part of the evening working on the audio file for next week's Morning Prayer and Reflection. Clare went to her study group and I cooked lunch in time for her return. It's a pleasure just to live without the constraint that an open wound imposed on me for so long. It's less of a struggle to get done all the things I set out to do, and for this I am most grateful.

Rain was threatened when I left for my afternoon circuit of the Fields and Bute Park so I wore a raincoat. It didn't rain and I ended up carrying it as I was overheating. Yesterday I got damp from drizzle as I didn't take a raincoat. I can't get it right, but refuse to encumber myself with a brolly just in case. Perverse is the word for it. Because of the abundance of rain earlier in the spring and present warmth the vegetation has grown with abundant luxury. I don't recall seeing bramble bushes before covered with so many flowers for so long, or did I simply not notice. 

An increased area of grassland in the parks, not mown for sports users is rich with wild flowers and long grasses, so we have more than just lawn green in the city landscape; pale gold, yellow, brown. It enhances biodiversity, economises on running costs and carbon footprint. It's an enhancement to our environment which hope will continue and felt to be beneficial to all, people and creatures alike.

Despite the continued rise in delta variant covid cases causing concern to all in the medical profession, the English government is pressing on with easing restrictions and making mask wearing voluntary rather than obligatory, insisting that everyone take personal responsibility for keeping each other safe. Well, we should do that in any case, but if there's no possible sanction other than a disapproving look or comment, some won't bother to think of others and the risk factor is enhanced. 

We're already seeing a third wave of covid infections, not as serious or dangerous as previous ones, but the outcome of the decision are quite unpredictable. It's being seen as an experiment in resuming normality (of a kind), but it's more of a political experiment than a scientific medical one. More of a gamble really and disquiet is being expressed by members of the public who consider themselves vulnerable, as much as medics. Tomorrow the Welsh government will announce its decision about restriction. It'll be more cautious and pay more attention to infection statistics and their impact, thankfully.

Church response to climate crisis?

After breakfast and another slow motion start to the day, we decided to take a picnic lunch with us and follow the river Aeron up the wooded valley which climbs gently out of the town into the hills. It's possible to go this way to the Llanerchaeron National Trust owned 18th century manor house, with its superb collection of apple tree varietals, which we visited last eight years ago. Clare booked us on-line to go by car for a visit tomorrow, but we didn't think we could manage to walk there and back and do justice to a tour as well, so today we walked.

The first stretch out of the village has a tarmacked path, and is beautifully managed with seats and picnic tables. Then there's a longer slightly wilder stretch, with a gravel path, labelled 'Public Amenity Site. This was donated to Aberaeron Council by a local landowner forty years ago. The woodland river banks are reserved for fishing. Where the valley widens into meadows, these are still used for grazing and the path for cyclists and walkers is fenced in. We walked four and a half kilometres before stopping for lunch, and returning. Lovely, every step of the way. Yesterday's walk was more energetic. Today's was more on the flat but we both felt quite tired and were glad of a siesta on return.

After tea, we went down to the north beach. As it was mild and sunny, albeit cloudy, Clare was determined to go in for a swim, which she did, very briefly, giving her a pleasant sense of achievement. I cooked supper for us, and then we walked to the beach again to see the sun setting, although what we saw was no more than a long band of coloured cloud above the horizon. But we made the effort.

I received a message this afternoon to say that next Sunday's Eucharist is designated 'Climate Sunday' as part of an ecumenical gesture of concern/solidarity before the global conference on climate change to be held in Glasgow in September. Yesterday I drafted a sermon on the Trinity 5 readings, today I have to start again with a different set of readings. My first reaction towards the Church in Wales leadership is 'What took you so long?' The last ten years has seen church officers appointed to address environmental issues, but development has been rather slow, perhaps too demanding, when having to cope with the catastrophic decline in church membership. 

It's over thirty years since my eco-concerns first found expression in preaching. Often it felt like my words fell on deaf ears. I'd love to see the church move beyond the aspirational and inspirational approach to climate change to some serious data gathering about the total carbon footprint of all church activity, and facing the question of how much it's necessary to be surrender to make a real measurable contribution to carbon reduction. Nobody likes to see churches closed, but are we ready to consider carbon footprint as a major factor, when the church balance sheet usually dictates whether a place stays open or closes? I think that only determined radical action, and maybe sacrificing many more churches than we're comfortable with is ever going to look like a credible response and witness in the face of crisis by churches. We had to do it to curb the pandemic, but to save the planet?

Unless we change

The feast of St Paul's Conversion today. As a fan of his teaching and often contentious passionate  evangelism. "Woe is me if I do not proclaim the Gospel" and "By the grace of God I am what I am." are two of my favourite phrases of his. I felt sad not to be able to be at the Eucharist on his fiesta, but I did remember him anyway.

Overnight and all day the temperature has hovered around zero, with sunshine and some cloud, and little wind. Another good day to be outdoors enjoying fresh air and exercise. After breakfast this morning, as happens several times a week, a scam call from someone claiming to represent Microsoft, who knew my name, to inform me of an internet security compromise. It's tiresome, and predictable. Often we pick up and listen without responding, so the scanner thinks the line is open to an answering machine without a message. Fifteen seconds and the call is cut. Today, I was in a good mood and felt like trying out a new scam baiting response.

"Hello Mr Kimber, I'm calling from Microsoft about your account."

"Ah, you work for Microsoft too!" 

A hesitant silence and then again 

"Er - I'm calling about your Microsoft account."

"Yes, but which department department are you, what's your identity code? I'm with cyber fraud."

Click.

I rang my sister June to share the joke with her. 

"When I realise it's a scam call, I say 'This is Balham police station.'" she said. On the ball at 86.

Just after lunch we commonly get robo calls about Amazon Prime accounts. No interaction so we just let the call continue until it times out. I feel sorry for the poor people who deceive themselves into thinking they are working for a legitimate enterprise when they are cold calling using stolen data.

I went to the Co-op for a few grocery items later on. I queued a short while to get in, and several people came out empty handed. I picked up what I needed and when I reached the till was told "Cash payments only the payment network's down nationally." I stopped carrying cash many months ago, and we've been discouraged from using it because of covid contamination. And this happens, showing how vulnerable we are when our super snazzy technology doesn't work. I went back home and got some cash from Clare then returned for my shopping. 

Funny, in the old days a grocer would write a bill, and you'd be trusted to return later and pay, but very few stores will offer that kind of account rendering any more. The admin is too complex and inefficient in our cost conscious modern world. We appreciate our convenient cashless transactions, but have lost a fall-back alternative. Society today doesn't run on personal trust in the way it used to, and we're so much poorer for that. After lunch I went and drew some cash from the bank. Who knows when electronic pay systems will fall over again?

The government enthuses daily about the vaccination rate, while expressing concern about the numbers being infected and warning that lockdown will need to go on longer than promised. Boris' lightweight cheerleader optimism is being gradually supplanted by a healthier realism. Measures are being mooted about far stricter quarantine for people travelling into Britain from countries where new covid variants are spreading like wildfire. Border control, it seems to me has all along been more aspirational than rigorous, like track and trace, not to mention ubiquitous virus testing. 

Interesting, now that the rigour of post brexit trade border control is becoming evident, the greater is the price UK businesses have to pay. The cost of living will rise, as a result of reclaiming freedom from EU 'control' in the name of old fashioned libertarian ideals, the same ideals that presumed all Brits would behave decently, common sense and courtesy and abide by anti covid restrictions. The price paid is seen in the highest excess death rate in the world. 

The more that's understood about the covid virus, and how to master it, the more it seems to me that scientific confidence is being moderated by scientific caution. Victory is far from assured, as a result of the scale of human poverty and the impoverishment of the planet due to pollution, global warming and bio-diversity loss - factors working in favour of the virus adapting and becoming even more persistent. If nature continues to turn against humankind as a species, we're headed towards extinction. Maybe only when the global population is decimated will the impact of humans on the biosphere will be reduced enough to enable the biosphere to recover its stability and health. A terrible thought. Nevertheless, I am still in a good mood, not despairing, because we are such a creative and adaptive species. But it really is a matter of 'change or die' now as it was for the Hebrew poets and prophets two and a half millennia ago. I think St Paul would agree.

Engineering conservation

My morning walk today took me up the north bank path of the rio Aguas nature reserve, curious to see how much progress had been made in clearing vegetation from the river bed since I last went up there, exactly a month ago. I was astonished by what I saw.

Not only had another half a kilometre of cane and bushes been cleared from the watercourse, but several large earth moving vehicles were excavating the soil and adding it to the existing dykes, established as a flood prevention measure years ago. There are places on the north side where flood water erosion last winter swept away soil and vegetation, scouring three metre high precipices in places next to the dirt road. All this needs repairing, making stable and safe, and with vast amounts of alluvial soil and stone to draw upon, it will be possible to improve greatly the protection needed whenever there is catastrophic flooding and rio Aguas threatens to burst its banks.

Needless to say, the riverbed environment, stripped of its five metre high cane forest, looks ravaged and desolate, a conservationist's nightmare on a par with images of amazonian despoilation. But, the banks are not being heaped high with stone and the riverbed paved, as is often the case in cities having to cope with the disruptive effect of occasional deluges. There will be a dramatic effect on riverbed wildlife and ecosystems with such environmental disruption, but similar things happen if there is a big flood also, or a toxic incident. The soil here is rich and fertile and the impact of this remodelling of the riverbed won't be permanent. Vegetation will return and quickly re-grow, and the wildlife will return spreading from wherever it now takes refuge.

It was interesting to observe several Great Egrets accompanying the excavators, dicing with death in close proximity to tracks or giant wheels. Wherever the earth is broken open, a feast of seeds and insects is released, and keen eyed birds benefit. A short term gain for them, maybe, a treat in the never ending hunt for food. It was hard to get decent photographs, as the excavators are so big and the bird so tiny in comparison.

Stripped of vegetation, it's possible to see where the river used to meander and maybe still does if there is enough rain for water to appear at ground level. The core route of the river is also being excavated, it's definition being restored, so that it can more effectively take rain water running from the surface either side of the channel. On the north side of the valley, half way down is an artificial plastic lined pond, perhaps collecting spring water from the cliff above. This drains into a channel that connects to the central river bed, feeding the charco which at this point is a few hundred metres lower down toward the sea. All this must be carefully engineered to ensure the right balance between saline and fresh water for the vegetation around the charco to flourish.

How good it is that the municipality and regional government are willing to invest thought, time and money in large scale conservation project of this kind. Nobody wants floods, so managing the landscape is vital. Perhaps those involved have also noticed how many visitors are attracted by the very fact that an otherwise unremarkable coastal valley has retained its bio-diversity and made it into an attractive place to visit. I was passed on the dusty track by a couple of golf carts from the neighbouring Marina Playa course laden with passengers, curious like me to take a look at work in progress. I wonder what the watercourse will look like in a couple of years from now.

      

No change but a change of air

During the night I was conscious of the arrival of high winds, not just from the noise outside, but from a perceptible change of air. That sounds odd, but the coastal plain Cardiff inhabits suffers from polluted air when weeks pass without a breeze. It's got worse in recent years with increased traffic congestion. There are times when I'm returning home from a walk in the park, that there's a noticeable difference between the air out in Llandaff or Pontcanna Fields, and the air along Penhill Road, the penultimate leg, which reeks of diesel fumes from standing traffic. 

Cardiff Council's published pollution maps confirm from monitoring data what a healthy sense of smell detects. We're two hundred yards from Penhill Road and our street is very quiet. The scent of pollution isn't so obvious at home from day to day, but when a strong wind blows, the difference quite marked. I wish we lived in the country or near the sea, though I can't see us moving house again. We just need to get out and away more often, to take the air.

I went to St John's to celebrate the midweek Eucharist this morning but Fr Chris Lee turned up to take the service as well,due to a double booking error. I felt glad to sit with the congregation and worship. The only other times I've been able to do that for a long time have been on a couple of weekend trips to Kenilworth to look after Rhiannon. It's so good to be on the receiving end and be ministered to, and it was lovely to chat with Chris after the service.

Following a brief trip to the bank and to shops I returned home for lunch, and then went out on foot to make a bereavement visit at the west end of Canton Parish. As I wasn't sure of my street destination, I checked on Google Maps, which set me the quickest walking route. This proved misleading when, two third of the way through the journey, I was led into a side street, to get to the main road by a shortcut, whose only exit was closed off with a 'residents only access' security gate. One hears of this happening with sat-nav car directions leading to dead ends on country lanes, but don't expect it in a heavily built up area on a walking route! Anyway, it only delayed me by a few minutes, and then an hour later I was on my way home again.

Kath and Rhiannon had arrived by the time I returned. Kath returns tomorrow as she and Anto work this weekend. Rhiannon will end her half term and 13th birthday week with us. The Clare and I will drive with her back to Kenilworth on Sunday. I'll stay for a couple of nights, and Clare for the week to look after Rhiannon, as Kath and Anto have another busy week of Wriggledance touring gigs in parts of the country where next week is half term, not this one. Such is the life of an artistic family. We're just glad to be able to support them, and have time together with them in between engagements.

After tea we went for a walk down to the river Taff. Rhiannon walked arm in arm with me and told me all about her birthday pizza party the night before. It was heartwarming, despite the powerful chilling effect from the strong north wind sweeping through the region. The evening highlight of was watching 'Death in the Caribbean' on the telly, a rather old fashioned detective story reminiscent of another era. And despite our various efforts, none of us guessed who the murderer was.

No news of the election of a Bishop this evening from Llandaff Cathedral. The electoral college was unable to come to a consensus, nor to a 2/3rds majority vote. Nobody knows why, as participants are bound by an oath of confidentiality. Those outside, anxious for a result to gossip about, fantasise and joke instead in Facebook postings. If we have to choose a new father-in-God, this is I suppose as good if not better than any other ways. Public electoral campaigns are to my mind anathema. Discernment has been entrusted to trustworthy electors, themselves elected to office. When discernment fails everyone is bound to worry somewhat. If the electoral college fails, the Bishops meet and appoint someone. How long we have to wait for this to happen has not yet been announced, as far as I know. Let's hope it happens soon. 

   

St Agnes postponed

I went to St John's Canton this morning to offer a 10.30 Eucharist, relocated from its usual venue at St Luke's as the heating there is broken. There was a coffee morning going on at the other end of the church and nobody turned up to worship, so I prayed and read the Liturgy of the Word on my own, which I was quite happy to do. It's St Agnes Day today, but I'll be celebrating it tomorrow in any case.

Afterwards, Clare and I took advantage of another day of sunshine and went for a long walk around the park. I half recognised up to a dozen different kinds of birdsong, which was encouraging. I spotted a wren and a robin, and photographed a heron on the Bute Park river bank, and two large cormorants perched on different stones in the river, eyes fixed, like the heron on the water beneath them, hunting for fish, possibly salmon on the move to their spawning ground up-river. Strangely, yesterday, I heard and saw few birds apart from the ubiquitous crows, magpies and pigeons. Yet, the weather was the same as today. Getting to know the riverside parkland as wildlife habitat requires lots of walks and observation in the same locations time and time again, to build up a proper picture and understand it. It's nice to have much more time to look these days.

The rest of the day was uneventful and the evening spent watching the rubbish TV. The only thing of interest I found to read was an article about how groups of academics and computer geeks in the USA have been working around to clock to download and archive the content of American government Environmental protection agency data, before the new President takes office, suspecting that he will act to suppress volumes of published scientific data which confirms climate change. Trump is a declared denier and skeptic, who looks set to relegate climate change action to the bottom of his priority list. In other tech news, on his first day in office with executive power, the tech media are already reporting that US government web information on environmental and climate issues is no longer accessible. This is a worrying sign of dangerous times to come. If the truth is meant to set us free, suppressing the truth is surely meant to enslave us. But, as Trump sows, so will he reap. Suppress the facts and they could well return and cause your fall eventually.

      

How green is my Valley now!

Yesterday's carol service for the whole of Tredegarville school was the last occasion of this term for children to worship in St German's. There'll be no more 'class Masses' until mid January when Spring term gets under way. Eight of the regulars were there for the  midweek celebration of the Eucharist this morning, eastward facing in the Lady Chapel. Afterwards I chatted with people in the day centre for a while before heading back home for lunch. 

The rest of the day was uneventful and pretty inactive, apart from a brisk walk to Tesco's after preparing supper. Clare was out rehearsing for her Sunday concert until after eight. After eating together, I watched the first of a documentary series being re-run on BBC Four, about the river Taff and its post industrial regeneration. It's a superb series, part of which I have seen before. It was lovely to hear people being interviewed who spoke with the unique local accent in the area where I grew up. The 21st century story of the river's revival as a natural habitat, after half a century of ecological death by industrial pollution, is such a positive story for our time.

As I was growing up the state of the river, with its banks of alien silt from deep underground, brought to the surface and distributed throughout river systems due to ubiquitous coal mining washeries, was part of my earliest memories of outdoor play. I remember my mother's anxious warning, not to go near 'that black brook' which flowed off the mountainside through Ystrad Mynach, down to the river Rhymney on the floor of our valley. Coal dust, however you acquired it, made your clothes very dirty, so heaven help you if you fell into the river. Now the tributaries and the main valley rivers are alive again with healthy vegetation, birds and fish. The grief of elders who lived through the heyday of mining regretting the environmental cost has been turned to joy and pride.

At the end of my first year in University, I had a summer internship in the local National Coal Board science lab on the edge of our village. One of my tasks was to accompany a member of staff who toured streams and rivers in the area collecting water samples. These were then subjected to routine tests for toxins from coal tips, to monitor the impact of coal waste dumping. I think this was where my interest in the environment really began. In those days, when the pits were still producing coal and dumping waste incessantly, the valleys were bleak places, made ugly by industry. 

I went off to University in Bristol, and found an urban environment with clean countryside not too far away much more appealing. So, I grew in determination not to return to the valleys of my birth. Even so, I did return to Cardiff to train for ministry, and served my first curacy in Caerphilly, in a mining housing estate, though, mercifully in a setting where hillsides were green and free of coal tips. Then, ministry took me to one urban area after another for thirty years. Only in the past fourteen years since returning to serve in Britain, has the transformation of the environment after the closure of the pits made a strong impression on me. I watched this evening's programme with great pride and joy, as so much of the landscape it portrayed is now familiar.

It leaves me wondering. Natural beauty was such an important element of my experience of young life, despite the industrialisation of the valleys. Had the landscape not been despoiled when I was growing up, would I have been less tempted to escape and seek a new way of life and new experiences elsewhere?