Cornwall art and culture from genius loci

THE PEACE OF THE EMPTY PLACES by Clies Stevens

Yesterday it snowed hard on the high ground to the east, no surprise there because for at least 5 days the weather men had been telling us to be ultra careful and so on. The wind swung round to Nor’west, then North and blew. The dogs and I travelled out to St.Just, and moved on again towards the magnificent Cot valley and the huge empty bits out there. I say huge but in reality the space is not so huge but empty enough to feel the spectacular peace that creeps up from the inside, almost like cool spring water on a hot day.

Today the wind was like a wild thing, untameable and ferocious in its wayward path on the wild grasses and plants. Yet small birds still flew and survived as did bigger birds, and they fed on whatever they could find. The dogs were excited by the wind, in our vernacular they ‘Had the wind up their bum’ and played and ran after each other in the gale.

Yes it was not really the day to go wandering around open deserted countryside, yes it could have been dangerous in the snow showers, and yet to see this land is to feel its pull in all weathers and walk its paths with nature all around you.

Seabirds rushed past screaming on the wind to suddenly land with ultimate grace, pick up a morsel of food and take off again, all in a flash of white feathers. The sky was lowering and a menacing grey blue/black like a piece of slate; the snow and hail hit me like bullets yet I was exhilarated, the sheer power of the Atlantic was battering at us with a wild keening howl like a hungry thing searching for prey; and yet the grass was that perfect dark emerald green, the wild bushes and scrubby trees bent to the direction of prevailing winds and in the midst of all this was beauty.

In the far distance smoking chimneys told of warm security, and the yellow light spoke of occupation. Cattle huddled under the lee of high hedges built centuries back when man struggled against the elements to feed his family. The way of the land is all around you here; it can be felt on calm days and days as now, with the wild wind raising my Celtic soul high with the unlimited violence of the weather.

At last we returned to the car, tired, chilled faces and hands/paws, panting and puffing with the strength of the gale yet still exhilarated by it all. I rubbed the dogs down with towels I always carry for this purpose, Barney dog had his tongue lolling in my face breathing his love at me, and Bella, secure now in my love for her pushing at me with that long graceful nose. The sky had the colour of old lead now, and a donkey and two ponies gazed from an old shed at us, plainly sharing the view that we were mad to be out in this weather.
The drive home along that achingly magnificent country road from St.Just to Zennor then to St.Ives gave us a look at the land under threatening skies, pregnant with snow and wind; the car getting a battering as we went. At last the town came into view and here I always feel sadness, because the adventure out to my beloved country will soon end, and it will be time to deal with the mundane things of today’s living. The dogs are rubbed down again with dry towels then fed before I ever get to see to myself, and as I switched on the radio to the local station I hear of folk stuck on Bodmin moor and so on, stuck in the snow for hours!

Well I guess I was just as daft to venture out in such weather, but ohh dear me how good I felt! That night I raided my precious supply of coal and lit a real living fire, turned lights down and with two dogs snoring loudly in the heat from the flames remembered nights like this long ago, when Grandfather would call and tell me stories until I fell asleep in the chair.
Is there anywhere better to live?
No say I………

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