David Quintavalle

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Checking out the park in our new neighbourhood

October 31, 2020 by David Trevor Quintavalle Leave a Comment

View of lake and fountain in Burgess Park
View of lake and fountain in Burgess Park

At about the one-week mark after our move from Kent to Bermondsey in South London we took a walk to Burgess Park. As we had been looking at houses before and after Covid-19 lockdown one of the items on our wish list was to be near a park. Burgess Park seemed to be one that was nearby when we crept, neighbourhood by neighbourhood, closer to Central London. At 140 acres it is a big park and was created from what were originally streets and houses, some bombed out in World War II, others just razed. It also incorporates part of the Grand Surrey Canal, closed in 1970 and filled in.

Because of its history there are still some roads with homes, schools, churches and a mosque that cut into its footprint. We looked at one house on Cobourg Road that had a tiny backyard but was surrounded by the park. However, standing on the sidewalk in front of the house with all the people going to and from the park proper it oddly felt like a prop house on a movie lot. With all the nature and wildlife nearby there was little privacy.

Burgess Park with Shard in the distance
Burgess Park with Shard in the distance

As I exited the park I saw this amusing attempt to bring the park’s inhabitants and visitors together.

Filed Under: blog, London, Uncategorized

Kent + October = Apple

October 5, 2019 by David Trevor Quintavalle 2 Comments

It’s harvest time and we are in Kent so there must be apples! Today was the Cranbrook Apple Fair, which is known for its offbeat sensibility. 2019’s theme was Hippies and Vikings and fancy dress (costumes) were in either vein.

The Viking Ship with Viking Kings Aboard

In addition to the costumed attendees there was a performance by the Red Barrows, which is a phenomenon I won’t even attempt to describe or explain. Just picture a half dozen or so bearded men with Viking horns and or peace symbols (remember the theme), red wheel barrows and lots of red smoke, flares and explosions running up, down and around High Street to a 70s Pop soundtrack.

The Red Barrows as Hippie/Vikings

Available for our enjoyment were various hard apple ciders, fresh pressed apple cider, apple cakes and other goodies. The Cranbrook High Street, an historical Market Town, was closed for the occasion.

In related apple news, here is the colourful first step toward apple/green tomato chutney. Green tomatoes are also something that come in October in Kent.

Filed Under: blog, Kent, UK

National Trust in the Neighbourhood

September 8, 2019 by David Trevor Quintavalle Leave a Comment

panormic view of Sissinghurst Castle Garden
Sissinghurst Castle Garden panoramic view 1

One thing nice about having a wonderful National Trust site in the neighbourhood is that you can go there when you just want a cup of tea. We had run into Cranbrook for something and thought we would take advantage of a lovely day by going to a pub. But as we headed to the pub we past the entrance to the Sissinghurst Castle Gardens. It was late afternoon but there were still a few hours before the grounds closed.

After our cream tea (scone, jam and clotted cream along with your pot of tea) we started to wander a bit in the gardens. Late afternoon is perfect for a garden in September because, while some of the bloom is gone, the late-day golden sunshine gives some magic back to the flowers. Even the spent flowers and stalks have texture and appeal in dramatic lighting.

Here are some shots of garden that afternoon:

  • The tower
  • Verdigris gate
  • Doorway
  • Edge of the lawn
  • Airy
  • Floral fireworks
  • Urn

Filed Under: blog, Kent, UK

Another birthday

July 23, 2019 by David Trevor Quintavalle Leave a Comment

Looking out the train window at green fields, oast houses with quirky angled cowl-tops, horses, now fields with rolled up hay, some villages, mostly green, I’m thinking, Did I really have to go so far for this?

This is not regret. I am very happy with my decision, and there were numerous underlying reasons leading the way, but some part of my decision held these questions—Why not? If not now, when? There is something energizing about a total change of environment.

There is also a lot exhausting. Aimua bears the brunt of most of our wrangling to get what we thought of as basic services coming from New York City—mobile phone service, internet with acceptable speed, a car, which is indispensable—also dealing with a house we only saw once or twice before renting. It is charming and picturesque, but also apparently a vital part of the insect community. Aimua has battled ant infestations, wasp nests, all sorts of flying things (prissy Americans must provide their own screens for the windows and doors if they want fresh air).

Reflection usually comes with a birthday—this one probably more than usual.

NHS pays for all drug prescriptions for people over 60, which is useful because you need more drugs. And lining up replacements for multiple specialists is daunting, but we’re getting there.

The National Rail service provides a discount for seniors of 33%, which helps because I am still commuting to the office three times a week. Working from home though is wonderful as I hear sheep lowing in the fields. So sometimes I have to move to the window to get a good connection for a conference call—it’s a nice view.

Neighbors at sunset

I expected learning to drive on the left side of the road in a car with the steering wheel on the right side would be a challenge: it was probably the thing I was most apprehensive about. What I did not realize that choosing to live in the Kentish countryside would mean driving on the wrong side of very narrow roads. Aimua quickly adapts from right to left each time he crosses the Atlantic. He zings at 60 mph around those narrow country roads with ease. Me, not so much.

And I thought the challenge would be making turns into the wrong lane and getting the hang of roundabouts—Britain’s answer to four-way stop signs and fewer traffic lights. Actually, much harder is learning your car’s position in your lane when the white line is to your right, not your left. There is also getting used to two-way roads that become single lane when parking is permitted on one side. You have to duck out and travel in the wrong lane until your lane clears, hoping any cars coming in their lane will politely wait until you switch back. It is mostly an orderly process with thank you waves and high beam flashes.

And then there are enormous farm tractors that bounce along toward you with their four-foot high tires riding the center line.

I’m getting better. I don’t reflexively pull to the left every time a large car or truck approaches me (or at least not always). But I do swear there is some law of physics that says you will always pass an oncoming car on a tight curve, but maybe that’s because the road to our house is all tight curves. Right now, in the summer, the sun is up from 4 am until 10 pm so all our driving is essentially in daylight. I’m not looking forward to winter when those hours reverse.

My amazement at our change of countries is at its highest when I am in London’s center. Double decker busses, Covent Gardens, the bridges across the Thames—these are all things that I associate with being a visitor. They are familiar, but as sites I’ve seen in movies or on many visits, but not as home. I see them now and I think “I live here.” And I do.

Filed Under: blog, UK

More Lamb

July 14, 2019 by David Trevor Quintavalle Leave a Comment

We laughed when the Rightmove description mentioned grazing sheep in the yard of one of the first houses we looked at online. “That’s what I want,” I said, “sheep in the next field.” So when we drove up to meet the estate agent to first look at Summer Hill Oast we stopped on the narrow road leading to the house and looked at all the ewes and lambs—white dots against the lush spring green. Immediately a scraggly coated ewe with a black face came at a slight trot toward us baaing something—”hello”, “get out” or “Who are you?”—and made us welcome.

We rented the converted oast and I arrived first in Kent as spring started to come into full bloom. One of my favorite spots to look out at the fields was from a small patch of the pasture in front of a gate that joined our yard to the meadow. A wooden plank crossed a ditch separating the pasture from the hedges around yard. There was no fence except around the cutout where I stood, instead, the hedges, which were a mixture of holly, brambles and hawthorn, were the barrier between our grass and their grass.

I started to notice that the lambs would wander down into the ditch seeking out the grass in and on the other side of the ditch. So I shouldn’t have been surprised to come out of the house one afternoon to find two lambs and their mother in the middle of our lawn.

“How cute,” I thought. The man who was painting the inside of our house commented that we had guests and we had a laugh about the grass being greener, etc. As evening came on I shooed them and saw that they had found a hole in the hedge near the gate and my ‘reflection’ spot.

At six am the next morning, which was my first day back to work in London, they came back. I knew it was them because the lambs are tagged with numbers sprayed on their coats. Number 14 lambs and their chaperone had brought with them a dozen or so of their friends and they were now chomping down on everything in sight—grass, low branches of the shrubs and trees, roses, sweet peas, flowers from the geraniums (I guess the leaves aren’t so tasty). So in my jacket, tie and sneakers I started to round them up and back through the hole in the hedge. Some of them knew exactly what they were doing because they headed right for the hole, ran down and back up the ditch. Others were not so smart and got pressed up against the gate, bucking it or trying to fit through the bars. Finally they were all out. I went back in the house.

In no more than five minutes I looked out the window and they were streaming back through the hole! I ran out again and this time they all passed through in an orderly procession—like the sheep in a cartoon being counted to induce sleep. The taxi to take me to the station was arriving soon, so I had to improvise. There was a big cardboard box that a mattress I had ordered had come in. I folded it and wedged it into the hole. The sheep stood by it pondering this new development.

At seven that evening when the taxi drove up to the front door of the oast, there were the sheep again calmly walking around the drive looking for any leaf they hadn’t already eaten. That night they settled down on our lawn to sleep, but some ewes must have gotten separated from their lambs because all during the night there were these plaintive bleats answered by concerned baas.

In a few days, after the farmer had been called, the sheep moved to a different pasture, and a new fence inside the hedges had been put in the sheep were shifted once more to the pasture outside our yard. Everything returned to normal I could gaze out from our upper bathroom windows and see the white dots in the green again and be cheered by their calls to each other—in the distance.

So I was surprised many days later to come out onto the patio and see two lambs on our lawn. This was how it started before, I thought. I didn’t know how they had gotten in so I had no idea how to get them back. As I worked them toward their yard from our yard one quickly went under the gate, but the second either couldn’t squeeze through or couldn’t figure it out. He kept banging against the gate. He ran as I approached to open the gate, which, while open, swung back at looked like it was still closed. I worked him back toward the gate hoping he would see that it opened when he pushed it. Instead he tried to get through the gate and as he pushed to get through the gate swung open with him still attempting to get his shoulders through the bars. Eventually he realized he was already in the pasture, or maybe that’s what his mother and sibling were yelling at him the whole time.

That was several months ago. The lambs are much bigger now and can’t fit under the fence although one fellow keeps looking over at our yard and, I think, tries to figure out how to get in.

Filed Under: blog, Kent, Summer Hill Oast, UK

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