Great big sky down to the ground

If it weren't for the numerous photographs I've taken, our holiday would be just a distant, if pleasurable, memory by now. In the olden days of analogue photography, I might still be waiting impatiently for the rolls of film to be developed, all but snatching the envelopes of prints out of the shop assistant's hands once they were ready. Instead, digital photography provides instant gratification, significantly increasing the number of photographs taken at the same time.  I have no qualms admitting that I took about 570 of them in the six days that we were away. 

And so it is that just one week after our return, I can relive the joys of the second full day of our holiday week, Tuesday the 1st of September. Are you joining me?

We woke up to a slightly cloudy morning, but the growing patches of blue held the promise of a beautiful day. The morning's goose-bumpy chilliness, combined with the weather forecast for the day, predicting highs of just 18°C, made me grab for this short-sleeved knit jumper to wear with my wide-legged trousers.

If you look carefully, you can see a certain woolly-coated creature roaming in the garden on my left. It's one of the two resident sheep, roped in to act as living lawn mowers. They often come right up to the owner's house which lies behind our tiny temporary one, hoping for a carroty treat.

I've had the vintage chevron patterned jumper - a Think Twice find - for well over a year. Nevertheless, this was only its first wear.  It originally plunged a bit too deeply for my liking, which was easily remedied with a couple of stitches. The thing that really bothered me, though, was its collar, the points of which were fastened to the jumper's shoulders, making it stand up in a funny and rather awkward way. As I couldn't get it to look right, I thought I'd try to carefully remove the stitches. This is when I found out there weren't any and that the points were pinned down with two small safety pins instead. How did I never notice this?

The label says Carol Caroline, for which I found a couple of 1970s references online, although its batwing sleeves makes me suspect the jumper might be early 1980s. Whatever the case, its muted colour palette of greys, peachy pink and sage green matched my trouser's print perfectly. 

The trousers are New Look by way of a Shropshire charity shop last Summer. From my temporary capsule of accessories, I chose a burnt orange necklace and an enameled brooch featuring an orange, yellow, purple and green floral design on a fudgy background.

Our choice of walk for the day took us to the village of Lampernisse, just over half an hour's drive from our cottage. This sleepy backwater, which has a population of about 200, is classified as a so-called Charming Village.

There are fifteen of these in the Westhoek region (as this Western part of Belgium is called), elevated to their special status due to their unique architecture, heritage, location and couleur locale.

Lampernisse is justifiably known as the quietest village in the region, while its other claim to fame is its location amid the wetlands of Lampernisse, a conservation area of special scientific interest, which has been under protection since 1993.

In the weeks before our trip, I'd printed the 6,5 kilometer Zannekin walk, which starts at the village church, from the official nature agency website. Only a matter of days later Jos told me he'd found a great walk in one of our books. Turned out they were one and the same, which seemed the be reason enough for it to go straight on our must-do list.

Again, the route was way-marked, but unlike the previous day's walk, we soon found the first of the official hexagonal signs just outside the churchyard. 

The Zannekin street swiftly took us to the outskirts of the tiny hamlet, past the last of its rural cottages and crumbling farm buildings, until we came across a blue doored chapel. Officially the Onze-Lieve-Vrouwkapel (Chapel of Our Lady), it is colloquially known as the Keunekapel (transl. Bunny chapel) as this is where local farmers came to pray for the protection of their rabbits against myxomatosis.

From the chapel, the Zannekin walk - named after a 14th century Flemish freedom fighter - took us along a narrow tarmacked lane meandering through the wetlands of Lampernisse. Courtesy of the dry Spring and hot Summer, the water level in the ditches at both sides of the lane seemed to be alarmingly low. I'm sure it would be quite a different story after a period of heavy rains.

Swathes of chamomile were prominent among the wildflowers lining the road, while the chattering of meadow birds well hidden in the undergrowth accompanied us. In a distant field, white herons outnumbered the cows. We counted at least twenty of them, but alas they were too far away to catch them on camera.

The landscape surrounding us was flat as a pancake, with the great big sky down to the ground.

This is one of the widest stretches of continuous open space in Flanders, the odd farm building and the distant view of Lampernisse's church tower and red tiled roofs the only signs of human habitation. 

With no conveniently placed benches to have our picnic, we sat down on a stone parapet where the lane bridged one of the brooks which intersect the rich meadows and fertile fields.

We didn't see a soul except for two pairs of fellow walkers who overtook us while we were eating our sandwiches. The cows in the field across hardly gave us the time of day and continued the eternal process of grazing and chewing the cud.

The sun kept playing hide-and-seek with the clouds, and I was grateful for my old and faithful green raincoat and the scarf I'd added at the last minute.

We walked along a succession of natural pools, creeks and ridges before reaching the Lesser IJzer, a small and gently flowing stream on the boundary between the villages of Lampernisse and Alveringem.

It's as if time has stood still here, with the past a very tangible given and the thought of a global pandemic an unimaginable future. 

Many of the fields you come across here are ancient hay meadows and pastures which have never been ploughed. The farm in the bend of the road looked like a relic from a bygone age too, with its weedy farmyard and peeling paint. You'd be forgiven for thinking it was abandoned, if the sounds of the Tour de France coverage hadn't seeped through its net-curtained windows.

Nature is showing its true colours here too. They're no denying we're on the slippery slope to Autumn. 

Berries and seed heads were a feast for the eye, while the discovery of a single clump of Autumn crocuses made me squeal with delight.

The final stretch of our walk took us through meadows where sheep were eyeing us wearily from its furthest corners. Here, we had to climb a barrier bisecting the little wooded bridge, which acted as a cattle grid. More climbing was required where the meadow ended just before reaching another narrow tarmacked road.

A band of steel grey clouds pregnant with rain seemed to be moving towards us, so we quickened our step in the direction of Lampernisse's church spire which was luring us around a bend.

With one final backward glance, we bade the painterly landscape goodbye, pleased to see that the rain clouds were speeding off elsewhere, drawing their black curtains to once again reveal a blue and white rippled sky.

Back at the cottage, we had supper - we didn't go out to eat at all, preferring to prepare some easy meals in the safety of our home - and spent the evening reading, watching television and making plans for the next day.

That is, when we were not diverted by the ever-enchanting view across the lake. Both sheep regaled us with their presence, while the small grey tabby who sat staring at us turned out not to be the owner's, but a visiting cat.

The last rays of the sun dipped the tops of the hop poles in the distance in liquid gold.

And so, another day had come and gone, and gold-rimmed memories had been made, well preserved by photographs and my daily journal entry 

I hope you are all doing well and staying safe, and that you will be joining me for another episode of my travelogue soon.