Somewhere Nowhere Blog
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Showing articles in category "lake district"
Seven days and nights feeling and reading the land- walking the spaces between the treefold poem in Cumbria.
Time to feel the elements and let the land inspire art and poetry: a 7-day midsummer walk in the Lake District, linking the three treefolds, camping as we go & finishing with a public talk at the Blencathra Centre on June 23rd.
This poem from The Long View has become a favourite, a poem about walking, and feeling in, and out, of place.
The Long View exhibition is currently on show at Great North Museum : Hancock. Instead of giving our own thoughts on it, we'd like to share one review that sums up the project and the work on show.
The Lake District National Park received inscription as a UNESCO World Heritage Site on July 9th. We think it's great news - but it doesn't mean this area needs to be frozen in time. Rather this accolade is a stimulus for partnership working towards a National Park where the environment improves alongside traditional farming practices and thriving communities ...
We have spent two years with seven remarkably ordinary trees so it feels wonderful to share them through The Long View book and the exhibition at Grizedale Forest in Cumbria.
Isn't it great when art causes debate ? Here's our reflection on how a single line of cloth got people talking about the impact of humans on the environment ...
We hadn't guessed that it might feel good to cut down trees ... but recently discovered why it can be very beneficial in Hardknott Forest in Cumbria's Duddon Valley.
A journey on the 555 bus to the road block between Grasmere and Thirlmere, and back again, via five pubs ... an unusual kind of a journey.
The five of us began our walk in the thickness of night. The sky was the darkest of blues - perhaps the colour of ocean depths.
The floods caused by the rain that fell with Storm Desmond have left their mark in Cumbria. We spent hours bailing, fighting against a sense of futility, as if trying to empty out an ocean with a thimble. For a time we felt like machines, bending, scooping, bailing, lifting buckets, filling, emptying, filling, emptying; at times our own rage rose, although hurling that at the fury of the storm was utterly useless.
" The ashtree growing in the corner of the garden was felled. It was lopped first. I heard the sound and looking out and seeing it maimed there came at that moment a great pang and I wished to die and not to see the inscapes of the world destroyed any more."
Gerard Manley Hopkins