I am afraid today that you will have to use your imagination. Although I had a camera with me, the traffic was just too bad to stop and take a photograph, but I just had to tell you about it.
In a pretty village just this side of the little town of Bedale, just about the point where our little beck decides to get a bit bigger and call itself the River Em, there is a house with a bit of a wild garden. The house has obviously changed hands fairy recently and over last winter we noticed that they had dug up the wild garden, raked it and appeared to leave it barren.
But yesterday, when we passed, it was the most glorious blaze of colour. It had been thickly sown with a wild flower mix. I have never seen anything quite like it - every flower you could think of - poppies, cornflowers, corn cockle, chicory, tiny little blue flowers, long-stalked red flowers - familiar and unfamiliar flowers, the like of which I have not seen for years.
And it made me long for the fields of my childhood, the fields of 'Lark Rise to Candleford', the fields where the balance of nature meant that plants and animals lived in harmoney with the crops rather than have to make way for a bigger yield of corn or hay or whatever. There used to be scarlet pimpernels growing between the rows of stubble in the cornfields; some cornfields would be red over with poppies; corn cockle and yellow rattle would grow among the crops and everyone would marvel at their beauty rather than fix the spray on to the tractor and rid the field of all these so-called 'weeds'.
I'm sure the farmer would not agree with me on this but I miss those fields of my childhood. I am sorry that today's fields are really just fields of green grass apart from the odd escapee in the hedge bottoms.
My consolation up here at present is that the heather is just coming out on the moorlands and all around the hills are beginning to show purple. We must make the most of it because it is a short-lived flower and will be gone in no time.
Also a reminder that the 'glorious twelfth' (or inglorious, depending on one's point of view) is only two days away so the poor grouse had better watch out.