The chocolate was chilled (yes, I'm one of those chill the choc before it's edible kind of beings). The annual festivity of an Easter Sunday stroll did indeed occur. The daffodils bloomed an almighty burst of yellowy sunshiny happiness into my life (and living room). Some sensational grub was consumed by the bucketload and resulted in some damn fine sofa sleep sessions (my Lamb Kofta's will be taking centre stage on the blog real soon). Oh and we absolutely cannot exclude the hourly fridge ritual - I say ritual, it's more a top secret mission. How many times is too many times to stop by the fridge, snap off a cheeky chunk of choccie egg and resume all normal activity like nothing ever happened? Asking for a friend.
Judging by my description, I had a cracking Easter weekend.
The beauty of being a neighbour of the Yorkshire Dales is that adventure is quite literally on the doorstep. And, I bet you know as well as I do - when the sun shines on the Dales, it is simply rude to turn down adventure. That meant kicking off the slippers and squeezing on the old faithful walking boots!
A considerable amount of coffee consumption later (caffeine is always the way to start the day), we hopped on over to Rylstone and set off on what seemed like a dodgy decision to conquer Rylstone Cross. Dodgy pip incoming - alcohol inflicted decisions, two evenings before, turned a slight incline into Everest. You know the one - can't catch your breath, break into a sweat shower and just genuinely complain for the best part of ten minutes.
Click the pink to get the walking link.
However, I must draw your attention to this ridiculously cute flock of lambs - adorable. If I have anyone to thank for spurring (if we're serving up cheese, baaaing works here too) me on, it would be them and their happy hopping - ewe were utterly delightful. To be honest, if I had a preference on noises to fill my ears, it would easily be the sound of spring. There is something infectious and calming about the cute bleats that fill the fields. My soothing sleep soundtrack would have to be a solid tune of rural countryside ft a remix of seaside waves.
The point at which I grabbed my breath back was a true turning point; I only went and spotted the stile that led the last 10 paces to the cross. Now, we could say at this point, I was hanging out for a hungover miracle (ice-creams, smoothies & sugar all work for me). So, you bet when two suspiciously happy strangers walked past me, shovelling the sweet Easter treat of choccie eggs into their mouths, I caught a glimmer of hope. Quite literally, the music to my ears rang - I quote, "Easter eggs are hidden on the other side of the cross".
Channelling my inner ecstatic five year old self, the egg hunt got well underway - side stepping around rocks (without any femininity), clinging onto edges for dear life & peering down dodgy crevices.
Despite the 11/10 effort, it was a poor show. The disappointment was perfectly deadly and I'd just endured egg hunt, high-risk mountaineering style, for what exactly?
We were one ledge down and two paces back towards the stile, when...
the kindness and generosity of a wonderful person was discovered... by the tub load!
A sunny sugar rush with a view made me the hoppiest I'd been all day!
It's fair to say, Rylstone cross with a side of choccie elevenses was eggsceptional. Yolks on you if you don't give it a whirl.
Happy Hoppity Easter. H x
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