A Retirement Blog by Caree Risover

  The onions from the vegetable patch have been dug up and are currently hanging on hooks in the garage to dry out, although we do use the occasional one. They taste wonderful but I'm guessing the average size is perhaps two inches in diameter.   Imagine therefore our surprise when last week's delivery of organic vegetables included three onions, all putting mine to shame in the size stakes with one a whopping 4 inches across. Not heavy enough to use as a substitute for dumbbells, too large to eat in one sitting. It's brought me back to that wonderful phrase: "Know your onions," meaning, of course, to be knowledgeable about your subject. In the world of work, so many have an expertise and are renowned for it. Years of practice at honing skills. In retirement, there's more of a feeling of dabbling, of pottering; a lot of general wisdom on all kinds of subjects but, unless we are now spending our time pursuing a hobby or interest that's lasted a lifetime, ca

  In the passionate grip of my ancestral quest, Mister E and I visited Wensleydale today. I have no lineal connection with that particular dale but was keen to visit the Dales Countryside Museum telling the story as it does of life in neighbouring Swaledale as well. It's operated by the Yorkshire Dales National Park Authority and is situated within the original station buildings at Hawes. Whilst it felt a little surreal wandering around a museum in a face mask, you are soon intrigued enough by some of the exhibits that you do forget about it after all and with staggered entry times at 15 minute intervals, there was certainly no need to think about social distancing from anybody. Full of farming and lead-mining implements from earlier periods, it was an immersive experience in the life of my forebearers. Although my direct family line were farmers, some of the women  inevitably married lead miners as Swaledale with its ore deposits went through a period of mass excavation.  Sadly fr

  Following on from my last blog post, it can thunder and rain now, because today we had a successful rendezvous and day out. Yes the temperature reached over 30 degrees, rather hot for North Yorkshire, but we moderated our plans to suit and met at Staveley Nature Reserve administered by the Yorkshire Wildlife Trust.  It's 79 hectares of grassland, wetlands and ponds interspersed with bird hides to view a vast array of wading and other species. There are well marked footpaths and as it's all on the flat. It's a perfect spot for scorching conditions, although tree cover provided much needed shade in places. To top it all there was a lovely clean pub in the village serving food on the lawn at socially distanced tables. Forget the picnic wilting in the car boot, we "ate out to help out," surely earning good citizenship commendations in the process.   Strangely and despite the fact not a lot has been happening to either of us since we last met 6 months ago, there was

  I've been feeling the frustrations of life under Covid-19 restrictions of late. Maybe it's just been the heat, although here in the North we have certainly been spared the worst excesses of the thermometer. It started  10 days ago now, when, somewhat out of the blue, a friend, whom I had arranged to meet for the first time since lockdown was implemented, was caught by its reintroduction in her area. She lives miles from the virus hotspot,  but because these Northern lockdowns are based on local authority areas was caught by the announcement. Of course, at the time we didn't know how it would affect our plans as ludicrously it appeared that whilst we could work together in an office, wave at each other but not sit together in a pub, we could no longer visit the other's home or garden. It became clearer over the next few days that in fact,  not only could she still go on holiday (had she one arranged) but, with no desire to barbecue burgers together as our plan instead

We shall shortly be coming to the end of another Plastic Free July. Certainly since retiring we have become astute at avoiding single use plastic and are very much conscious of looking at other options when purchasing anything, be it a dishwashing brush or a full blown kitchen appliance. It's impossible to avoid, but we try our best and, of course, July is always an opportunity to refresh the philosophy and up the motivation. A few years ago I started to use beeswax wraps instead of cling film. Compared to cling film, they are expensive but of course they are reusable. Waking in a creative frame of mind this morning, I finally decided to have a go at making my own wraps. It really isn't so difficult. You cut cotton fabric to size; place it on baking parchment on a tray; sprinkle it liberally with beeswax pellets; place in the oven for 4 to 5 minutes; remove and brush the melted wax around to ensure an even covering; lift with tongs and shake to cool; hang up to set. Nothing mu

  The use of face coverings in shops and other enclosed public spaces became mandatory in England today, having only previously been required on public transport. Although I've been out and about, meeting friends for a socially distanced glass of prosecco in a sunny garden this afternoon and also driving my mother to the local hospital earlier, I didn't need to wear one. It was however interesting listening to a debate raging on the radio as I returned home at lunchtime. We really do have any number of crackpots living in this country who think their civil liberties are being infringed by a requirement to cover their nose and mouth. Come on guys; this pandemic isn't a hoax and you really don't have to enter those places, if you don't want to comply with the rules. I thought that even in Medieval times it was considered that masks could provide some protection against pestilence and plague. Didn't the doctor in the 1600’s use a mask with a bird-lik

T he weather finally smiled kindly upon us on Sunday and so with benign conditions forecast for the whole day, Mister E and I set off for Swaledale. We had plotted our route out in advance and planned to drive beyond Reeth,  cross the beck and then make our way up Slei Gill and from there across the moor to those parts where my ancestors frolicked in the late 18th/early 19th centuries. It wasn't necessarily the shortest route but it avoided some longer steeper climbs. Of course, we hadn't reckoned on the footbridge across the beck being washed away with the flooding over the last 12 months. Unfortunately there was no advance notice so we wasted time walking down to it through the hamlet of Arkle Town. A chap had managed to negotiate his way across via the one long strut that remained. Whilst it might have been an easy crossing for a trained tightrope walker, the squeals of consternation from his partner, who had been endeavouring to shuffle her way across on her bottom u