I was dropping off My Village News through letterboxes, having volunteered in response to an appeal for help. I thought that it would be a good way of familiarizing myself with the village, and I enjoyed it. After dropping off the last of my first batch, I found myself standing in front of a tempting downhill track, which clearly ran to the Dee. It ran gently downhill, and was a rewarding stroll, with tall hedges filled with bright spring greens and some dots of floral colour, mainly bluebells and celandines with some glorious sweeps of hawthorn. Gaps in the hedges and farm gates revealed long views over the surrounding countryside, rolling fields with the Welsh foothills in the distance. It looked fabulous in the sun against a deep blue sky. I hadn’t actually intended to go any further than Stannage Lane, so was walking around the village in tennis shoes, not a great choice for the serious sogginess that I encountered when I reached the wood at the end of the track. I really wanted to reach the river, but the thick brown sludge was a persuasive argument against it, so I turned around and came back. Another day.