The River

My parents live in a mill house beside a river at the bottom of a steep-sided valley. In front of the house there is a bridge across the river and we sit on the flat slates of the pillars and watch the water flow around the small island in the middle. Upstream, geese swim in the shallows beside the meadow.

In the summer, the water level is low and my children have flipped stones, paddled and built dams. In winter, the river can become a raging torrent and the Mill House has been flooded a number of times.

The noise of the river is inescapable - a constant tumbling sound that is the last thing you hear at night and the first thing you are aware of in the morning.

Today, we walked beside the river to the weir where the flow is divided. On one side the water flows along the leat channel to the back of the Mill. Once it powered the wheel that ground the flour for the neighbourhood. Some of the original machinery is still in the barn next to the house.

On the other side the water tumbles over the weir edge. It falls past a little wood of wild daffodils and a meadow of butterflies. Otters hunt salmon in this river.

We are very privileged to be able to visit such a wonderful place and grateful to my parents for making us so welcome whenever we drive down that steep hill and into the yard in front of the mill house.