Kit Hill and Metherell, Tamar Valley: This pear tree remains spectacular, with creamy blossom on wide-spreading branches
At dawn, birdsong floats up from shrubby undergrowth towards the cold summit of Kit Hill. Mist lies in the lowest valleys and, like the scattered enclaves of yellow oilseed rape and plastic-covered maize plantings, appears luminous among the pale greens and blues of the expansive patchwork of fields and woods.
The first cuckoo call of the season impels a brief runabout in honour of family tradition to ensure another year of liveliness – although my predecessors would have had no need to come uphill and away from the valley to hear this bird. The sound of melodeon, trombone, drum and bells echoes around the monumental mine-stack as the Cornish Wreckers dance morris in celebration of May and of “winter gone away”.