Day Eighty Nine

We move  to Carnon Downs this morning.  It will be our last stop before we head home, all of our trips start and end here.  With Truro and the motorhome storage place nearby, it makes a perfect base. Hopefully we’ll see bunnies this time. There were none when we arrived in June, which is worrying.  The bunnies, for me, are the best bit.  I’d like to think they are safe.

There’s a bit of faffing around before we set off for Carnon Downs, and a bit more when we arrive, but eventually we settle enough to head out to Trelissick Garden after lunch.  It might not be with the Antique Roadshow in attendance but will still be lovely.  

No bunnies so far.  Plenty of burrows though.

Trelissick offers an immediate cute surprise, atop their holiday cottage is a new weather vane, a gold squirrel no less.  His tail is set to catch the wind and he spins around merrily.  I need one of those.  

Also a surprise is that we can tour the house.  Last time we were here the house was in private hands, in the last private ownership of the estate.  Only the ground floor is open, revealing a much lived in family home with good bones and stunning views across water through the columned verandah.  As with many houses willed to the National Trust, it’s in need of repair.  Upstairs and downstairs are off limits: movement has been detected in the staircase.  

We wander Trelissick’s 300 acres amongst the autumn colours.  Most flowers are in their last gasp, hydrangeas mainly.  

The ancient azaleas, camelias and rhododendrons have long finished flowering.  I thought I had seen every variety of hydrangea, but today I see something new: enormous cone shaped flowerheads with white and the palest of pink flowers.  Gorgeous.

 We do see a spectacularly coloured male pheasant in long grass, quite unfussed at being spotted.  A squirrel appears too, a spring baby, busy about the business of creating a winter larder from autumn’s bounty.  He’s carrying a walnut almost as big as his sweet little head.  No time to chat, busy.

I take the opportunity to recycle a huge pile of books I’ve picked up in our travels. Most of the National Trust houses run a second-hand bookshop and I’m guilty of collecting books from each one we visit.  Bookshops, second-hand or otherwise, are one of my happy places.

 On our way out we see a bride and groom.  There’s a wedding on in the stables.  She looks gorgeous in her ivory A-line lace gown, he’s hiding, sneaking a cigarette with a mate. Smiles beam across both their faces.  Ah, young love. There’s nothing quite like the promise it holds.   

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