Bright yellow fields

I enjoy looking at grass-covered landscapes.  Not manicured golf courses, but the wilder, rougher fields of the prairies and grasslands, expanses broad enough with plants tall enough to show the sweep and ripples of the wind.  In our travels across the US we often sought out relict or restored plots of tall-grass prairies or the wide-open windy spaces of the dry grasslands. I also like orderly fields of corn or soybeans in Illinois and I smile to remember the fields of many colors and textures in the seed-growing areas of the Willamette Valley.  

But for pure garish shock one has to see the bright yellow fields of rape in England and Europe.  From the air they look artificial, as if someone has imposed a yellow polygon layer on top of the green and brown background.  To my eye they seem to glow as the airplane descends into the English gloom.  From the ground on a bright day, as from the train from Cambridge to London on Saturday, they still look un-real - a uniform and spotless carpet of brightest yellow flowers.   A prime example, I suspect, of mechano-chemical-monocultural agriculture (and European farm policy?) at its worst, but a remarkable view.  Just now we also have bright bursts of buttercups in the pastures of the Cambridge common areas.  Imagine that bold yellow of buttercups, raised to prominence and dominance to the exclusion of all other color, even leaf green, over multi-hectare patches, and you get a sense of the rape fields in blossom.  

The train station in Cambridge seemed quite busy for a Saturday.  Some special event, I surmised, sport no doubt.  But not in London - the train in that direction ran only half full.  "Passengers for the races in Newmarket will please make their way quickly to platform 6."  Ah, the races.  That explains the fancy dresses, the fancier hats, the ties and coats.  And, perhaps, also, the abundant containers, in many shapes and form, subtle and otherwise, of alcohol.

I rested on the un-crowded train to London.  Mary Lou had tucked an apple and a chocolate bar into my bag - nice.  I felt the weary satisfaction of a hard bicycle ride, better than I had expected for a tired start, still on my relentless search for long (I would settle for 5 km!) challenging hills.  I tried a new route this morning, from Six Mile Bottom up to Carlton, not bad, small rough roads but not much traffic and a decent, by East Anglia standard, ascent.  

Mad in Kings X, people crowded everywhere, traveling to who-knows-what events on a holiday weekend.  Weekend closure of two Tube lines for 'planned engineering works' probably contributed to the crowds on the Picadilly Line.  Some danger, as the masses poured down the escalators to over-crowded platforms below, but TfL employees worked throughout the station to keep people safe and moving.  West toward the airport, where the Picadilly Line comes above ground, one could see high activity in the allotments (community gardens) - taking advantage of fair weather at the weekend.  I thought of the rainy forecast for the Oregon coast.  

In Terminal 5 I saw NHS medics on bicycles. Don't they have a smooth ride and clean bikes!