A Cup of Tea with Honey

Spring's Inspiration

Lately I've been spending a lot of time walking, wandering through undergrowth of the early spring  woodlands here in the country, admiring the way that weather and water and wind take their toll on stones, on acorn caps, on sticks and branches and twigs that have been chewed by deer and beaver, soaked by flood waters and left piled along the edges of our creeks and lakes.  I can't stop myself from gathering these cast offs of Mother Nature and bringing them home to rest on tabletops and fill old rusty tins in the studio. 

I have been beading and stitching quite a lot lately, making necklaces out of found objects.  So it is a natural extension to contemplate how to use these pretty bits of nature to create ornaments, brooches and necklaces.  Maybe this urge to create has something to do with all the negative ions being generated by all the rain lately, and all the water rushing through the creek beds down into the lake.  I always seem to come home with a head full of new ideas for things to create. I sketch some of them into my notebook, for later, when I have more time.

On my walks, while watching the departing grubby skirt tail of winter's last days, I am craving the colours of spring, bright yellows and greens.  While the woodland trails are still grey and faded brown, there are patches of beautiful moss peeking out from damp crevices, the first pale green  catkins hanging from alder trees, and old soggy stumps where trees once stood.  These seem like little worlds to me where anything magical might want to live.  The lush green is a welcome sight.  Yesterday I brought home a little moss to keep on a plate on my work desk.  Oh, the smell of it!  It was damp, cool, grassy, a heady scent that was better than any perfume.

I have been unable to settle down to work today.  Maybe it's the weather  - blustery, indecisive, raining one minute, weak milky sunshine the next, with great gusts of wind that make the clouds roll in and up over the ridge behind our house and  across the road.

Although I have been busy, I have found no true focus in work right now.  There are all sorts of ideas for new designs percolating, all kinds of things I'd like to incorporate into the things I enjoy making.  Just behind the laptop screen here on my table in front of the window rests a cluttered collection of items that were gathered during the course of this week:

old lace, worn wood, dried twigs, faded ribbons, antique mother of pearl buttons, the worn covers of a book, old thread, a tea-stained metal rimmed tag, a little piece of fabric I stitched with antique metallic seed beads.  Maybe somehow all of these things will pull together into some sort of artistic vision that seems new to me, that seems fresh and lovely and channeled from magic and wisdom and from somewhere deep within that begins, like spring water, somewhere deep deep inside where the heart taps into hidden visions, where things bubble forth and rise up to the surface, and out into the light, for me to see, for me to  harness, to make and then to set free.

Laurie Swim (Artists I Admire)

Laurie Swim is a Canadian star in the firmament of quilters. Laurie first came to my attention in 1986 when I saw the cover of her book The Joy of Quilting. On the cover was a deceptively simple quilt of a woman picking an apple from an apple tree. It is breathtaking in its simplicity, using only black and white fabrics, with a bit of yellow for hair and a few red circles for apples, and yet it captures the essence of an orchard, and Eve picking a single red apple.

Eve's Apple

The quilt called “Eve’s Apple” and was made when Laurie was only 16 years old.  The Nova Scotia Designer Craft Council accepted it for its exhibition that year, and it won best in show. That was just the beginning for Laurie.

She lived in Toronto and Kingston for a number of years, creating quilts and landing a few corporate commissions, including a 64-foot piece for the Bank of Nova Scotia and later a quilt memorializing the building of the Rideau Canal.

Laurie is well known for her large scale community quilt projects. She uses her art to bring attention to communities struggling with socio-economic issues. One such quilt “Breaking Ground – The Hogs Hollow Disaster 1960” honours the five Italian immigrant workers who died in a 1960 accident while digging a new water line in Toronto. This quilt, a massive 7 feet by 20 feet, was created by Laurie and dozens of volunteers over a 9 month period. It now hangs in the York Mills subway station.

Breaking Ground - The Hogs Hollow Disaster 1960

 
Now in her 60s Ms. Swim has numerous community art projects, gallery shows and three books on her resume. She returned to her native Nova Scotia in 2004, and her recent work has been inspired by local history and the Maritime landscape.

Bringing the community together in her hometown of Lockeport, Nova Scotia, in the summer of 2000, Laurie created “Lost At Sea, 1961”, memorializing 17 fishermen who drowned in a terrible storm. Twelve years old at the time, Laurie never forgot the tragedy that left 16 widows, 65 fatherless children and a town forever changed. In this community, where traditional crafts and fishing define a way of life, this fine work is exceptionaly meaningful to the women and men who helped make it.

In 2001, Laurie embarked on a major project: “The Canadian Young Workers Memorial Quilt”. This is both a stunning work of art and a massive effort to involve the whole of Canada in a socially significant cause. Laurie tirelessly attended all sorts of community events, from labor meetings to quilt guilds, where she raised the issue of safe workplaces for young people in her talks and through her craft. Here is a link that takes you to this site. http://www.youngworkerquilt.ca/lifequilt.htm

In 2003 Laurie received a Chalmers Arts Fellowship from the Ontario Arts Council to complete her series, From Our Back Yard, started in 1997.

A Farewell - 2006

Once again living in Nova Scotia, where she grew up, for the past 8 years Laurie has been working on a number of projects celebrating maritime life. The first was The Ragged Shore, a series inspired by the maritime landscape. Next came They Were Fishers, homage to the culture of fishing that is now diminishing on the east coast. Both are ongoing, culminating in a major body of work to be completed in the next few years called Land, Sea and Memory.

Blue Boats

She received a Canada Council grant for Assistance to Contemporary Fine Craft in 2007 for research and development of processes to interpret land, sea and memory for mixed fiber wall-hangings. This work is presently touring North America.

Want to see more?  Here’s a video showing Laurie at work, or visit Laurie's website for more inspiring images of her amazing work.

 
     

Country Dogs Go To Town

I live on a farm, and keep farm dogs, big black dogs, one is a 75 pound terrier lab mix, the other a 45 pound collie mix.  They are great dogs, generally with pretty good manners, well apart from snuffling crotches. They’re mongrels, I know, but they enjoy their lives here and keep the chickens and goats safe and generally are a couple of sweet layabouts.

 One of my neighbours recently began dog-sitting a purebred snauzer. A cute little thing, with papers, no less, and apparently a complete wardrobe.  So far on walks past our house I have observed Pixie wearing t-shirts, several different sweaters, winter coats, boots and even something I swore was a hat, but my husband says was just a scarf of sorts. It got me to wondering if Pixie sleeps in doggie pjs too.

Pixie weighs in at about 20 pounds and has a bit of a personality, barky, territorial and a little bit snotty, like her owner.

I’m afraid my last encounter with Pixie nearly turned into a neighbourhood riot. It was a beautiful, sunny day, maybe 15 Celsius, at last warm enough for me to go without hat, scarf and all the extras a Canadian spring day usually demands.  I decided to take my two dogs out for a neighborhood stroll, on two leashes. The three of us were not even a quarter of a mile from the house when out of nowhere Pixie dashed up to greet us – off the leash, gone wild, loose! Pixie being loose on the road is a rare event so to say I was surprised – not to mention my dogs – is a definite understatement. Pixie had on one of her pink "Ain’t I Cute" t-shirts and a hefty rhinestone collar sparkling in the morning sun.

My two dogs were as unimpressed with Pixie’s outfit as I was and immediately began a tug-of-war with the goofy t-shirt she was wearing. Now, my two were under control to a degree but Pixie was loose and on a roll. Bottom line – Pippin, my 9 month old collie pup, had Pixie’s t-shirt firmly clinched in his jaws and was swinging Pixie around like a whirling dervish when Pixie’s owner “Verna” arrived on the scene, bolting out from her car screaming like a banshee.

Her screaming proved to be too much for my old terrier-lab Nico, and he decided Verna was an enemy to be reckoned with. When she came running to rescue her errant Pixie, my old terrier Nico made her understand he’d bite off any part of her he could reach. To her credit, she understood and was reduced to standing on the side of the road and screaming. Neighbors came running out of every house within hearing as they were firmly convinced murder was either imminent or had been committed.

In short order, with Verna still screaming on the edge of the road, Pippin the pup had ripped the expensive pink t-shirt off Pixie and was delightedly throwing the garment in the air and fetching it. Old Nico still had Verna at bay on the roadside and every neighbour we have was roaring with laughter. In fact, the whole thing had become funny to me, too, but Verna found no humor whatsoever in the situation.

When Pippin finally got t-shirt off little Pixie, the tiny doofus became air borne and rolled to the edge of the ditch at Verna’s feet. She picked him up, promptly broke into tears and retreated to her car.  Pippin was totally unimpressed with the ruckus he’d caused and only grudgingly gave up the t-shirt that was still dangling out of his mouth. Nico, believing he’d protected his mistress and averted certain death for all three of us was strutting around proudly and still growling deep in his throat. I’d finally given up and was laughing uncontrollably when Verna re-appeared – sans tears. She was mad as hell.

Not only me, but both my dogs, listened attentively as she ranted, raved and carried on like we were a pack of coyotes who had attacked her doofus dog with malice aforethought. I just stood there with the "Ain’t I Cute" doggie t-shirt still in my hand and waited. I’d just decided trying to defend myself or my dogs was pointless and out of the question at this point in time when old Nico took care of the whole situation.

Verna finally had to stop shouting at us long enough to take a deep breath or choke to death and Nico chose that exact time to walk as close to Verna as he could get on the leash, lifted his leg and….well, I guess you can figure out the rest. To make matters worse, Pippin the pup, who does everything Nico does, followed suit.  I silently handed Verna the torn t-shirt and jogged off as quickly as possible, dragging both dogs with me.

I don’t think Verna will be over to visit anytime soon, though I guess we do owe her a t-shirt.

Regarding Your Request for Computer Support...

I know you feel my pain, and I haven't even told you my story yet.  Let's face it, if cars worked the way computers do we would all be riding horses or bicycles.  And if car mechanics behaved the way telephone and email support staff do they would have to live behind moats for protection.

(photo credit: Taylor Wells)

For the past 10 days I've been trying to get a website up.  I have spent months doing research, weeks creating content and hours organizing links and photographs.  I chose my content platform for its ease of use and "intuitive interface" (don't you love that expression?)  I purchased my domain name and hosting package.  So far so good.

I loaded up all my pages, reviewed everything and checked my website.  All I saw was a little image saying, "new website coming soon".  I emailed my hosting company and said, well, how do I get my site to 'go live', you know, so people can actually see it?

A return email from Wendy informed me all my files were in the wrong place and had to be moved.  She said to let me know when I'd done that and she'd get back to me. I moved my files.  It didn't work. I emailed Wendy. Guess what? Wendy never emailed me back.Thanks Wendy.

I logged another help ticket.  Another email, this one from Helen, informed me I would have to delete all my files and reinstall everything.  The process was outlined step-by-step.  The email concluded with the encouraging remark that Helen would email me when everything was uninstalled and then I could reinstall using their EASY step-by-step process. 

I followed the steps.  I waited for an email from Helen, and waited and waited...for four days. No email came.Thanks Helen.

(Photo credit: musicformusicteachers.com)

I emailed yet again.  This time I got a response from a fellow named Kamel advising he had read my email and could see I wanted to use some website management software. Kamel kindly gave me a list of links that would show me just how easy it was to use this software.  He didn't mention anything about uninstalling or reinstalling, or in fact any of the points I had mentioned in my request for help. He did say that after I had installed everything he would send me an email.  I never heard from him again. Thanks Kamel.

Time to call online support, in California no less.  Okay, I do have a good long distance plan, but what if I didn't?  Also I had to figure in the time difference.  So, I put in my hearing aid, got on my special phone with the amplifier for the hearing impaired and made the call to the 24-hour, seven-days-a-week Support Hot Line.  The operator informed me, "This number is not accepting calls at this time. Please try again later."

After a break to decompress, a walk with the dogs, and a few deep breathing exercises I decided it was time to just suck it up and do it myself.  On with the virtual toolbelt.

 (photo credit: extremehowto.com)

I logged into my hosting account.  I logged into my FTP file folder and manually deleted every file I could find.  Then I logged into the database area (don't forget your database) and deleted that too!   I refreshed the page until I was sure there was absolutely nothing showing in my hosting account, zero, nada, blank as the brain of a chicken.

Then, I reinstalled my content management software, this time following dear Helen's instructions (remember Helen?)  I kept the site up and open and I refreshed the page until I saw that I had files sitting in my hosting FTP folder and a brand new database sitting in the database folder.  Then I logged out.  As I was logging out I heard a ping, a new email.  I had received an email from the hosting company saying I had a successful installation. It wasn't signed by Wendy or Helen or Kamel though, in fact it wasn't signed at all.

I opened my content manager, entered a few words of text and saved the page.  I opened my website in my browser, and at last, ta da....a live website.

 

 (photo credit: psychologytoday.com)

So, where's the website?  Um, well, you see since I had to delete all the files, right now there's nothing there at all.  I will be cutting and pasting all my saved content back in of course, but that's after I recreate my banners, and columns and resize my photos and .... well it could take awhile, but don't worry, I'll email you when it's all done.  I promise.

 

Going.....going.....gone

After a few years of dithering I've finally removed all the artificial colour from my hair. I've gone grey, a lovely steel grey.  With so many baby boomers now of a 'certain age' stylists, fashionistas and hair experts are now calling grey 'the new blonde'.  I don't know how the blondes feel about this though.

Here are a few examples that helped me make the decision.

just showing a little...

even JoLo has some grey

Embracing grey

pretty gorgeous

 

love you Helen

the cool factor

 

 

Who says grey can't be beautiful?

Maybe it's not 'young' but it sure is a lot easier than having to visit the hairdresser every 5 weeks or remember to wear a hat to cover your roots.  I have my hair cut very, very short at the moment, it was the easiest solution to the 'skunk stripe' problem of growing your colour out.  I am not really a huge fan of short hair, but it's okay for now, and hair grows, even grey hair, so I can let it grow out if I tire of my new pixie cut.

After the initial shock of seeing a new grey me, I actually feel more comfortable, more ME, and that's a good feeling.

 

The Chicken and the Egg

I love chickens, I don’t think there is a more amusing farm creature out there.  We have six chickens in the coop right now, two beautiful black and white Wyandottes and four rust coloured Rhode Island Reds.

Rhode Island Reds

We don’t really need six chicks, as there are only three of us here and the hens are laying about five eggs a day, that’s 35 eggs a week for three people. However, chickens love to flock together the way dogs love a pack, so the more the merrier. We deal with the extra egg problem by giving away the extras to friends, neighbours and the local food bank.

It’s hilarious to see them all try to get out of the coop at once. Dad and I will arrive with some fresh treats, potato peelings or niblets corn are favourites. The smartest hen will pop out of the coop and run down the ramp and cluck loudly to let the others know treats are coming. The others will all try to come out the door at once getting firmly stuck in the process. There is a lot of pushing and screeching until someone pops through and they all seem to fly out together and tumble down the ramp bang into the clever hen. She steps back apace to cluck and peck at them, reprimanding them for being so goofy.

Then they attack Dad’s boots pecking madly until the treats are delivered into their bowls. If he’s not fast enough clever hen unties his boot laces.

Silverlace Wyandottes

I like to collect idioms, and there are a lot of chicken sayings in English language, which illustrate just how long these lovely birds have been our friends:
chicken - as in afraid of everything; the slightest novelty in the pen does panic a chicken.
the game of chicken – any game or challenge of which the object is to make one’s opponent lose their nerve
chicken feed – costing nothing, or amounting to an insignificant sum
come home to roost – a chicken will always try to come home to the same spot in which it sleeps every night. Some things we wish would just disappear don’t.
don’t count your chickens until they hatch - not everything is a sure bet, some eggs don’t hatch.
don’t put all your eggs in one basket – diversify your investments, because if you drop the basket, you lose everything.
dumb cluck – chickens aren’t that intelligent, and neither are some of your other friends!
egg on your face – egg yolks can be sticky, and egg on your face will cause you embarrassment, since it is obvious to other people.
hen party – hens do a lot of clucking and noise-making. This is used pejoratively, as a snide reference to women’s gatherings.
lay an egg – to drop something which is quite obvious and, if broken in the drop, quite messy.
running around like a chicken with its head cut off – aimless or pointless hysteria. A chicken’s headless body can keep on running  for a minute or two after death.to fly the coop — not all chicks, stay in the coop, in prison lingo someone who flew the coop has escaped!
mother hen – someone who is a natural nurturer, protector or care-giver.
nest egg– when we take a hen’s eggs every day, we always leave her one to sit on, it is the only one she has is the one she still has in the nest. Human "nest eggs" are the funds we put away.
"No one here but us chickens!" – No one of any consequence or importance.
no spring chicken — usually said of a woman who is no longer young. A spring chicken means exactly that – a chick hatched in the spring, the youngest of the flock.
pecking order – chickens are xenophobic and will go after weaker or more timid birds or strangers to the flock.
rubber chicken – the unappetizing, inedible entree of many obligatory banquets.
tastes like chicken – something which should be acceptable, or is simply bland. "Try it, you’ll like it." For example, it is said that frog legs taste like chicken, or rattlesnake tastes like chicken.
wakes up with the chickens – said of a very early riser, a "morning person." Cocks crow before the first light of dawn.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

 Ah, that timeless question.  If you consider the Bible as an historical document we might be able to settle this quandry. 

The word "chicken" never occurs in the New Revised Standard Version. Neither do our common words for young chickens: "pullet" or "cockerel".

The word "cock" occurs first in 3rd Maccabees 5:23. At Matthew 26:34 and eight more places, as with the verb "crow" (as in "cockcrow"), all are descriptions of the scene in which Peter denies knowing Jesus.

"Hen" occurs only 5 times. The "water hen" of Leviticus 11:19 is probably not the chicken we know. Other references to "hen" are Deuteronomy 14:16 ("water hen").  In 2 Esdras 1:30 God Almighty uses this expression (echoed in Matthew 23:37 and Luke 13:34): " I gathered you as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings."

"Egg" occurs only in Luke 11:12. The "eggs" of Deuteronomy 22:6 refers to those in a bird’s nest. Job 39:14 refers to ostrich eggs; Isaiah 10:14 is unclear; the eggs of Isaiah 59:5 belong to an adder, not foul or poultry!

So, since the historians who wrote Esdras or Maccabees came before the time of Luke the Evangelist, the cock and hen come before the egg!  So there you have it, the "gospel" truth.

Baby Wyandotte

 

 

So long and thanks for all the fish...

Alas, our holiday is almost over. One last day to enjoy the sunshine, the sound of the ocean from the terrace, tropical fruit sweeter and juicier than anything we can eat at home.  We shall miss you, Portugal. 
The food was extraordinarily good: grilled sardines stuffed with sultanas and almonds; sea bream served with a creamy red pepper sauce; shrimp as large as the palm of my hand steamed and tossed in a garlic sauce served on a bed of saffron rice; chicken piri-piri hot and spicy; cataplanas (the famous Portuguese fish stew, each dish different depending on which province the cook grew up in).  Desserts were  mostly fresh fruit: clementines, oranges; bananas; kiwis; grapes the size of golf balls; mangos; passionfruit and this week 4 quarts of strawberries in a basket still warm from the field. (Yes, we ate them all)  The bolos (cakes) rivalled sweets anywhere, and every day at 11:00 Dad tried something new: cream horns; Portuguese Napoleons; custard tarts; chocolate cake; tiny yogurt-based cheesecakes with fresh strawberry sauce with cups and cups of galao, a Portuguese version of cafe au lait.
I shall miss the Portuguese themselves most of all.  During our stay we met locals from every walk of life and to the last they were kind, generous, cheerful, helpful people who were delighted with my few words of broken Portuguese and seemed content and happy to be living in this little bit of paradise.
My final post from Portugal then is a salute to the Portuguese.  Thank you so much for being such wonderful hosts and making our time here pleasantly memorable.

a

David and Dad enjoying the view

Could this be the view?

Beach baby

Beach fun

Fisherman

Fishwife

Shopping

Needs shopping lessons

Watching the action

Soccer game in Carnival outfits

Dad said the girls were top notch players and loved the shoes

Carnival geisha

Well pleased with her costume

Not overly pleased with the photographer

Happy dog lover in Faro

Gypsy selling linens in Algoz

A friendly face in Silves

Death takes a holiday in Faro

Busy in Silves

Sun bathing in Tavira

Diligent housekeeper in Silves

Happy locals always ready to hear a little gossip

And that's it.  We're packed and ready to go.  Thank you to the people of Portugal and thank You too for coming along for the journey.

A Little Renovation Project

Yesterday we went up to Loule to visit the Gypsy Market held there once a month.  It is very much like a flea market where people sell new products at discount prices, we saw lots of lovely leather goods from Spain and Morocco, scarves, jewellery, childrens clothing and hats. The most fun was a large area where local plantsmen were selling trees, shrubs and plants as it's planting time in the Algarve.  We saw mango trees, plum trees, passionfruit vines, pear trees, fig trees, lemon trees, oranges trees, quince trees and others we could not identify from their leaves or photographs of the fruit.  The smells from the eucalyptus and lemon plants were divine.

After the market closed at 1:00 we had tea and coffee at an outdoor cafe and then spent an hour or two driving through the hills above Loule, drinking in the scenery and taking photos.  The roads are narrow and full of hairpin curves, but the views down into the valleys filled with sheep grazing in dusty olive groves, and orchards of oranges bursting with fruit are breathtaking. 

We stopped to take photographs of a few "ruins" as they are called here. Abandoned farms, old houses, even empty shops can be found for sale. They were often left behind when a family immigrated, or moved into modern accommodations.  Most would have had no indoor plumbing or electricity, and now are sit quietly in the sun awaiting new owners or eventual decay.

 

Walled farm on a hillside

The same walled farm showing more of the wall

Abandoned house and outbuilding

Old farm house, with curved drive lined with cypress trees near Silves

Village shop with living quarters above in the Village of Algoz

Most of these lovely derelicts are for sale, prices range from the ridiculous to the sublime, it depends on the location, the amount of land surrounding them, and the of course the owner's perceived value of his property (which can be astonishing at times).

Cost to renovate?  Entirely up to you.

 

The Castle at Silves, Portugal

Silves Castle stands majestically on a hill overlooking the town of Silves in the Algarve region of Portugal. It is built from red sandstone blocks and taipa; a Moorish mixture of mud and the sandstone.

 

Over the centuries there was a veritable rollercoaster ride for ownership of the castle at Silves as opposing armies fought for dominance. In 1198 the Portuguese, realizing they could not keep the castle from falling to the Moors, ordered that the castle be dismantled. This proved to be far easier said than done. In 1242, Silves Castle was finally recaptured by the Portuguese led by the Master of the Order of Santiago, Don Paio Peres Correia, who oversaw the restoration of the castle.  It is his statue that stands just outside the castle gates.

 

Don Paio Peres Correia

Silves castle was constructed with eleven square towers, two of which are barbicans joined to the ramparts by a supporting arch that holds up the walk way. There were two entrances to the castle grounds; the main gate defended by two towers and a so-called 'traitors-gate'.

 

 

Main entrace to the castle

 

 

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During the 14th and 15th century, four of the towers were modified and now have Gothic doorways, vaulted halls and stones bearing the marks of medieval masons.

Inside the castles walls, nothing remains of the original Moorish buildings but two cisterns; a small one of Roman origin, and a larger one. The Roman cistern is called 'El Moura Encantada', after a legend that says you can hear a Moorish princess mourning her beloved at this well where he committed suicide.

Roman Cistern

The large cistern created by the Moors contains four 'tanks' and today you can enter the cistern by a stone staircase and walk above the water on a glass floor. It's an interesting though rather creepy experience.  I have a bit of claustophobia and after a quick look I hurried back to the steps and up into the sunshine.

Inside the Moorish Cistern

The views from the parapets of the castle are breathtaking, you can see for approximately 10 kilometres in all directions.

 
View from the parapet

 

Located about 15 miles inland from the coast, Silves does not get the same number of visitors as seaside towns, especially in the summer months, when everyone seems to be on beach, but it is certainly worth the 20 minute drive.

 

Silves the story of a Castle, Epic Battles, Richard the Lionheart and more...

Silves, an inland hill town situated on the River Arade, is one of the oldest towns in the Algarve.  The town is perched in the hills around the Arade River which has, since time immemorial, been the route to the interior favoured by the vessels of the Mediterranean peoples - Phoenicians, Greeks and Carthaginians- who were drawn to the region by the copper and iron mined in the western Algarve.

 

Silves, showing the Castle

 

There is evidence at the site of Cerro da Rocha Branca (Rocky White Hill) about a half mile from Silves that this area was inhabited from the end of the Bronze Age onwards.

 

Arade River at Silves

 

In the 4th century BC Silves boasted a strong defensive wall, and later a large castle and in the ensuing centuries it was occupied by both the Romans and the Moors. Silves owes its existence to the navigability of the Arade River and to its strategic position atop a hill that dominates a broad stretch of countryside. It is believed that the Town of Silves was founded during the period of Roman rule. There is a fine Roman bridge still spanning the river below the town.

 

Bridge built during Roman Times

 

However, it was with the Moorish invasion which began around 714 that Silves became a prosperous city.The Moors built a large castle on the highest point of land.

 

Silves Castle on the hill above the town

 

By the 11th century Silves was the capital of the Algarve and surpassed Lisbon in size and importance. During this time Silves was a centre of culture, home to poets, historians, writers, artists and lawmakers. The political problems that troubled the Moslem world in the 11th and 12th centuries were also felt in Silves. After centuries of stability Silves began to experience political turmoil and resulted in frequent changes of rulers and infighting that pitted rival factions against each other.

 

 

In 1189, with the help of foreign forces from England, Germany and a contingent of Flemish crusaders, Portuguese forces led by King Sancho 1, attacked the town destroying everything outside of the town’s walls. It took the combined armies six weeks before the Moors surrendered, after an agreement was reached with the Portuguese.

 

King Sancho

 

The Moors along with all their belongings were allowed to leave unharmed. After leaving the safety of the castle, with the knowledge that their passage to safety was assured, a group of mercenary Crusaders violated the agreement struck with the King of Portugal and every last Moor was slaughtered and then the Crusaders sacked the town.

In 1190, a Moorish force lead byYacub Ben Yussuf tried in vain to retake the castle. His attempts were thwarted due to the town being stoutly defended by Christian forces, including a group led by King Richard the Lionheart.

 

King Richard the Lionheart

 

The city was recaptured by the Moors two years later and they ruled for a further 50 years before being permanently overthrown by Christian armies. Once the Christians had permanently captured Silves, designs were drawn up for a large cathedral. Work began on the cathedral in the late 1200s.

An earthquake damaged the cathedral in the 1440s and a new building campaign produced a new apse, three chapels and the transept at the main portal, all in the Gothic style. A three-aisled nave was finished in the early 16th century.

 

Silves Cathedral

 

Inside the Church

 

The centuries that followed were a difficult time for Silves. With the sundering of its former links with North Africa and the gradual silting up of the river it found itself sidelined from the lucrative maritime trade. Consequently its economic; political and military influence dwindled, while places like Lagos, Portimão and Faro grew in importance. Silves was never to recover its past splendour and for almost three centuries it was a city inhabited by only a few remaining citizens.

But in the second half of the 19th century dried fruit and, above all, cork breathed new life into the city, which became one of the main processing centres for those products.

 

Cork oak trees

A worker stripping the cork

A truck with a load of cork off to the factory

 Dried fruit in Loule marketplace

Today Silves enjoys a renewed prosperity due to cork production (Portugal produces almost half of the world's cork), dried fruit, vineyards and a burgeoning tourist industry.  Every year thousands of tourists come to visit Silves Castle, the oldest Moorish castle in Portugal. 

Tomorrow a little more about the Castle and a few more photos.