Twelve short poems, interpreting the hill farmer’s life throughout the year, written by Meg Peacocke, have been carved by lettering artist Pip Hall (0f Stanza Poems fame) on blocks of stone on a circular walk either side of the river Eden just outside Kirkby Stephen. Each stone also has an engraving depicting the month’s theme. There was a handy car park at Stenkrith Bridge as this is also the start of another walk on the old rail track over three viaducts. I was amazed at the flow of water through the little gorge below the bridge, a hidden thundering cataract. A little metal bridge took me over the water into the park.
Alongside the path in the trees the first of the poems, well actually it was the ninth, October (Sheep Sales) as I had come into the trail half way round. Two stones, one of sandstone and the other Limestone. It was just possible to make out the poem.
Sandstone. A desert wind, grain by grain, laid down these rocks. How did we trace a path through ancient dunes?
Limestone. A million blanched and compacted shells. How did we swim through the drift and not perish?
The next poem, November (Tupping Time) was on a pair of upright stone slabs, again at the edge of the woods next to some spectacular rapids in the Eden.
Through hazels and alders, softly or in spate, Eden moves in the valley it has hallowed from Mallerstang to the shifting Solway sands.
I diverted from the poetry Path to try and find my first Eden Benchmark which was described after two of the poems. I could find no sign of it alongside the river and wondered whether it could have been washed away in the frequent floods. I was not entirely sure what I was looking for so I gave up and headed across the fields to the next poem, a Haiku. December (Tree Planting) I found them lying flat in the field.
There sails the heron drawing behind him a long wake of solitude.
Next to Swingy Bridge was an upright stone commencing the year in January (Hedge Laying)
The sky’s harsh crystal, wind a blade, trees stripped, grass dull with cold. Life is a kernel hidden in the stone of winter.
A close up of the hedge laying motif showing how difficult they were to pick out.
Having crossed the Eden I now followed an old sunken path through the woods on the other bank.
February’s (Cattle brought in for winter) poem was a stark tower of four blocks.
Snowlight peers at the byre door. Neither day nor night, Four months ago we fetched the cattle in, safe from reiving wind and rain, months of standing shifting, burdened with patience. When will winter end?
Thin strakes of run on the byre door. Fork a load of silage out, straighten your back to watch them shove their muzzles in, and wonder if they crave the hazy nights when they can roam among tall summer grasses, sleek and sound and warm. 
The path crossed a small but lively stream and the March (Walling) poem’s block was in the water itself. Apparently when they were deciding where to place this stone it slipped from its cradle but landed perfectly in the water.
From field and fell run cols run small. I am the rain tear in the eye blood in the vein I am the sea.
April (Lambing) was built into the stone wall on the right. If the stone was already in the wall, which I assume it was, it is a sign of the walls antiquity.
Coltsfoot, celandine, earliest daisies. Twin lambs race to the mother, baby cries, Mam! Mam! Jolt out of them and now they jostle the ragged ewe, boosting each split hoof high off the bitten turf. Pinching jaws and hard curled coats are braced against these April suns and sleets. 
Farther on just before a bridge over the old railway line and again built into a wall was the larger May (Paling) poem. Another piece of ancient wall. Look at those lovely lichens growing on the rock.
Penned in a huddle, the great tups are clints of panting stone. The shepherd lifts a sideways glance from the labour of dagging tails. His hands are seamed with muck and sweat runs into his eyes. Above us, a plane has needled the clear blue. 
After the bridge June (Gathering and marking sheep) was found in the undergrowth on the right. The two blocks look as though they have come out of a mill floor.
Light drops like honey from branch to branch. Elders balance their dishes of cream, while fledglings try small quivery leaps, testing buoyancy of the air. 
I followed the path down to join the track of the old railway, part of the longer viaducts walk. July (Haymaking and silage) was soon encountered, a large rough block of limestone there on the left.
Silage. Tractor incises the first green furrow. Skilful geometrician, the driver judges an arc of weather. 
Farther along August’s (Showing sheep at shows) poem is semi hidden in the trees to the right. A large weathering sandstone block with a white patina of lichens encroaching on the lettering.
Crabapples tart on the tongue, Hazelnuts milky, Rosehips cool in the hand, Thistledown silky. Squirrel is speaking his mind.
Knapweed purples the banks.
For touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing I give thanks.”
Knapweed purples the banks.
For touch, taste, smell, sight, hearing I give thanks.”
The last poem on my circuit was September (Farmer’s markets) a block of shaped red sandstone maybe reflecting the railway’s past. The bold lettering adding to the effect.
Revetted banks, a concrete post. Rabbits tunnel the cinder waste. Angle iron, link of broken chain. Listen, and catch the hiss of steam again. 
I have transcribed the poems above as photographs don’t show them clear enough. As well as the poems, motifs reflecting the subjects were inscribed on the stones, I found it virtually impossible to make these out which is a shame but sculptures on natural rock exposed to the elements will suffer from corrosion. I really enjoyed this little walk, a great idea to highlight the area. The stones were well chosen and positioned. Meg’s poetic lines are to the point and very evocative – make sure you read them. 
I was back where I started, but smarting from not finding that benchmark, I rechecked on my phone, ‘pocket computer’, It seemed to suggest it was after the first two poetry stones and gave a grid reference. But people often quote misread grid refences. Lets look again. I delved deeper into the undergrowth by the river after the second poetry stone and found nothing, the grid refence I was getting was different from the publicised one. I then followed my phone to the given grid reference and there stumbled upon the installation It was close to the river hidden by undergrowth, nearby the first poem which being composed of two stones could have caused the confusion.
This, the second Benchmark down stream on the Eden was called ‘Passage’ by Laura White.
“Evocative of the river’s passage through the gorge under Stenkrith Bridge, this sculpture is subtle and unobtrusive but exudes an inner strength that somehow gathers the special ambience of its location. The shapes carved into the stone are clearly derived from the shapes in the river bed rocks but have been refined to activate and compliment the space and provide a focal point for contemplation”
Laura White’s early work with stone explored organic themes but more recently she has used mixed media and video images. She lives in London and teaches at Goldsmiths College in London and Manchester Metropolitan University.
Ah well, at least I found it. The stones were rather lost in the vegetation and are slowly naturally mossing over, not many people visit them or perhaps can’t find them. Whatever, it was a good excuse to spend some more time alongside the lively Eden and on the breccia bedrock.
Tomorrow I will head to the hills for the first of the Eden Benchmarks.
That’s another area I must explore. Having your poetry set in stone, in the environment you’re writing about seems more meaningful than printing it in a book.
Go for it Michael. What about one of your poems in a fell wall above White Coppice?
Well, it’s a nice thought, but I’d most likely be hounded for vandalism. However, someone has been putting up information boards, and I could say the same thing about that.
Exceptional photos of “thundering” water. I’ve just potted the next section of a circular wa;k from where I left off after sourcing the River Eden way back. It only progresses about three miles down the river with return by the road. I now have a wound on the back of my calf that is under supervision by my gp’s nurse and it is not conducive to walking much so I’ll have to wait a bit.
There is certainly plenty of water about at the moment. Go careful with your leg.
I really like the February and April poems, especially February, somehow it speaks to me if that makes sense.
I’d go for December’s bleaker Haiku, but I also love June’s fledglings.
I agree with Michael. There is something very powerful and meaningful about these poems inscribed in rock, and your atmospheric photos paint an evocative picture. This is a trail I must do.
I have the highest admiration for Pip Hall for her lettering in stone. What a talent.
I agree with Michael that poems seem to acquire a greater power and eloquence when written like this, in their correct habitat!
I can’t wait to go and see for myself!
The poems were chosen well and Pip Hall’s letter carving is exquisite as you know.
Well worth knowing about thanks. We stayed in Kirkby Stephen for a couple of winter weekends when the kids were small – we did the Viaducts walk, this poetry trail would have been ideal, had we known about it.
Probably wasn’t there then.
You’ve certainly being making some “pilgrimages” following those art trails. Now this one is much more manageable than the stanza stones and Eden benchmarks – a pleasant afternoon walk! We di it in March and enjoyed it very much. Like you I needed the website to work out the inscriptions, but that’s inevitable as the stones weather and become mossed over.