On Twitter, the other day, a local posted a picture of the view over Fishguard Harbour from GarnGelli. It was the scene coming down from the north, from the last slow humps of the Preseli Hills, where they roll into guillemot cliffs and coast path headlands. The bay glittered under the spring sun and the dark blue line of the horizon hugged the sky. And a friend, long gone, successful out in the wide world commented, “I still miss that view.” We all miss the views, when we travel, and eventually we all come home.
To the slow light sweep of Strumble Head lighthouse over the restless waves. To the buried bones of the drowned forest at Abermawr at low tide, peeking through the dark sand. To the curve of the River Gwaun from the bridge at Llanychaer, hanging heavy with green, the steep valley sides highlighted with flashes of purple from the rogue rhododendrons that crept out of the gardens and colonised the old forest.
Along with the views there are other sensory triggers – the smell of summer coming in the cool air mornings of April when the clocks spring forward and the grass grows in greedy swathes. The slip slide of dry sand dunes under summer shod feet on the hummocks of Newport Beach. The bubble burst of the inside of a white wave, tumble tickling on cold skin in the last warm days of autumn.
North Pembrokeshire is our life, living in our hearts when we are away, welcoming us home, covering us like a comfortable coat that we shrug on to wear in the days that remain. We invite you to join us here, to see how we live, share it, stay as long as you like, linger a little.