(no subject)
It being Beltane on Saturday, it's probably no surprise that I fell in love.
Much like a smaller version of Belper or Duffield, Heage is a propserous-looking village in the middle of the Amber Valley. The scenery is spectacular- I'm going to have to see if any of the photos on my phone are bearable.
And the treasure of Heage is the working windmill.
The mill is three floors (the top is the Dust Floor, the middle of the Bin Floor, and the bottom is the Germ Floor). One set of millstones is still used for wheat on windy days, and the miller is the only female miller in the UK, who rejoices in the name of Holly Wheat. Some things are clearly just destined. She started as a volunteer guide, and qualified by having three other millers watch her at work and mark off her all things she could do.
I know that this is going to sound crazy, but different buildings, especially old buildings, leave different impressions. The Heage windmill feels kind and welcoming and well-loved, tended and restored by volunteers who genuinely care for and restore all its old working.
I'm going to make various baked goods from the white flour I bought at the mill's shop, and I know that despite my lamentable lack of skill they're going to be delicious. Partly because this is seriously high quality flour, and partly because because the flour was made in a snug little mill full of sunlight and affection.
"This place gets under your skin," said Bill the guide. It does indeed.