A Christmas verse of dubious merit!

Christmas is coming & I'm wearing my hat

Put out some peanuts to keep the birds fat

If you haven't any peanuts, breadcrumbs will do,

If you've no breadcrumbs, may Santa bless you.

Merry Christmas To You All.

Great photo from Flickr http://www.simbird.com/

Mud & Orchards

Today has been one of low grey clouds, a total absence of the sun,with rain. It has made for a totally miserable day - even the afternoon walk with the dog failed to raise my spirits. And more mud has been created through- out the day. I feel engaged in a battle with mud - mud on the dogs paws, on the kitchen floor, on all our coats, on the chicken's feet, mud mud everywhere. It brings to mind Jacqueline Winspear's books that talk of life in WW1 trenches & on battle fields - I find it utterly astonishing that anyone survived anytime at all in those trenches http://www.jacquelinewinspear.com/maisie_dobbs_world.htm. Mud saps my life-force even at a"once remove"- it is out-doors & off my skin. Perhaps it is to do with an excess of earthiness - an attempt by some hostile force to subdue by envelopment - like a mammoth in tar or a wild pig in quick sand.

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In contrast this evening's walk with the dog was uplifting - i found even the puddles on the road reflecting street light pretty. I walked with the dog in a small orchard, braving the mud, looking up at the stars - meeting up again with friends. It seems ages since I have felt inclined to stand still & look up at the stars. For too long it has been a case of hat on, head-down & keep moving - get the walk done as quickly as possible, get back inside by the fire. Small ponies wander amongst the apple trees, they move quietly - a warm, solid presence. I've noticed that in the dark a horse's muzzle feels softer, more velvety than by daylight - ultra-sensitive, like cat's whiskers. Tonight the trees are awake - perhaps it is the twinkling starlight. Last night I saw a partial moon, a huge silvery shape hanging in the darkness surrounded by grey shifting clouds - no moon tonight. Some days & nights the orchard is just an orchard, a small stand of trees that grow blossom, leaves & fruit. On other occasions, the air is thicker amongst the trees, sounds muffled, the night darker. Then I feel no inclination to linger or make my presence know - I act as a respectful visitor just passing through. It's a few weeks away from the longest night, the winter equinox, & a little further from Wassailing time, perhaps the seasonal spirits are gathering in readiness for celebrations. C. S. Lewis created a memorable "heavy" atmosphere in the "wood between worlds" that always comes to mind when I walk through orchards: never when a in wood though, these are never heavy or sleepy. The "The Magicians Nephew" is one of my favourites in the Narnia series.

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Image from http://narnia.wikia.com/wiki/Wood_between_the_Worlds)

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Rained off - dreams of a shed

Mr PoppyM woke me up with a cup of tea and a suggestion for the morning - tree & bulb planting at our ruined-church site. The sun shone & our part of the world stayed dry as we completed the morning's duties & then set off to the church. Perhaps predictably it started to rain & sleet, so we changed our plans - to top-up the bird feeder & save the planting for a better day.
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With the feeder re-filled with peanuts & seed we sat and watch the birds. We have 2 old chairs kept stashed behind a piece of hedge & we sat on these with our backs to one of the crumbling chancel walls under an umbrella drinking flask-tea. We talked of our plans for a work-shop with a stove & comfy old chairs. It's "in production" so who knows, maybe it will there in time for Christmas - now that would be a great present.
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Now that a majority of the leaves have fallen from the tall hazel hedge the landscape behind is on view - sloping fields, a strip of oak wood, a barn conversion & sheep. It's quiet today, this first real winter Sunday, just the dripping of the rain from the ivy & trees and the chirruping of the small birds on the feeder.
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It's wet underfoot, in places the ground sinks. A reminder of decades of accumulated leaf mould laying on a more solid surface feet below, and below that, the dead of the 12th century. But there's no flooding here at the church despite it's proximity to the Frome. There is a deep ditch around part of the site & in places this is holding water. The Frome has risen several meters in a few days and is flowing fast, what will it leave when the level drops? I saw on the TV today a Cumbrian farmer standing in a recently flooded cereal field. As the flood waters had drawn back into the river it left behind a covering of cobbles, pebbles, gravel & boulders, all dropped in a few days but how long will it take to remove them? Last time the Frome rose & fell it left behind a body, we don't need anymore of those, our grave yard is closed - full, complete, at peace.

photo from www.flickr.com/photos/stefan-szczelkun/3254245930/

Bird Songs

Mr PoppyM is a real countryman and a treasure-trove of information obtained first hand though-out his life - from boyhood through to adult-hood. It must be rubbing off on me as I have just begun to realize that I can identify quite a large number of birds just from their calls. Before I came to live here in the Welsh Marches I could probably identify a blackbird, crow, robin, seagull (I come from the seaside) & an "owl" - non-specific! Now, a few years of being with Mr Poppy M, I can proudly boast that I know all of the crow family by call, several owl species, quite a few tits, some thrushes, woodpeckers & the ever present buzzard. And by sight I can identify even more. At first this additional knowledge seems a simple thing of little consequence, a pleasant collection of information to use in family competitions & of no direct effect to the quality of my life. However,I have noticed a curious thing - as I become familiar with a bird's call, it becomes part of my sound-scape & the call stands out as a familiar human voice does. Not only that, other bird calls, that I was previously unaware of, stand out as "unknown" - like a new voice in a room of familiar people. All bird's voices seem to become differentiated, no longer a background blend, almost as if the invisible becomes visible. The changes do not stop there, the voices then become part of my world and in this manner my world has expanded. This is of course not new, part of the "to know is to love" experience - but for me this is no longer just a phrase but a physical reality.



The RSPB has a great web site with information about individual birds including calls & videos- it's well worth a visit http://www.rspb.org.uk/.
My favourite call - a raven,
The most surprising calls - the jay - I always think of parrots when I hear them & the green woodpecker - it makes me think of a kookaburra. Odd how until recently I was more familiar with exotic birds than out native ones - TV nature documentaries perhaps?
The happiest - redwings
The most unnerving - barn owl


The following site has some good sound bites of British birds http://www.garden-birds.co.uk/home.shtml (the Jay feather at the top of the page is from this site).

The Goshawk

From Flickr CrazyM's photostream



There's something about a goshawk - a proud energy quite unlike that of buzzard. I hadn't quite realized the difference until today when, for a few seconds, I caught sight of a large bird of prey gliding low across an alder-lined brook into an apple orchard. There was a tight grace that shouted goshawk.

The Goshawk

An exercise modelled on Mary Oliver’s “The Hawk”

This morning
The goshawk
Rose up
Out of the stubble field

And swung through blueness -
It settled
On the tarry crest
Of a telephone pole.

Captivating as a queen,
In silhouette, arrogant.
Her ermine breast
Etched with stripes,

And I said: remember
This is not just something
Of the cool air, this is
God’s earthly agent

Of control & deliverance.
And the goshawk
Turned in grace,
To re-focus the stare,

To see further
Across the hedgerows,
Along the tree-margins
And I said: remember,

All live to die,
Experiments in perfection.
And that’s when she lifted in purity
Her miraculous wings and floated

Into the wind, eyes first,
And cruised along the tree-line,
All the time eyes clasped
Tighter than need on some

Whispered disturbance in the
Trees & litter & then
It swerved & moulded into the air
Becoming a perfectly loosed arrow.

Poppy Morgan

Pears - drops of sunshine

Real autumnal weather has finally arrive on a bluster of wind & rain. The clocks have changed & the days feel significantly shorter. The horse is brought in from the field as light falls. I can feel my winter-pace setting in - lovely long evenings to make plans for future & reflect on the past.

I'm still busy "locking away the summer" by poaching wind-fall pears & making preserves. This is only my second season at jam-making & I've just finished a batch of mint jelly (apple jelly base with fresh mint leaves & a hint of lemon rind) of which I'm immensely proud. There's a pot of onion chutney hidden in the fridge for Christmas. As Mr PoppyM is diabetic I've promised to have a go at making some pickles including piccalilli - what an odd word.

In the local town is a whole food shop that stocks a large range of herbs & spices - sold loose. Even better than that, you can select whatever quantity you wish - no minimums. I spent a happy few minutes selecting & bagging up my Christmas list of herbs & spices. I brought 7 items and the total came to under £4! I love the smell of spices & couldn't imagine a life without them. In complete contrast my husband was indifferent to the experience which I find perplexing as he is the real food-lover. Perhaps it is due to his lack of success in the kitchen? Whereas I'd almost rather create the food then eat it & without a palate of these small essence how reduced my options would be? If I were on Dessert Island discs my luxury item would be a casket of herbs & spices.

Back to pears. Until I moved to one of the orchard counties of England, pears were "just another fruit". There are 2 particularly beautiful pear trees growing here that I have now watched through all the seasons & this experience has changed how I view the fruit. These tall shapely trees are pleasing through the winter as bare skeletons. As winter moves into spring they grow green & soften in outline. Blossom appears - often briefly & modestly, surprisingly so for a member of the rose family. Then the fruits appear - golden drops hung like ornaments amongst the leaves. They swell & become more defined & then the waiting begins, a waiting for the first ones to fall. Those first golden fruits to leave the tree are semi-ripe but I gather these anyway & ripen them at home. Then as whole clusters ripen they fall & the real gathering begins. I gather the perfect ones in a small cloth bag, usually accompanied by a dog & return homes with them full of glee. I place these trophies on a large dish in the window & admire them as I walk past. They are trophies as I "compete" with the birds & insects for them & other gatherers - especially those who "cheat" & put ladders to pluck them directly from the branches. And then when all the fruit has fallen & all the perfect or nearly perfect fruit has been gathered, those left on the ground lay there. Some rot away, feeding the soil. Some are eaten by late insects & rodents. And still some are left for the winter when flocks of redwings & fieldfares visit for a sweet winter feed. And in the mid-winter I eat my pears & think back to summers past & imagines those to come.

(images from Flickr)

October - so far

Goodness time flies unless you are a yew tree.

So far my prediction for a wet & gloomy October has been totally WRONG. To date it has been beautiful & there is the autumn colour to prove it. I have witnessed some spectacular sunsets - masterpieces in pink & blue. I'm looking forward to tomorrow morning as it may well be the first real frost of the season.

I've gathered in the tomatoes - a both happy & sad event. Happy, as it provides a moment to revel in the abundance that a small number of seedlings have provided. Happy as the green tomatoes sit & ripen. Happy as I eat the red fruits remembering that trapped inside them is summer sunshine. Sad as each individual plant's life comes to an end. I'm not as good at endings as startings!

The late turnips & carrots are growing really well & the hens are thoroughly enjoying the thinnings & luscious leaves. I've started to develop a taste for turnips - provided that they are grated raw. I've always found the idea of turnip soup totally hilarious - probably something to do with the childhood tale about the giant turnip!

Much work has been accomplished on our "little piece of paradise" & it is almost ready to receive the tree surgeon's team. Again I am faced with endings. A number of saplings have established themselves in the stone work of the church ruins so have to be removed. One substantial ash is knocking against the tower & causing significant damage. One poor tree is a lightening strike & unsafe. All these, and a few others, are scheduled for felling or canopy reduction. I'll probably stay at home while the felling takes place - it will be upsetting to see them fall. The church site will be a totally different place with them gone. It is hoped that we'll use at least some of the timber in the church's restoration so their lives will be remembered in the building.

The next phase is the relocation of the damaged grave-markers. This is a delicate process & we are awaiting direction from relevant organisations on how best to achieve this. Cutting back the nettles & brambles we've uncovered a grave-marker for a man who died in action during WW1 - I wonder if this needs reporting to the War Graves Commission?

I'm looking forward to designing & creating for real gardens for the graveyard area - it's a bit intimidating to- a responsibility to remember with dignity those who have ended their days there.

Finally there is a large yew tree on the site, by no means ancient, but a beautiful specimen. The tree is now on the data-base of the Ancient Yew Society - trees of 500 years old plus are featured in their gazetteer. Mr PoppyM & myself visited the oldest one in the county -1000 years old - how amazing is that- and it was still a beautiful, vibrant tree wearing the years lightly. (Stanford Bishop, picture from Ancient Yew Group http://www.ancient-yew.org/home.shtml ).