Wintery Reflections

I'm not sure if it is to do with having lived in the Herefordshire-stix for a while, where there is no or minimal street lighting, but this year I've really appreciated outdoor Christmas lights. Walking home, up the dark hill, catching a glimpse of a tall, fully-lit conifer has lifted my spirits enormously. Resources permitting, we have plans to string lights around the 3oo year old yew we have in our church yard, what a wonderfully up-lifting sight that will be. One of our neighbours has a small globular shrub covered in blinking blue lights that I admire as I walk the dog late at night. Through some neighbour's windows, fairy lights glimmer & trees sparkle in a homely, domestic & comforting way. Up in the sky, between the clouds, shines the moon & constellations of stars. Without all these points of light, long dark winter days & darker winter nights could easily make me believe that the sun, & it's comforting light & warmth are gone forever. The warm summer days trapped in the memory, are never to come again. Indoors I have strung fairy lights around the sitting room. Over the Christmas & New Year period they stay on all night. Their soft light & reflections off baubles & tinsel creates a warming, cheering, comfortable space it's a pleasure to walk-into early in the morning, even before the heating kicks in.

For a number of years I've disconnected from celebrations on the 25th December. I don't think this was a conscious thing but a year or so ago I noticed that I had no emotional links left to Christmas at all. It's great that 50% of the world stops to celebrate the 25th, or at least do something different on that day. The specialness starts on the 24th, late in the afternoon - the traffic sounds fade away & then pauses and eventually stops - for me that is Christmas -a special stillness & quietness. I think a final parts of the "Christmas effect" ended when I came face-to-face with the awfulness this day presents for some. I can see those children's eyes as they tried to hide themselves from our innocent questions about Christmas dinners & presents. For them these things didn't exist, they stayed out of the home for as long as possible, becoming as invisible as possible. If I'd have realized in advance, I could perhaps have given them a different day....

I had a truly up-lifting mid-winter's day. Nothing exceptional happened, I walked the dogs, tended the horse & chickens, did all the usual domestic things. For whatever reason it was a day I spent particularly connected to the turning of the seasons, more "at-one" with nature than usual. At peace even though chaos was swirling all around. I quietly opened my Christmas presents & drank-in the next phase of the year.

Signs of the year's next phase are clear to see, the buds on the trees & the shoots from the spring bulbs. I'm so looking forward to the hundreds of snowdrops that we've inherited at our church site. I've planted several hundred bulbs myself, they were an unlabelled bargin batch at an auction so it's going to be a real surprise to see what comes up.

Happy New Year

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Geese and other birds I know

Imagine this - I'm sat quietly, half-watching Morse on the TV, the rest of my attention on typing at the PC. The fire's on & bread is rising under a tea-towel - it's just a few moments away from going into the oven. Then the dogs leap up & erupt into barking & snarling - it's in response to the tap-tap-tapping of the resident site goose at the door - he's demanding food! I cautiously peer-out through the door glass to check, Mr PoppyM has heard spectral-music at the church site & friend's have recently taken photos with ghostly apparitions in them - but there is just the goose on the top step, looking at me through the glass with his blue eye. I throw him a few handfuls of oats, he eats & wanders off.

Earlier today I saw the same goose on the pond, which is his home, swimming about with a group of young Canada Geese. I think they are some of the grown youngsters that hatched there earlier in the year. It was good to see him in a group, a single goose is a sad sight. He was originally part of a small mixed flock of domestic geese. Last year the Chinese geese were re-homed after pecking & knocking over someone. That left 3 white farm geese & one buff goose. The two females built two big nests side by side & laid about 20 eggs in them. A few days before they were due to hatch two men smashed all the eggs. The geese were obviously distressed, the RSPCA's view on the incident indifferent. A few weeks later the two white geese were found dead, Shortly afterwards the buff goose vanished without trace. There was much concern that the remaining goose would not survive but it has. I had hoped that the young Canada geese would spend the nights on the pond with our domestic goose but they don't. This evening as dusk fell, I saw them rise up over the trees around the pond, honking. He doesn't seem to spend nights on the pond, even though there are two mallards, youngsters from this years hatchings, and several moor hens who do. He prefers to walk about the site peeking at friendly doors for food & "roosting" next to a car.

It has been a bird sort of day today. As I was walking up the hill this morning a buzzard passed a few meters in front of me at head height. It was a mixed-up range of browns & buffs - scruffy looking. Later in the day I think I caught sight of the same bird swooping across a field, disturbed again by my approach, this time with a large dog. A bold male robin landed on the field gate as I fastened it behind my horse. There are one or two bold robins at our church-site who appear unperturbed by our presence - watching close by as we dig, or burn twigs, eat our lunch and generally potter about. And at home a male robins sits on the bird table dominating it like a lord, or picking-up left overs from the duck & goose food.

I took the large dog with me to feed the hens today & was delighted to see that the one small Black Rock, who has remained tatty & bald in patches for ages, has finally grown a new set of feathers. She's the last to "feather-up" after the moult. For months the flock has looked tatty. I have consoled myself with the realization that at least these hens have lived long-enough for a moult - they really do look magnificent with their new clothes on. Alfie the cockerel must be feeling as good as he looks as I've heard him crowing again - he has been a bit subdued while his feathers have been coming-through. We are still getting about 5 eggs a day from the girls, which we are very pleased with & put down to good feeding & a comfortable home. I think of brussel sprouts as "the devil's vegetable" & refuse to eat them. I grew quite a few this year and much to my extreme pleasure hardly any have made it into our home! We agreed to leave the plants in the ground for the hens to peck at. Over about a month the plants have been reduced by the hens to stalks with leaf ribs! I hear-by up-grade brussel sprouts from "devils' food" to a "hen friendly" vegetable.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cariboub/

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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