Flowers Among The Rubble

Over the barley field, just before the footpath crosses the railway line, there's an untidy piece of ground which is home to an old trailer and a heap of builders' rubble which varies in its size and constitution; sometimes it's mostly soil dug out from footings, at other times it's home to old bricks from demolished walls. And unbelievably perhaps, it's frequently ablaze with flowers.

I pass by here often and usually make at least one circuit of the rubble heap to see what's on show. I was planning for a blogpost at the end of summer to show the variety of blooms as they progressed, but I already have a large folder of pictures so I thought I'd share some now.

In Spring there was a good crop of oil-seed rape or Canola as it's known in some parts of the world, a few sprigs of White Campion and the first leaves of Cow Parsley. All sorts of plants arrive here - wild flowers, garden flowers and agricultural crops - depending, I suppose, on where the builders have most recently been digging their trenches.

Early morning, when I usually pass by, is great for against-the-light shots as the sun peeps over the heap and illuminates the flowers against a dark background, like the White Campion above.

And always there are plenty of poppies, both the wild and garden varieties. The biology of the poppy is a mystery to me: how is it that simply disturbing the soil can yield such a wealth of blooms? How come that even on land that's been subjected to weed-killing sprays for years there's always seed left to germinate whenever the farmer fails to maintain his campaign of extermination? Just how much poppy seed is there in the soil?

Various thistles thrive here too, their prickliness preventing us from appreciating their full beauty. Ah, I've known a few folks like that!

Last time I visited and made my erratic and unhurried way around, a word popped into my head, a word my father had in his vocabulary, the verb to "soodle". "No use you soodling up here when all the hard work's done", he used to tease me and anyone else who was more than a minute or two late for work!

I wondered if "soodle" was a real word so I looked it up and found my dad was in good company. The only reference I could find to it was in a poem by the great peasant poet John Clare:

And as I soodled on and on,
The ground was warm to look upon,
it e'en invited one to rest,

And have a nap upon its breast 

Thus spake the poet in his verse "Holywell", written in about 1820. (W H Auden used the word too, but he probably filched it from Clare's work). John Clare came from Helpston in Northamptonshire, just thirty miles from where we lived.

The Cow Parsley (or Queen Anne's Lace, as it's sometimes called in England - the name refers to a different plant in some other countries) soon comes into flower for a brief but glorious period.

...and it's leaves can even look attractive when they are dying off.

Oh, and more poppies!

Someone has seen fit to dump an old bicycle here and the Ox-eye Daisies are trying to beautify even that. I suppose if you must litter then better to choose a piece of waste ground like this. Though I'm not sure the workmen will see it like that when they come with their excavator and lorry to take a load hard-core for their latest job.

Common Mallow flowers throughout June. As its name suggests it's a common wayside weed in this part of the world, but no less pretty for that. Yes, there is a plant called Marsh Mallow too and a sweet used to be made from its roots. Over time that evolved into the modern-day confection, though there's no trace of the plant in the modern treat.

If the builders don't come and clear everything - as sometimes happens - we may be back here again, later in the year. But before I soodle off....

*******

This being a Friday (or as near as I can tell in these confusing times) I should include a musical selection, as first suggested by Robin Andrea and Roger over at The New Dharma Bums blog. A while ago I included a piece of music that featured the West African harp or Kora, played by Seckou Keita, in duet with the standard harp of Catrin Finch. Someone said they couldn't hear the Kora very well so here are two Koras played together by the father and son, Toumani and Sidike Diabate. As it should be the weekend of Glastonbury Festival I give you this lovely instrumental recorded there....

Both Toumani (the father, seated left) and Sidike often collaborate with musicians from other genres, but this is their own heritage. To continue the theme from the earlier part of the post you might call it "hardcore Malian".

Take care.