Occasional Appearance

After a long and very wet, muddy winter spring is at last making an occasional appearance. Just odd and well-scattered days, but very welcome interludes.

Also much appreciated are the friendly, encouraging words that appeared in the comments of the last post. As you may have guessed I've not been feeling too great so far this year and have recently had a spell in hospital to try and sort things out.

The result is that I'm now venturing out tentatively to see the progress of the seasons and take a few photos.

If all goes well this little blog might yet bloom once again as we move further into the year 2024.

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When not investigating the local countryside I'm often to be found prowling YouTube and Spotify for music that catches my ear. Recently I encountered the work of Jerron Paxton, or "Blind Boy" Paxton as he sometimes styles himself, in the manner of 1930s blues singers. But he explores a much wider range of music than that, even embracing the songs of black minstrels - that is music they sang for white audiences - dangerous ground in such sensitive times as these. But as he explains in the intro to another song:

"We are dealing with history

History's tough - so we deals with it

Getting over it is tough, but it's necessary 

Making up for it is tough, but it's necessary"

Listen as he weaves his web of history, humanity and humour in the introduction to the song. I'm sure you'll be as spellbound as those sitting behind him.

I wondered about the amount of money sent by the Choctaw nation to Ireland and discovered that, though widely different sums are quoted, the total was probably about $5,000 (at modern values). Even so I'm sure it was much appreciated as a symbol of solidarity. There's even a modern sculpture in County Cork in remembrance of the event

We can end with Jerron Paxton singing a song on a lighter note:

Take care.

Come What May

The month of May has now truly announced itself. It was scheduled to be here on May Day, of course, but only a grey, chilly morning was present when those ever-optimistic Morris dancers came out to play. Even King Charlie and all the King's horses and men couldn't tempt May to join the merrymaking.

But this week, on a nature reserve not far from home, May twirled her skirts to show all her lacy flounces (otherwise known as the May flower, the blossom of the Hawthorn).

The fresh colours of spring are already being replaced by the heavy greens of summer. Too much cover for birds to hide away in, in my opinion, though their songs give them away. And the lead chorister at Fen Drayton Lakes this week was the Garden Warbler. Both its name and its appearance suggest an unremarkable creature. Until it opens its beak, that is....

As you may have gathered it's one of those characters who can always find something more to say. And when there are at least half-a-dozen of them trilling away, as there was along the Old Ferry Road yesterday, the combined music is astonishing.

Occasional pauses revealed the soft purring of a Turtle Dove. There was a time, not so many years ago, when an evening walk from my door could often be rewarded with its gentle sound. Now I have to make a special journey and even then success is far from guaranteed.

It's always worth getting down low to view the buttercups.

There's a lot of water about after the recent rains, but all the footpaths were reasonably dry - with one predictable exception, but that could be easily by-passed.

This handsome individual doesn't care how much rain there is.

Swavesey windmill, on the horizon, lost its sails long ago and now serves as a wedding venue. It dates from 1866, though there may well have been a mill there previously.

It just wouldn't be my blog without at least one picture of the reedbed.

This is the flower of Salsify, a Mediterranean plant that can be grown as a root vegetable, but which has escaped into the wild in England. It's closely related to a native flower called Goat's Beard which has yellow flowers but is otherwise very similar. As is often the case the folk names for these two flowers have become hopelessly muddled and both of them sometimes go by the splendid old name of Jack-Go-To-Bed-At-Noon, a reference to the flowers closing up in the middle of the day.

The sun shining from behind this tree made it look as though it was illuminated from inside! I think it was Annie Dillard who wrote about "the tree with lights in it", now maybe I know what she meant.

There's a footpath that leads alongside the River Great Ouse.

The sluggish old river dawdles along on its way to the Fens. It's only about 13ft (4 m) above sea level here and it's got some 45 miles (72 km) still to go. No wonder it's taking its time. Come to think of it, as the day is warming up, I'm not feeling particularly energetic either! Time to go and get some lunch.

Take care.

Bluebells

In this trip we're off on what has become something of a regular pilgrimage since my brother and I retired from the hectic world of work. Sometimes we search out new locations, but this year we returned to our favourite bluebell woods near the villages of St Paul's Walden and Preston, in Hertfordshire.

We parked near the church and were greeted by a splendid cock pheasant in full breeding plumage. We took it as a sign of a good day ahead.

And indeed we hadn't walked far at all before we encountered our first bluebells, growing in a meadow. Alongside them was another woodland plant, the Wood Anemone. We're walking through a "ghost wood", the trees having been cleared, but the woodland flowers persisting.

There were Primroses too, a flower most often associated with woodland edges and clearings. The fact that it's so often seen away from woods nowadays is just a reminder of how much woodland we have lost.

But raising our eyes we could see a carpet of bluebells on the edge of Hitch Wood, which is where this path will eventually lead us.

But first we have to follow an ancient track past grazing horses, pass by some very expensive-looking country dwellings and cross a quiet road.

Then our task is to simply follow the waymarked track through Hitch Wood. This is a privately-owned wood, albeit with a couple of public paths leading through it. At this eastern end of the wood the landowner has laid out more paths through the masses of bluebells and has put up signs and markers to help you on your way. There's even a small car park near the entrance to the wood.

By and large people stick to the permitted paths and don't trample the flowers. 

These are all English Bluebells and are distinct from the European variety. The English ones tend to have all their flowers hanging to one side and are smaller (and bluer). Unfortunately the more vigorous continental form has been introduced into gardens and can hybridise with the English bluebell.

We found ourselves walking more and more slowly as we tried to absorb all the beauty (and the wonderful fragrance) around us.

Soon we were following a rough track which was leading us out of this magical wonderland. Don't worry we'll find more bluebells later!

We're now out of the wood and passing by what I imagine was, and maybe still is, a gamekeeper's cottage. If our cock pheasant has any sense he'll linger in the churchyard, well away from the men with shotguns. 

Keep your eyes open - bluebells grow everywhere in this area.

Or you might spot a Treecreeper as it makes its mouse-like way up the trunk of a tree searching for insects.

Or you might see the more unusual white form of the bluebell. After a short walk we were back at the church at St Paul's Walden, where we'd left the car. 'Tis then but a short drive to the village of Preston and what is perhaps my favourite place for bluebells, Wain Wood.

Again there's a public footpath leading through, which the landowner has supplemented with additional permissive paths so you can enjoy the spectacle.

How did a branch grow like that?

Wain Wood has an interesting history which I wrote about a couple of years ago. If you're interested, or just want to see more pictures of bluebells, you can find that post at "By Stargoose And Hanglands": A Pilgrimage and A Pilgrim.

A tunnel for fairy folk?

Although the public are encouraged to walk here and see the flowers, it's clear from the signs that they don't want you biking through. Just as we're leaving here come some very young cyclists. At the gate they dismount and obediently push their bikes through the wood. There is hope for the world!

Take care.

The Things We Do For Blogs

Last time I was with you, you may remember, I was peering into prickly bushes. For this post I'm crouching, kneeling and sometimes rolling around in a wet field. It takes all sorts.

I had closed the back door, jumped on my bike and pedalled a mile-and-a-half through the village to a small, badly-drained meadow, where I locked my bike to a fence and wandered off with my camera. At least I was alone this time and Les didn't have to put up with my ridiculous behaviour.

And here is the reason for my grovelling around in the dewy grass - cowslips!

They are not rare or unusual flowers, but I happen to like 'em! And that's a good enough reason for me to be out taking photographs on what started as a foggy morning and is forecast to turn into a cloudy day.

There's some brightness penetrating the clouds though, so if I want to make the most of the sparkling dew I'd best get a move on.

Cowslips are traditionally associated with this time of year and were always picked for May Day garlands. They're also known as St Peter's Keys, from their supposed resemblance to a bunch of golden keys.

Although this meadow is quite waterlogged, the cowslips tend to grow on the drier parts. And the sun is coming out and beginning to dry out the morning dew.

They look quite spectacular with the sun shining through them.

I began to wander off and photograph some of the supporting cast, like these Celandine.

🎜 Sweet Celandine, good times never seemed so good 🎜

There's always one that has to step out of line!

But these are the other wild flowers that always go together in my mind with cowslips - Lady's Smock. I once heard it called Milkmaids and have never been able to get that name out of my mind. They don't "go together" in nature however; Lady's Smock preferring the wetter parts.

A small bee was fuelling up on nectar. There were also a few butterflies on the wing as the morning grew warmer. I hope that one will visit a flower near me - it's rarely any use chasing after them.

A flicker of yellow announced that a male Brimstone had just alighted nearby. Even its tiny weight was enough to bend the flower stalk.

And here's an Orange Tip, another of our early butterflies.

Just one more shot of the cowslips, then I'd better be going home. Ah, here's where I left my bicycle.

Take care.