It is my dad’s birthday today. He’s 89 and already looking forward to next year’s big 9-0. I went round to see him on my way home from work this evening. He’s anticipating his Covid test on Sunday and his procedure next week to put in a stent to his oesophagus.
Adora made a coffee and walnut cake today.
Sadly, I couldn’t share a glass of wine or piece of cake with him due to the cancer. Worst of all, I couldn’t give him a hug as fear of Covid19 is too high. But he was able to open his cards and try on his new cardigan. Big smiles but he seemed tired.
The textures in view. A lone tree with creeping ivy up, over and through it, makes for a standout sight within its naked neighborhood.
Driving in to work this morning I was aware of the range of shades and textures there are in the fields and natural world.
These subtle observations are really important to me at this time of year. The shortened hours of daylight mean that walks are greatly reduced and just getting outdoors is impossible. So, the journey to work is my only real opportunity to take a look at the world around me. By the time I leave, it’s pitch dark.
The fields this morning looked like a crushed layer of chocolate-lime sweets. A crumbling crystalised sheet of green and brown, in depths of contrast, and with textures to match. I want to run my palm over it all, but can’t.
And texture, I’ve noticed, is more important to me in the more dormant seasons. Vegetation has died back or fallen to the ground, giving access to bark and branches, leaf litter and mosses.
So, this evening we have been told that the tier restrictions will be relaxed a little over Christmas to allow up to three households to mix together.
This means that both my dad and Lisa’s mum will be able to meet up with us all, and spend Christmas day together.
My journey to work this morning had none of the magical natural experiences that happened yesterday. Back on the A12. But on my way home I took a more rural route and wondered what was rummaging around in the hedgerows that I was whizzing by. The dark obviously making them even less conspicuous than they would be during the day.
The Gents Film and Leisure Club have come up trumps today. It does too long ago that we were walking the coast is Suffolk in the torrential rain a matter of weeks ago.
Ernst Sillem, one of the canoeists remembered in the plaque and memorial on the beach at Sizewell, died last week. Paul translated the newspaper report for us. When he was seventeen, during occupation, he broke into his school and painted anti-nazi slogans on the walls. He then managed to get a job as a farm hand near to the coast. This is where, with a group of twenty-one comrades attempted to row across the north sea to join the allied army fighting Germany. Sadly his canoe started sinking in bad weather and he was picked up by a German boat and he eventually ended up at the concentration camp in Dachau.
And it was Ernst who dedicated the memorial whe. It was unveiled. He was the last of the group alive until he passed away last week. One of the many amazing stories told by the East Anglian coast.
Today started with the two cats scratching to be let outside. Wells and Walssie are getting on a bit now but are very healthy. They come in and out of the house through our bathroom window, the one that looks out on to our back garden. They have been spending more time indoors over the last year or so.
Walssie. This evening.
Then, as the morning sun broke, I left the house to make my car journey to work. But this journey would be an eventful one. Well, I thought it was eventful. Because, now when stuff happens, even small, glimpsing stuff, I notice the significance of it to me.
I probably need to explain. Yesterday, I went walking with my family and our dog. We took a couple of different turns, down tracks we hadn’t taken before. It ultimately led us to the same destination but the vista had added interest because it was new.
Part of our walk yesterday, mistletoe getting ready for Christmas.
Today, I was heading to work as usual but, because the A12 was fully closed for maintenance, the satnav took me a different way. It was a beautiful crisp winter’s morning. Sunny, cold, enough to demand a scraping of the windscreen before I set off. Through town, past other ‘essential journey’ makers; from green and foggy through tarmac and stone, to green and foggy again on the other side.
The route took me past Abberton Reservoir, which is also a wildlife trust bird reserve. Driving down past Layer the views were nothing short of spectacular. The early morning fog was still draped over the water, with the sun thinning it minute by minute. A pair of Canada geese pulled themselves over the top of my car, tracking my path just meters above me, as they made their way to, or from, the water.
The dam at Abberton was used as practice for the dam busters raids just two nights before the actual mission.
A little further, past the water now, deep in the middle of arable farmland, the brief shadow of a Buzzard swooped over me. This time from the opposite direction. It was long enough for me to make our the patches of white against the darker plumage. And the broad primaries protruding from the tips of the wings like strong fingers, outstretched feeling the wind gushing between them.
And then, on the radio, they announced a third vaccination has been trialled successfully. This is the UK one, developed by Oxford University and Astra-Zenica. It’s also the one that pledged not to make profit from poorer countries buying it.
You take a different route and you never know what you might discover.
A beautiful day today. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do to raise energy levels and my general disposition.
The sun has been shining all day and the temperature has been mild for typical November days. But that’s something that needs to be reconsidered now; global climate change has altered what the ‘normal’ was for any winter month. But, it has been a truly beautiful day.
We are now in the second half of lockdown #2 which is due to end on December 2nd. As this is restricting the shopping and visiting distractions that ordinarily grab people’s weekend attentions, so there seems to be many more people out and about walking.
That has to be a good thing. But I can’t help thinking that when all of this is over (the general feeling is that Spring will be near normal) that many will forget this flirt with the great outdoors. They will once again be seduced by ‘Sale’ signs and those ‘plastic’ trappings of modern living. Consumerism will rule again.
This craziness of this year, above all else, has underlined to me how rotten all of that is and how very little it satisfies the soul. Compared to being outdoors and spending precious time appreciating what is right in front of me.
I think this was compounded by a trip to the tip. Chucking out stuff accumulated over the years that has spent most of its life in the loft, just sitting there. Giving no joy, no practical help, no educational or aesthetic pleasure. Pointless. So, it was thrown out.
A detour, off the usual path, can open your eyes and ears to new things. When you take that approach in woodland it’s exciting and a little scary.
But our walk today was lovely. Our local one, around Lawford. But, this time we took a slight detour. As we walke through along the public footpath which skirts a small patch of woodland, I noticed the leaves on the ground had been cleared by walkers. Two and four legged, I suspected.
So, we decided to walk that way, see what was there, where it might lead. We discovered a alleyways of trees paved with dry, crisp leaves. They were golden in places where the sunshine was managing to beam through the skeletal canopy above.
A fifteen minute deviation that brought us back to the original path. A deviation that allowed us to meet another walker and another dog for Mabel to play with in the leaves. A deviation that provided different sights and sounds that we would never have seen if we hadn’t ventured off the normal path.
We took another alternative turn when we came out of the woods and entered the field with the sheep in. We have only ever walked on one side before. Today we went left, not right. And we met the sheep farmer mad his classic looking black and white sheep dog. A brief chat revealed that he was using rope to divide the field into five sections so that the sheep could feed on the ‘fodder-radish’ that had been planted in September. Also, to keep the ewes that lamb in March from those that lamb in April.
If we hadn’t taken that route, we wouldn’t have learnt that. And that’s the point. It’s important to walk different tracks sometimes, to go down paths that you’ve never walked before. You never know what might come from it?
So good to get out in the daylight today. We went just along the south bank of the Stour estuary to Wrabness and a walk through ancient woodland and open meadow.
A tree covered in burrs, a collection of deformed knots or buds that have become dormant. In the background, trees coppiced in the last few years grow up from trunks of older trees.
It’s definitely one of our favourite places. The woods themselves are well managed, something I had never given any consideration to until relatively recently. In the autumn large individual trees and patches are cut-down to allow younger tree-lings to grow from the cut stumps or for new trees to be planted.
Trees that have been cut down are piled up waiting to be used by the Woodland Trust to raise money.
As we walk through, I take big deep breaths of fresh air. All week I have been waiting for this, out with my family, in the middle of the day, breathing cool, clean air. The sun briefly finds a space between the clouds and crackles through the bear branches.
In the corner of my eye, I am distracted by a leaf fluttering down from the tree tops. Much less common now, especially since the winds and rain last weekend. They flip-flop from light to dark, browns, golds and yellows. They appear like the precious last few pops of pop-corn in the pan, you have to be careful you don’t miss them.
I took a picture of this same patch of land back in the summer. The insects and sunshine have been replaced by quite beautiful colours and textures. I think I prefer it.
Then a walk through the meadow with Mabel flitting down scrambles to the sandy strips and reed beds below. It’s an opportunity to see the world through her eyes, everywhere and everyday is an adventure.
The view from our bathroom this morning as the first proper frost of the season crispened the morning air and the blades of grass.
A bit of a jumble of thoughts this evening. Another tricky week at the chalkface but satisfying nonetheless.
Me and Lisa are finding it hard not being able to walk the dog. We’re going to head out to Wrabness woods tomorrow, all five of us. It’s one of our favourite places and Mabel will have a great time. It will also be good to be in some woodland. The canopy will have thinned and the light will be different. As will the smells and temperature.
It’s been much cooler today, quite cold in fact.
I listened to the last of the series of programs on radio four about our fascination with ghosts. This final chapter was looking at how we have, during the twentieth century, tried to capture supernatural sounds and images, and other evidence, using technology.
The conclusion though, redirected the listener to focus on the footprint that we all leave using technology in our everyday lives. The voicemails we leave, the messages we send, the images we gather in amazing numbers mean that our legacy is there for all to see. Or hear.
We are all putting ghosts in the machine everyday. And then, when I got home, there was a little package waiting for me. A book of poems from the writer Ida Affleck Graves, who was the last resident at Weavers House in Stratford St Mary. These poems are her ghostly presence, proving she was hear, and always meaning that she is heard by the living for generations to come.
It’s apparent that, as we have slipped deeper into the autumn and winter, so the issues I face at work and play are harder to take.
There are obviously fewer daylight hours and the sun sitting lower in the sky means the lumin levels are much reduced. This oddly coincides with what I feel are problems that are harder to cope with and more intense in nature. I know that’s unrealistic and is illogical. But although a leaky roof or angry email can happen at any time of the year, my reaction to it may be different in the spring or summer compared to now.
My energy levels are low and my smile is not quite so bright as it normally is. We all know that we can’t prevent problems, but we can change how we react to them. And it is that that ultimately makes a problem big or small. There’s also not a great deal to celebrate, there isn’t much good news to get excited by.
The view across Lawford vale last weekend. Low light and a rare blue sky brings much needed joy to the senses.
I’ve discovered a news season too. For me there’s a phase in between Autumn and Winter. It’s very grey-brown in colour, mild-damp in climate, trees half in leaf and half fallen.
Winter as I remember it has shifted to well after Christmas in recent years. we will commonly get frost and snow in February, March and even April. Whereas I remember this happening from November to January and February. Global warming?
On our walk on Sunday we went past Lawford church. In the churchyard, alongside the grave stones are a cluster of imposing Yew Trees. Like the crows, rooks and ravens that circle above, they maintain their dark and ominous form throughout the year never losing their stature to the seasons.
Gelatinous berries from the Yew Tree (Taxus baccata) in the churchyard at Lawford where we walked on Sunday. They look almost man-made.
This evergreen is commonplace in British (and indeed European) grave yards. There are a number of reasons why this is believed to be. Firstly, the seeds and the leaves, especially the leaves, are extremely poisonous. Strangely, the bright red berry flesh is the only part of the tree that is not dangerously toxic. This red flesh, the aril, is eaten by thrush family birds including redwing and fieldfare. Also Badgers have been known to eat them. The seed passes through, causing no harm.
Then there is the wood, which is also toxic. It is one of the toughest softwoods around with an excellent flexibility and is also great to craft and style. This made it excellent for weapons such as bows and spears. The deadly quality was also felt by those craftsmen who worked with it. The oils in the wood are also highly toxic to both skin and respiration.
Looking into this further, I have discovered that one of the most famous examples of weaponry made from Yew wood is the Clacton Spear. It was found in Clacton, Essex in the early 1900s and now resides in the Natural History Museum in London. It is actually a spear tip and is made from a Yew that is unique to the area and indeed the time; around 400,000 years ago.
The Calcton Spear, found near Calcton-on-Sea in 1911, is 400,000 years old and the oldest known worked wooden implement.
In religion they are seen as a symbol and aid to the transcendence from life to death and beyond. Their dark physical stature was considered an aid to the recently deceased to guide them to the Land of Shadows. In fact, yew tree branches are still brought to graves and tombs of the recently departed to help the spirit to move on swiftly and safely.
They also live long lives and were considered symbols of eternity or even symbols of death due to their poisonous qualities. They may also have been planted in grave yards to prevent local livestock from straying and grazing on church land. Whatever the reason, I have noticed Yew trees in a number of churchyards over the past few months when I had never noticed them before.
This post marks another mini milestone for the blog. Two thirds of the way through my one year project. 365 days was my target. Well actually, a daily blog through lockdown (the first one) was my initial target. That changed.
Today I celebrate doing nothing. I have just woken up from a brief doze next to the radiator and the dog. This blog developed into, amongst other things, a celebration of those simple things that are right there in front of me. What can be more simple or ‘right there’ than falling asleep when you haven’t actually gone to bed.
Sitting up in a chair, not lying down. Outside of the times that are usually set aside for sleeping, there’s almost a naughtiness about it. They’re rare and the best ones are only for half an hour or so. They’re often abruptly ended with a drop of the head or noise from somewhere else in the house. If someone walks in on you, it’s like you’ve been caught doing something illicit. The automatic response is to apologise or make excuses. Even chastise yourself. Here’s to the nap.
Brown roll-rim fungus (Paxillus involutus) is a greasy, grimey looking fungus. Found at my school today. I feel we are really getting to the end of the fungi season.
Covid 19 update – yesterday saw Boris Johnson start a 14 day period of self-isolation. His phone app ‘pinged’ after someone he met with on Friday at No.10 tested positive at the weekend. Another vaccination is finalising it’s testing phase and is showing signs of being 95% effective. A further 23,000 cases were confirmed yesterday, fortunately deaths would appear to be flattening. People are getting severely fatigued and frustrated by the whole thing.
A simple pleasure today? I took a step outside into the daylight, and took a deep breath of cool fresh autumn air. It’s almost like having a shot in the arm. In the morning I get up in the darkness and leave work to drive home in the pitch black. I must work to get some fresh air and daylight in my eyes at least a couple of times throughout the day. Its undoubtedly what makes me pine for the weekend so much more than during the spring and sunmer, when the long nights mean we can walk the dog before bed. Deep breaths of fresh air and that lovely head rush of oxygenated blood. Wonderful.
On our dog-walk yesterday I came across some Yellow Brain fungus (Tremella mesenterica). It was quite striking, despite its small size, due to its bright orange-yellow colour which glowed in the afternoon sun.
I have read a little more about this fascinating fungus. First, it feeds on other fungus. It eats fungus from the Peniphora genus, rosy crust fungus (Peniophora incarnate) is a common gastronomic victim. That in itself is quite something.
Its Latin name ‘mesenterica’ comes from the ancient Greek meaning middle intestine. Yes, I know, the ‘latin’ name derives from a ‘greek’ word. Who knew?
But what I am interested in most is the European wide belief that if this little fella grows on a house gate post or door frame, it means that a witch has cast a curse on those that live there. Piercing it a number of times with straight needles will remove the curse. Or, if you live in Sweden, you need to burn it.
Also, seen yesterday, the witches tree on our walk near Lawford. Legend has it that three witches were caught here whilst fleeing the witch finder. On winter nights their footsteps can be heard running down the hill towards the tree where they were captured by Hopkins’ men.
We are building up a load of lovely walks in our local area. And as we walk more so we learn more about where we live.
The Bald Birder 