Orange Tip Butterfly

Orange tip butterfly, wild garlic and yellow archangel growing on the steep banks of a dingle near Hanley Child in Worcestershire. I always remember visiting this place below our farm as a child and I returned there a couple of weeks ago to take a few photos. The above illustration worked well, though my iPad struggled to cope with its complexity and so I called it a day when I could perhaps of refined it more. On the day I visited the location there was bright warm sunshine, the ground was very wet and the understory full of luscious vegetation beneath the trees. The aroma of the garlic filled the air along with the sound of the stream tumbling over several small waterfalls.

Green-veined White

I am not sure how I have missed this butterfly over the years. I have probably ignored the whites and so hadn’t spotted this right under my nose. This was seen in abundance in north Hertfordshire a couple of days ago. I had originally planned to do a drawing of the greater stitchwort and then progressed to include the celandines and bluebells. Also saw the following butterflies in the spring hedgerows: orange tip, a blue, brimstone and a peacock. This iPad illustration is so full of spring colours and I was very pleased with the way it turned out - capturing all the colour and vibrancy of a roadside verge on a clear sunny day.

 

Pheasants

 

Pheasants at Wrest Park (English Heritage, Beds). They were quite happy foraging amongst dead leaves only a few metres away from me and proved an interesting challenge to sketch. Whilst I was drawing, a robin came on perched on a branch almost within hand’s reach and was quite happy flitting around me whilst I drew.

Wren

I spotted a wren on our patio amongst the pots of pansies so drew this. Affinity Designer on iPad.

 

Marbled White Butterfly

Marbled white butterfly on knapweed with scabious and bedstraw. Procreate Illustration on iPad: a blend of photo-realism illustration and looser paint effects (no, it is not a photo).

Hop Picking and other things

The hop harvest has got underway in the Teme Valley in Worcestershire and I have just visited a friend’s farm to watch the hop bines being brought from the hop yards to the picking shed. The long hop bines, laden with a healthy crop of cones, have come from fertile land by the river where they have not been adversely affected by the summer’s drought. A new drying system has been installed this year to replace the traditional hop kilns and I watched whilst the 50 year old Bruff hop picking machine thundered it way through the afternoon like a huge monster eager to devour anything fed to it.

Then there was the sheer physical nature of working there. People moving urgently about unloading trailers, untangling the long bines, attaching them to the trackway, clearing blockages, keeping conveyor belts moving smoothly…. for about eight hours a day for the next three weeks. The noise was loud and you had to shout to be heard - it was like being in a tin shack during a very heavy hailstorm! The side of the machine shed resembled a large workshop implying that keeping the whole setup running was a challenge in itself. Actually, the new drying system seemed to be having more teething problems than the vintage picking machine. Once the day’s work had finished and all the floors swept clean of hops, the mechanical leviathan was shut down and everyone, including me, went for a drink at the bar. This had been built in one of the two long brick arched cellars beneath the house and these opened out onto a newly built patio/function area overlooking the river. A cool refreshing pint of draught cider was most welcome. If I could I’d easily give up sitting in front of a computer for a month to help out here. 

Once the hop harvest is finished there won’t be much time before the cider apple harvest begins. Farming is not a job here, it is a way of life and a very physically demanding one at that.

Around Hanley Childe the corn harvest has just finished and the fields are dotted with round bales awaiting collection. Several distant combines could be heard and I walked through one field of spring barley still to be harvested. A tractor and a huge trailed muck spreader were seen at work on one of the fields.

Fruit trees abound everywhere here though not all the fruit is edible. Many of the tress are very ancient and haven’t been managed to produce edible fruit for decades. Pear, apple and damson trees pop up everywhere in fields, hedgerows and woodland. Several very fruitful damson trees were relieved of their heavy burden. I haven’t had damson fool since I was a child and it was a joy to go home, cook the fruit, sieve the pulp and add cream. Absolutely delicious.

Slightly surprisingly, so I thought, I have only found one place where a wild hop was growing. It had climbed a good 12 feet or so up into a heavily berried hawthorn hedge beside an old orchard. 

The neatly mown cider orchards are laden with fruit from many different varieties. As cider apples are small and not really edible I wasn’t sure if the drought had affected them. The trees looked quite heavily laden and will be mechanically harvested later in the autumn.

Berries in hedgerows: rose-hips, blackberries, bryony, hawthorn, elder, some wild arum, sloe and a few others to be identified.

Most wild flowers have gone over, but a few surprises were found like water mint on an old ford and a single purple violet in some woodland. Was it late or early?

Butterflies: whites, red admiral, blue, skipper, speckled wood, meadow brown, small copper.

Dragonflies common, frequently seen anywhere.

Birds: birdsong quiet or non-existent compared to earlier in the year: buzzard, green woodpecker, wren, heron, magpie, jay, pigeon, pheasant, small tweeting things, heron and various other unidentifiables.

Animals: sheep, cow, horse, squirrel, muntjac deer, rabbit, mouse, no hares this time.

Most of the hedgerow verge plants have died or are on their way out: nettles, docks, grasses, hogweed, greater willowherb, goosegrass, woundwort. Bryony berries are spectacular with their trails of brightly coloured berries and leaves adorning hedges and blackberries in abundance in places.

No sign of ash die back disease here, ash trees are everywhere and fully laden with bunches of keys. Found a few limes and a few other interesting trees such as maple and sweet chestnut.There always seems to be something of interest to discover. I did find a few fungi though I think it was a little too early in the year to have a successful fungal foray.

I might as well be doing a complete ecological survey of the area. Whilst waiting the water to boil on my gas stove for a cup of coffee I found two new trees I needed to identify near to where I had parked. Not sure if all this detail will be relevant for my book, I am just trying to get to know the area so that at least I can write about it with some background knowledge.

Only a few trees are showing any immediate sign of turning colour. Most are still a deep summer green. It is the fruits, seeds and berries that give the hint that autumn is close. The brown, dry pastures have recovered significantly from the drought with most grassland turning back to green. The soil feels moist though it will take time for the cracks in the clay to disappear.

It is 8.34pm, very nearly dark and a farmer is still muck spreading  - he started late afternoon. Wonder what he did the rest of the day and why this job is so important now? Perhaps he needs to sow another crop and working with tractors on the clay soil now is easier than if it rains. Moving over the fields with heavy equipment will not be possible then. On second thoughts it may well be a contractor at work, or a farmer doing contract work for a neighbour. The countryside is full of busy people at this time of the year and I didn’t really want to interrupt their work by asking questions.

Red Admiral

Posts on the subject of wildlife are few and far between it seems at the moment. I'm not finding myself in places where I am taking time out to be in the wildness of nature. There are occasional forays into woods and hills but usually I am just pottering around in the garden and not delving into deeper things.

This evening was one of the first few this year when we have had bright hot sunny days and warm evenings that have encouraged me to sit outside in a short sleeved shirt. The sun was beginning to disappear from the garden and I was watching a flock of long-tailed tits chattering in the trees next door. Sunlight lingered in this corner on the tall conifers and old apple tree. My eye was caught by something small and brownish darting up into the sky and circling round. My first thought was that it was a bat. They do fly around at times but usually later on at dusk. Then I saw that it was a red admiral butterfly and it would dart up from a high branch, fly around and then land back in approximately the same place. What amazed me was the power and speed in its flight. It behaved almost like the spotted flycatchers I used to watch as a child. When the long-tailed tits fllew off down the garden, the butterfly flew up and followed them, dodging around the birds in flight, easily matching their speed over around fifty feet before flying back to almost the same perch in little more than a very few seconds. This wasn't the normal dainty flutterings of a delicate butterfly around some flowers, but an interesting display of power, flight and spacial awareness - not just of the garden space but in interactions with birds.

Dawn Chorus at Croft Castle, Herefordshire

A week ago found me at 5 am walking through Fishpool Valley on the Croft Castle estate listening to the dawn chorus. This beautiful small wooded valley is always a pleasure to walk though and when one is surrounded by a cacophony of high definition birdsong it made the several hundred mile round trip so worth it. Well, I did have other motives for making the trip at that time, but when I had an opportunity to be in that place and at that time I was certainly not going to let it pass by.

The previous evening I had been up on Croft Ambrey watching the sunset. I am fairly certain I saw a redstart up there. It isn't a bird I generally knowingly come across and the fleeting glimpse of its red tail in the evening sunlight has stuck in my mind ever since. One day I ought to invest in a pair of binoculars. I had a great pair in my teens and haven't done any serious birdwatching since then. I'll add it onto my list of things to do.

Yellow Brain Fungus

Wonderful example of yellow brain fungus found growing in a hedgerow above Clun. Such a stunning colour.

Song Thrush

An early start to a long journey home finds me stopping in a lay-by overlooking the Teme Valley in Worcestershire near Stanford Bridge. The sun is warm, the sky blue and a thin mist fills the valley below me. I almost didn't stop he as a large hgv was also parked here, but I wasn't sure where else to stop. I could just make out the sound of a radio coming from the cab. As I heat up some water on my gas stove for a cup of coffee I hear a bird singing in a tree next me. My instant thought was that this was something different. It wasn't a blackbird or a robin and it was too late in the year for something like a blackcap. Unfortunately the bird was silhouetted between me and the sun and judging by what I could just make out amongst the branches above me I was sure it was a song thrush. I read recently that these birds are in decline in the countryside but here, I felt sure, was one making the most of the bright and warm late autumn morning. 

Hopton Titterhill Quarry

I have been to the top of this hill in Shropshire many times but haven't really walked around its lower edge. On the northern side lies an old quarry and yesterday I sat there a while to do a quick sketch. Some long-tailed tits passed by and one of them flitted around some of the seed heads of wood sage which had grown abundantly on the waste rocks. These are one of my favourite birds and they are always a pleasure to watch and listen out for as they flock together and move around the landscape chirping.

Pied Wagtail

This picture was inspired by a large pile of muck piled high on the edge of a harvested maize field near Wrest Park. I caught a brief glimpse of a pied wagtail moving around the heap and alighting briefly on one of the cut maize stems with the muck heap behind. I took a few photos and worked this sketch up quickly at home. The photos on the iPad didn't produce realistic colours so this turned into a slightly abstract piece.

Sunrise, Hopton Titterhill, Shropshire.

The sheltered valley in the woods is surrounded by birdsong as I walk up Hopton Titterhill. It feels like a spring morning. As I climb higher through the trees their song gives way to the fine chirps of possibly tits and goldcrests that inhabit the conifers. I find a place to sit and I have only just got here in time.

The sky above is mainly a flat sheet of cloud with a few break here and there to the pale blueness above. This is reflected in the valley below me by a carpet of mist, an almost perfect blanket of white that fills the whole Vale of Wigmore and extends as far north as I can see up towards Church Stretton. It looks like a frozen lake before me, so distinct at its edges and so smooth. The sun, with a bright pale orange light, briefly emerges a little way above the horizon through a gap in the cloud layer lighting up the edges of the distant mist, before being shrouded in grey again.

The mist is moving slowly in the valley. All the hills above a certain hight have stood proud of the mist. Clunbury hill, that about ten minutes ago looked like a perfect island of green fields and topmost trees surrounded by water, has now almost vanished under a mist tsunami. The forecast had a been right to predict a mist and so I had anticipated a dull, damp morning with no promise of a sunset. This is magnificent. As I write, so Clunbury Hill has now reappeared again and the horizon is lit by golden rays of light emerging from the gently moving clouds. The light intensifies and I am now in morning sunshine. A the sunlight changes and evolves with the movement of the clouds so large areas of the sea of mist are lit up before me. These constantly move and change as it there is a giant spotlight that tracks over the landscape - randomly appearing in selected areas.

A greater spotted woodpecker taps away at on old tree stump about fifteen metres away. Small birds are chirping everywhere around me, unseen in the trees, and a blackbird sings out over the hillside. Later on I saw some deer on one of the forestry tracks.

During yesterday's long drive I was wondering whether I should make these trips in the future. When I spend my whole day glued to a computer screen it takes a while to adjust to this new perspective of being in the landscape. Sitting here, looking out over the mist and hills just forces me to stop and readjust to a different world.

Blackberries

Went out for a bike ride today and came across a hedgerow overloaded with blackberries. The photo shows just a small portion of the bountiful offering.

Dipper Song

The first morning of bright sunshine since we arrived by the river nearly a week ago finds me walking across heavily dew-laden grass down to the river bank. I've not often stayed for a lengthy of time by a river and the constant background tumbling of water over rounded stones is something that has taken a while to get used to. It is a sound that overrides some of the more subtle countryside voices and I am more used to tuning into stillness and silence. There is a constant energy to the flowing water that I am not sure I find relaxing. 

I have made many visits to the water's edge to try and understand the language of the river and see what it might teach me but I am not sure I have really bonded with the place.

Today, the light is bright and the air fresh with summer coolness with the promise of a fine day ahead. As I approach the river I hear the distinctive song of a dipper. Subtle and tuneful, a constant warbling that seems to mimic and merge with the chattering from the river. It can't be far from me and I search along the bank whilst standing motionless. Then I spot the stark bright whiteness of the dippers bib - its dark body merges with the stone backdrop. It bobs around the rocks and then moves out into the shallows and feeds, half submerged in the water. Soon it is joined by a companion and eventually they fly off, skimming the surface of the water upstream.

I look out again and see, about 400 yards downstream on the riverbank a tall slender white object standing in the sunshine. A heron. And then, I see something moving in the water just beyond that. I think it is an otter, but at that distance I am not sure. It certainly isn't the mink we saw here a few days ago. A hurriedly fetched daughter and a pair of binoculars reveals it is a duck, but I am not sure exactly what it is as it quickly disappears. Heron and daughter disappear too and I am left by myself with the river and dippers again. 

The river is a place where there are varied interactions between light and water. A few days ago I was down here in evening watching the sun set between the remains of rain clouds. The sky was full of various patches of pale orange whee the sun light was filtering through gaps in the heaven grey clouds. The river was flowing away from me directly in line with the sun and so this light was reflected in the ripples on the water. It looked beautiful and it felt a privilege to witness this combination of events. Each part of the river looks different depending on how it is observed. I. The shallows before me I can see through the trees to the pebbles about a foot below the water's surface. Elsewhere all the light is reflected off the surface to give a silvery shimmering where the water flows over the shallow rapids. Under the trees in the distance the water looks almost black.

The river is an interesting place. It is always here and yet the water is always on the move and never in the same place again. It is always different. Its calm serenity can give way to viscous flooding. Even in the past few days with just a little rainfall I have observed the height rise and drop again. It is a place of continuous energy, power and change.

Rosebay Willowherb and Gatekeeper Butterfly

One of my favourite flowers grows alongside a bridleway near Preston (Herts). Today I sketched some rosebay willowherb that was growing up to around 8ft high amongst some bracken and brambles. The four petaled pale pink flowers with four deep magenta sepals form at the top of a long single stem that was pale green on the underside and a deep red on the upper or sun-facing side. The long slender leaves vary in shade from dark to lime green - often tinged with yellow and with bright red tips. The colours are very vivid if you look close up. The flower spikes reach up above me and when flowering has finished the 10cm or so long seed pods develop which gradually split open from the bottom of the flower spike upwards to reveal the tiny brown seeds on delicately thin silky threads (apparently up to 80,000 per plant). They seem to grown well here but I don't remember the soil having been disturbed for many years.

The brambles seem very rampant this year. The long, strong growing stems seem to be on a mission escape the hedgerow and arc out over the bridleway. The blackberries in front of me are still a deep red and only a few have begun to turn black. A gatekeeper butterfly lands on some of the flowers and sits long enough for me to take the attached photo.

Swifts and Stories

Swifts are ‘screaming’ above me as they dart though the warm July evening sky. I am inspired by the speed and agility of these birds that are rarely seen in close up. I wonder how they perceive the world around them? When I watch small birds and insects moving with such apparent speed relative to their size it almost seems as though they adhere to different laws of physics. They seem to be able to process information about their position in their environment so much more quickly than we humans can. They can run, fly or move with lightening agility between, what might seem to us if we were that size, such difficult terrain. I know that it is probably all down to ratios of size and mass and other things, but even so their perception of their environment must be quite different to ours. At the other end of the scale are plants and trees. How do they interpret their environments? I am not sure I would really class them as conscious individuals but they are still seen by us in human terms as living things. For an old oak tree living for potentially several hundred years in one place there is not the need to rush around like an ant might do on the woodland floor, but it still is ‘aware’ of its environment in terms of light, shade, moisture, nutrient availability etc and is able to adapt to changes where necessary.

Our perception of the world is unique in the way that we as human kind sees it and also how we see it as individuals. Our lives are spent trying to make sense of the earth we walk and attempting to build a sustainable life for as long as possible. On our journeys we each build upon our unique personal story and it is that story that creates a framework for how we view our lives too. Like all other living things we have to find food and shelter and yet we have evolved to do so much more. We have become a species that seeks constant innovation: the desire to better our place in the world. These are our own individual stories.

I have returned to my journaling again. This is an exercise in writing three pages of A4 longhand each day on anything that springs to mind. My motivation this time is to seek healing from what I think is a partly anxiety related illness. I have had chronic tummy problems since childhood and I decided to revisit my writing as a way of opening up a communication with myself and to try and break out of some boundaries that were closing in.

After a month and a half of writing two of the themes that have emerged are these: the need to recognise that each of us (humans and others) has a story - a story that has shaped the way that we think, act and live. Perhaps I don’t always recognise the stories that shape and form others around me. Also, I am trying to revisit my spiritual life. This has struggled a little recently due to a lack of suitable inspiration and motivation, but now that the summer is here I feel more refreshed and willing to explore a few things.

My personal artwork had to take a back step whilst I began the journaling. I can’t do everything I want to do and I have a whole bunch of ideas that I am awaiting to forge into something cohesive.

When meditating and appreciating Nature, observation and reflection comes alongside slowness and being more aware of the environment around me. There is an appreciation of space: the empty space and the space taken up by the humans and non-humans who belong in it. There is a language of discovery, a sense of beauty and awe and a feeling of belonging in the natural world. This is part of my story and after a good few years on this earth I feel I should open the doors and walk out again and discover new things. For me, it is a slow process. Things happen over weeks and months, time is almost like a natural time - a time that flows differently from the minutes and hours that govern commercial deadlines and the demands of family life. Like an oak tree that stands in a field, I just need to wait and see what happens.

Blackfly

This is a close up of some blackfly on a thistle that I found by the side of the road when out for a bike ride a few days ago. I was just intrigued by the pattern the insects had made. The adult blackfly were all feeding from the upper part of the main stem and all facing downwards, as were the baby blackfly. Being quite fond of patterns, I liked the way that the insects were all spaced out as if following a set placement at a dining room table. Often when I see these on runner beans or other plants in the garden they are usually massed together in clumps. I just liked this spatial arrangement and it looked rather more interesting in real life as I only clearly photographed part of the thistle

Hedgerow

Cycled along one of my favourite local quiet country lane this morning and admired the profusion of what is probably hogweed. The verges haven't been cut yet and so the roadside was full of abundant growth. I love these umbellifer flowers and was struck by the different shades of colour from white to a murky pink.