Fog, Mystery and a Shy Green Man

Another day, another walk, another mysterious new wood to explore. Wild  and unkempt, and probably fairly inaccesible in summer with brambles and ivy growth, even now criss crossing the floor. Soggy damp leaves, studded with growing tips of bluebells, means we step carefully and stick closely to a thin snaking pathway.

A Keep Out, or an invitation to play. We hop over the wet, fallen trunk as the fog drops between the trees and drips from branches down our necks

Heading down the muddy bank, watched from above.

Here we find the Green Man, hidden in a hollow trunk, his back turned to us. We step infront, he is watching,  one eye peeping from his moss covered face. Ssshhhh . . .  .

The small, quiet wood comes to an end at a field. I know there is a housing estate on the other side of that field, but you would never guess today. Today you could expect to see any fairy tale Prince or Knight riding home through the mist.

If I could be a field . . .

. . . it would be this one.

Small and hilly, and just a bit secretive, only ever peeked at through a straggly hedge as I drive past.

Tussocky grass, beloved by rabbits, gets tamed once a year into neat stripes, that hug its gentle curves.

Hugged on two sides by a protective, dark wood , a hint at mystery where the field edge meets the old woodland.

Deep shadows that fall across the grass at sunrise, retreat slowly back to the trees by sunset.

Old grass and old woods that are largely left to themselves, it makes me smile whenever I go past.

Yes, if I was a field, I would like to be this one .

On Common Ground

The hills have been turning purple over Hartlebury Common throughout July and August

An area of mixed heath and woodland, has more recently become a battleground, between locals and the council over its heatland restoration plans

Nothing will stir up the emotions more than the thought of losing our trees, and Hartlebury Common is set to lose upto 90% of its trees

Breathtaking swathes of purple, or our majestic trees. It would seem we can't have them both.

And I always thought it was 'nature knows best'

Nimble Fingers and Hedgerow Posies

A hedgerow abundant in buttercups, cow parsley, vetches and seed heads, makes a perfect combination for an impromptu mini posy

Exquisite little flowers, invite closer inspection

Nimble fingers are required to tie the bunches, using only grass stalks and leaves.

A cheery way to fill a cold, cloudy, country walk.

Unfurling Spring

A lazy blog post, almost no words, just a few snapshots of spring arriving in the garden.

Cherry bark and buds

Cowslip

Willow

Acer buds

Southernwood

                                      
                                         And an old enemy returns.



The cold frame is now emptied of overwintered rooted cuttings, all now potted up. Seedlings can be transfered to the cold frame for hardening off, leaving windowsill space for new seed sowings.

Let the season roll gently on.

What Do You See.

You see a tree, We see a playground

We found, We climbed, We hung from sturdy branches. We even fell, but, We climbed back up again.

                                                    So, how do we get back down ?

Bracing air, challenging exercise, a healthy dose of peril, mixed with a spark of wonder at the brilliance of trees.

You have Outdoor Play.

                                          Sturdy branches for the biggest of bottoms !


And all watched over by the 'Old Man of the Tree'.  Do you see ?

The Wildling

Nature is always throwing up surprises, and a mature apple tree was one such lovely surprise find. Found as it was amongst the more familiar oaks and willows ( and telegraph poles)  of the marsh.

The thick, gnarled trunk  reached up over 30ft high. Supporting a sweeping curtain, of gracefully bowed branches offering up their bounty of fruit.

Into the 'Apple Grotto' beneath the tree we walked. The floor was thick with fermenting windfalls, yielding with a soft crunch underfoot.

The fruit gave no clue as to its identity. It was a jumble of reds and greens, little and large and pitted and smooth fruit. Every one crisp and juicy with just enough tart 'real apple' taste, to make them a delight to eat.

We pondered its origins, a lone apple tree all out of place on the edge of a marsh. Was it planted there as a young tree, or had it survived against all the odds, growing from a pip, from a once discarded apple. A Wildling.

I much prefer the latter, and as we left we thanked the tree for its fruit, promising to return in spring to see it dressed in fragrant blossom.

                                     
                                          The ones that got away.