Exile from Elsewhere

I haven't been to the Field of the Hollowing Oak, or the Small Dark Wood of the Mind, or the common next to the disused airfield, or the footpath by railway embankment, or the farmland that is under development and will soon be the new Bristol suburb of Brabazon for ten days, not since I momentarily mislaid where I was in time and space and did me another spectacular ankle sprain that has seen me confined to the Settee of Suffering for a large part of my birth month, which is a shame because I love it. And I miss my little bit of edgelands. So here's some photos from the last couple of months to cool my cabin fever. 

Through the parables of sunlight and the legends of the green chapels

One thing we couldn't help noticing during this time was the slightly dispiriting passage of the setting sun from Twmbarlwm in Gwent along the hill behind the M5 to Avonmouth, finally reaching the point where it's just about disappear from view, and at the same time occurring progressively earlier in the evening, from 8.15pm on 19th August to 6.40pm on 3rd October. Of course it can't be summer for ever but it's hard to see it go.

Also, the progression of autumn colour, as the leaves turn yellow, gold and red, berries ripen and fungi mushroom. 

haws

blackberries and old man's beard

the hawthorn grove

acorns

oak bracket fungus

dogwood

the rookery

hawthorn leaves

hawthorn leaves and blackberries

oak

stump puffball

ghost dock leaves

a new view through the wood post-storm

In early September the time for picking wild damsons and making damson vodka came, so we did it. Having apples in our garden, we left the crab apples for the wildlife, along with more damsons than we took because other creatures need them too. 

The time of thistledown is waning though there are still moments of beauty ...

... and around the time of the Queen's death, the wild carrot seed heads were forming gilded sceptres.

There aren't that many feathers around to pick up any more either, though I did spot this beautiful buzzard feather on the edge of the Small Dark Wood of the Mind just after I'd watched its previous owner hunt overhead one lunchtime. 

In early September we saw a kestrel hunting a few evenings on the trot, including one night when there were two prospecting together ... 

... and the ravens did a few flypasts too.

 

The rookery is silent most of the time, but abruptly fills up at sundown. 

Other wildlife I spotted but didn't manage to capture included several sightings of green woodpeckers and quarrelsome jays. These two weren't getting away from me, though. 

There have still been some insects about, including two species of butterfly - small copper and common blue - I spotted within moments of each other, having tucked a couple of pigeon feathers - actually there are quite a few of those about still - in the heartwood of the hollowing oak as a gift. I hadn't seen a small copper up the field till that point. 

Clockwise from top left:  Dock beetle, clock beetle, speckled wood, small copper, large white, common blue, another speckled wood, thistle gall, greenbottle

And even when the skies seem empty of birds and insects, there's still plenty of cloud and colour to enjoy. 

Out on the farmland, the pond harbouring the Spirit of Dark and Lonely Water had gone dry. Maybe he'd gone on his hollibobs. We were there to see how the development was progressing. (We don't go too often as it's pretty depressing.)

Something else new was hearing a train down in the cutting for the first time. (Normally that line only takes freight trains at night.) Again, since there was clearly some work going on down at the disused halt last winter, I suspect it's to do with the new development.)  Cwtch was stopped in her tracks by the strange noises that were emanating. 

Talking of whom, she celebrated her birth month having a lovely time tearing about and especially playing with other dogs in a much more manageable way than would be the case somewhere more dog-dense, like the local park (though she does go there too from time to time). From being a nervous lockdown pup, she's turned into a playful but respectful young dog. 

And now, laid up with a fat blackened ankle, I'm missing it more than ever. Hope to be back soon.

The Dog Days of Elsewhere

These are the dog days up the Field of the Hollowing Oak and in the Small Dark Wood of the Mind and on the Path by the Embankment and out on the Farmland that is soon to be the New Bristol Suburb of Brabazon, partly because it's that hallucinatory time of year when everything's dry and crackly under foot and stilled in the heat, but also because it's almost two years now since our dog Ted died, and we think of him even more than usual and miss him so much. 

Not that there isn't another, smaller and rather more biddable collie keeping us company, of course. But Ted comes with us too, and sometimes I even hear myself say 'Let's take the dogs for a walk', which I kind of like. 

And of course it's been hot this summer, and a lot drier than usual. The deserted farmland is tinder dry, although a few flowers are regenerating after the mowing it received early last month. 

Meanwhile in the field of the hollowing oak, big cracks have appeared in the path that goes around the perimeter ...

... though the most marked indication of drought is on the the golf course, by the small pond. It's possible, with a little art, to take photos that make it look as it quite normal, as we make occasional illicit trips past it at twilight when all the golfers have left for home ... 

... but actually, it's level is low enough to reveal all sorts of horrors under the surface, to go alongside detritus left by the (also illicit) evening fishermen.

The larger, shallower pond is no more than damp at present, but that's nothing unusual. It's full of loosestrife, common mint, ragwort, fleabane, thistle, and reedmace. 

It's also the season for feather shedding, though for some reason this summer, I've found only corvid feathers. (Not that I'm complaining because they're beautiful.) I did decide at one point not to pick any more up, as I've enough to reconstruct several murders, but I can't seem to help myself. Here's some of the latest batch. 

My favourite is the last one. I think it's the tail feather of a magpie, and it's very notched and battered, having been on so many adventures. 

As usual, the untended parts of Elsewhere are more diverse than the tended areas, although even up the field and on the path by the embankment there are fewer flowers and insects now. Nevertheless, there's still something new and interesting to see every time we go there. 

Gradually over the month all this has set or started to set seed ... thistles, vetch, bindweed, agrimony, yarrow, hemp agrimony, melilot, greater burnet saxifrage, fleabane and common mint, tansy, betony, and great or hairy willowherb, with outliers and the woody nightshade still going strong.

The thistledown is still omnipresent, but it's startlingly thick every year. It lines the narrow badger path near the bottom of the field and makes it even harder to see the tunnels and scrapes undermining it. 

Still ebullient are my favourite wild carrots, which line long sections of the footpath. 

They look like they've been designed by someone with a spirograph and fade from perfect parasols to snowflakes to mad hats.

Referencing their other name of Queen Anne's Lace, I've never seen one with such a pronounced blood spot as this before.

As for insects, there are rather more bees than butterflies around now, and definitely no more red soldier beetles.

There's a mix here of buff-tailed bumbles, Common Carders, a honey bee, gatekeepers, a speckled wood, and a skipper on a very busy yarrow also accommodating a house fly and something I can't identify that's in the process of landing.

At the bottom of the field, the Small Dark Wood of the Mind is still quite dark, and appears to have some sort of a portal thing going on. The Grove of the Silver Chair and Ruby Crown remain largely unchanged. 

an owl pellet: its rather pointed ends suggest it might be from a tawny owl

Meanwhile, down on the path by the railway embankment, the profusion of vegetation that made us forget this will soon be a building site has started to die back, so that you can now just see the nasty plastic fence that was put up in March, while the now ghostly rosebay willowherb stands by the fence and choruses a warning.

Out on the farmland there have been strange patterns in the sky ... 

... and the areas that did escape the scythe earlier now remind me of my Auntie Betty's carpet in the 1970s. 

It's definitely beginning to look autumnal out there ... 

... with a not-too-distant harvest of blackberries and sloes (guarded by stingers), apples, damsons and elderberries.

The rookery is largely silent now, though we did see rabbits on the soon-to-be pitch and putt again, and out on the fields, we had a couple of encounters with a family of three roe deer. I'd seen one earlier this summer in the hedgerow where the damsons and apples are, but one night when we were down there, we saw them emerge and bound across the field, pursued in a thankfully half-hearted fashion by a curious rather than murderous Cwtch. (Ted probably would have been murderous, though he'd never have caught them either.)

Just a week later a chopsy Jack Russell drove them out of the same hedge before being put firmly back on the lead. Cwtch just contented herself with a little growl (once everyone was out of earshot).  

Finally,  sunsets - occasionally out on the farmland ... 

... but more usually up the field, with its oak and its view of Avonmouth and the hills of Wales. Always a good end to even the hottest day, although its progress along the tops towards the estuary shows how we're heading towards winter.

The sun in competition with the windows of the Mall at Cribbs Causeway