Missed Chances

Nature photography can be an unbelievably frustating hobby: all those missed chances when you spot the animal too late, all the times when you have the wrong lens on the camera and are either too close or too far away, forgetting to check settings on the camera body and finding all the images are under or over exposed, not to mention the excitement of seeing something wonderful, but being so engrossed in its beauty you miss the fact that something awful was also included in the frame.   Yesterday I managed two mistakes, one that I could rectify later and one chance that will probably never come again. 

I had been out for my morning walk and headed up to an area we call 'The Forest' - it  actually doesn't remotely resemble a forest, but there are a few trees there, and living in an area almost denuded of them, it is easy to get carry away with descriptive titles!  Alongside the lane that runs by The Forest there is a ditch where the Marsh Marigold grows.  As with all the wildflowers it is much later this year than normal, and I had been checking it almost daily in the hopes of catching the first blooms to appear.  I spotted its golden glow immediately, it was there, just on the edge of the ditch, where it first drops down from the road.   Straight away I went blank!  Eyes glazed, camera up and shutter being pressed.  I looked at the screen on the back of my camera and the exposure looked great.  All I saw was that beautiful flower, with eight deeply veined golden petals.  I ended my walk in a daze of happiness.  

Then I got home and brought the images up on the computer screen! :-(   In my enthusiasm I  had missed the finer points, such as the dead leaves that surrounded it, causing unsightly brown splodges that totally distracted your attention away from the flower.  Oh well, at least I didn't have far to go back.  I could wait until softer light in the late afternoon and try again.  

Late afternoon came and I fitted my 70-300mm IS lens, along with an extension tube (if you have never tried this combination, it is great for getting flower shots, as it allows you to get nearer to the blooms. thereby producing frame filling images).  I then called the dogs and headed off along the lane.  I hadn't gone far when I spotted a movement on my left, in a hole, on the top of a bare banking.  I was sure I had just seen the beady eyes of a Weasel.  I know from past experience that a Weasel always has to come and have another look, they are such curious creatures who like to check things out and see what you are up to.  I was left with a terrible dilemma: the combination of lens and extension tube is great for blooms but it has the problem that it no longer focuses on infinity, and I now wouldn't be able to focus on the hole, as I was too far away.  If I moved forward I would probably scare the Weasel off, but if I stayed where I was, there was no chance whatsoever of me getting a photo.  Suddenly the Weasel once again appeared.  He stayed for a long moment and stared at me and the dogs, and then he shot back down the hole.  I decided to quickly remove the extension tube and hope that he would reappear.  Sadly he must have disappeared out of another hole, or decided to wait until he was sure the coast was clear, because despite waiting for half an hour I didn't see him again.  I carried on with my walk, cursing my luck as I went.

The Gods must have felt that I needed my spirits lifting, because above me, as I walked up the lane, the swallows filled the sky with their acrobatics, as if putting on a show soley for my benefit - where this morning there had been one, now there was a dozen or more.   And to lift my spirits even more, I got the shot of the beautiful Marsh Marigold bloom - I hope you enjoy seeing it as much as I did.

Violet is for faithfulness................

Which in me shall abide

Hoping likewise that from your heart 

You will not let it slide

It seems that each year the voilet chooses her time badly to bring forth her blooms from her leaf-strewn abode. The day before the harsh winds and rains enveloped us, the first delicate flowers could be seen gracing the barren-banks of the lanes. They looked so fragile, and yet, amazingly, they withstood such horrendous weather: where the daffodils were burnt and withered by the wind, the violets looked pristine, as though washed and polished ready for the Easter church parade.   As I walk the lanes, everywhere I look along the bankings, there is a scattering of purple petals, looking like confetti left over after a wedding.  Perhaps  this is the time when Nature renews her vows with the Earth. 

The poem is "A Nosegay Always Sweet" by William Hunnis

Renewal

For the past few years we have had no destinct Spring season: Autumn has slipped into Spring, with Winter barely waving as he passed. There has been no real renewal, as many plants never truly died off.  This year was different though.  At the beginning of the year, Autumn finally waved goodbye, as Winter swept in with a harshness that has not been seen for many a moon.   Jack Frost repeatedly visited us, freezing the ground hard.  The birds flooded in to the feeders, desperate for energy from sunflower seeds and fat balls.  And all the plants withered and died.  No more Pink Campions brightening the hedgerows, no early Lesser Celandines turning their yellow faces to the sun, just barren land, brown dry grass and dead leaves.

And then Spring danced back in, covering us with her colourful cloak of beauty.

To see a dead withered branch, suddenly sprout a tuft of new green leaves, is truly awe inspiring. A shoot of new life, coming from bare soil, lifts the spirits and gives a sense of renewal to the soul.  And the first budding flowers are like manna from Heaven.

The Ravages of Nature

Most of my beautiful daffodils are gone. :-(  For the last three days we have had torrential rain, rain that didn't come downwards, but came slashing broadside into our faces.  Fifty mile an hour winds danced frenziedly around the gardens, house and outbuildings, razing to the ground my radiant blooms.  

Nature gives and nature takes away.  

Hopefully we will share each others company again next year. 

What Strange Behaviour!

I was worried yesterday when my Buzzard didn't arrive.  I say 'my' Buzzard, but he is mine only in my affection for him.  Actually, I don't know whether it is a him, or a her, but I shall call it a him.   I started to feed my European Buzzard at the beginning of the harsh spell of winter weather.  I feed all the seed eating birds, so it only seemed right that I should also give Mr Buzzard a helping hand.  He was also difficult to ignore, as he would sit on one of the fence posts in my field and repeatedly call out to me.  One day he even came right up close to the house and peered in at the window: "You are feeding them, so why can't you feed me!"  So I started to feed him.  Only a small amount, just to help him through the worst of the weather, as I didn't want him to become dependant on me.  In reality it has turned out the other way round: I am dependant on him - I need my fix of his visit so that I can admire his beauty and check that he is well.

This morning, as I looked out of the bathroom window, I spotted him on his regular telegraph pole.  He can see me coming out of the house of a morning from this pole, and his screaching calls let me know that he has noticed my presence.  If he is very hungry he will immediately fly across to the Hawthorn that grows behind the goose and duck sheds: the first of the poultry that I let out of a morning.  He stares at me, and screeches, long and loud: "Feed me, feed me, feed me!"  As I approach the sheds he gracefully banks away to the right and glides over my fields, alighting on a fence post.  He continues to harry me with his insistent call.  I shout in return "You'll have to wait!".

I finish off letting out the poultry, and then I open up the goat sheds, before heading off to get him his meat, his calls still echoing out across the land.  I hold the meat high in my hand as I walk out across the field towards him.  He never stays in the field to await the arrival of his breakfast, preferring to fly back to the Hawthorn where he has safety and a good view of my actions.  He stands, tall and tense, watching my movements, waiting for me to move away.   If he is very hungry he will be flying across to the meat before I have even left the field, but on most days he waits until I am well out of the way, putting his security before his hunger pangs.

Today though was different: we once again have torrential driving rain, the sort of rain that drenches you within seconds, stinging your eyes and flesh, making you long to head indoors as soon as possible.  My Buzzard was there on his post, as usual, but he was silent, completely silent.  He seemed occupied with some strange behaviour: his wings were outspread, as was his tail; he faced directly into the driving wind and rain, his head turning from side to side, his body angled in such a way that he would become saturated on all surfaces.  He stayed there for at least half an hour that I saw, and I don't know how long he was there before I first spotted him, just after dawn.  The only thing that I can think of is that perhaps he was trying to clear his body of parasites in the way that birds will bathe in dust or water.  If anyone has any suggestions as to why he behaved in this way, then please let me know.

Oh What A Change!

It is surprising just how much the weather can affect us: last night I lay in bed, locked in sleeplessness, listening to the silence.  Normally, in this area, the silence would be replaced with the continuous howling of the wind as it whips around the house, catching and disturbing any loose tile, lat of wood or garden furnishing.   But last night we had the lull before the storm.  My body sensed the imminent tumultuous weather that would hit us during the hours of darkness, and tension flowed through my veins, every nerve in my body on edge.  Sleep just wouldn't come.  Eventually I fell into a fitful doze, my mind fighting the exhaustion that my body felt.  Perhaps this behaviour was a survival strategy from long ago, when our ancestors lived life in caves and tents, and needed to be ever-ready to keep themselves safe.  Whatever the reason, it makes me realise just how inexorably we are linked to Mother Nature: a force totally beyond our control.

Yesterday we had beautiful spring weather, the warm sunshine making us discard our coats, but today the rain lashes the windows and once again the wind howls around the house and outbuildings.  The chill, and the dampness in the air, eat through to my bones, but I am not disheartened as I know that it is only a temporary blip before once again Spring will clasp us to her vibrant bossom. 

If today you are having the same weather as me, I hope this photo of Gorse bathed in sunlight will bring some warmth into your life.

"And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils"

Daffodil season has at long last arrived!  Normally by now our daffs are on their way out, but winter was so long and harsh this year, causing a delay in all our spring flowers.  Last autumn I went daft purchasing bulbs so that I could go into the new year surrounded by colour, and I certainly haven't been disappointed: the beauty of them all is truly breathtaking.   I opted mainly for bags of mixed daffodils so that I would have the variety of colour, and also the suprise of not being sure what would pop up where.  And what a treat it has been: I have delicate pale lemon ones, bold brassy orange and bright yellow ones, and every shade in between. There are the large blooms on long tough stems with wide trumpets to blast out their glorious scent, multi-headed delicate little ladies sitting daintily amidst their brasher sisters, and pretty petite beauties with long slim bugles of rich orange.  Nature is so glorious and so uplifting to the spirits.

Title from William Wordsworth's "I Wander'd lonely as a cloud"