I Have No Time To Stand And Stare...................

.............but I do it anyway!   Each day I promise myself that I will catch up with the work left over from the day before, but then the sun rises on another beautiful day, and all my promises are forgotten.  

Today I went for a brisk walk, or at least it was supposed to be one.  It is easy to walk briskly when the wind harries you from all directions, and the warmth and shelter of a house seems like an attractive proposition, but when the day is calm, and gentle, it seems only right that I should mirror its mood.  I started to saunter within minutes of beginning the walk, and a half hour walked turn into an hour and a half.   How could I pass by that delicate cobweb that glistened with the diamond dew drops?  I had to stand and stare, and admire its beauty! And then there were the translucent wings on the sapphire-backed fly: such exquisiteness on such a maligned little creature, a charm that is missed without a macro lens or a magnifying glass.  I came to the shimmering sheet of yellow Lesser Celandine and sat on the ground to get a better view.  The sun warmed my back and made that small section of the world appear golden.  In the distance skylarks sang their beautiful melody.  Ah, such bliss!  

And then, treasure of all treasures, I spotted an Oil Beetle!  I had been trying to photograph this little chap for years without success, and there he was, near the top of a bank in good view.  Lots of photos were an essential item -  not that I hadn't taken lots already, but you know how it is when obsession takes over! :-)  He is such an interesting beetle: the female lays thousands of tiny eggs in holes and cracks on the ground.  Eventually these eggs hatch out into larvae with long legs.  The larvae then climb over plants and await their victim: a wild bee.  The only larvae that survive will be the ones that manage to find a host.  They will be taken back to the wild bees nest and will devour the eggs and grubs, and eventually the store of honey, once they have changed into grubs themselves.  They overwinter as headless, legless maggots, then once again change shape before finally pupating.  The adults eat buttercup plants and can be seen on heaths and open grassland. 

Isn't he a beauty?

All pleasant days have to come to an end, and as dusk fell, the cry of my husband could be heard ringing out loud and clear: "What the hell have you been doing all day, or should I say not doing!"

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.

What a difference a day makes............................

Twenty-four little hours 

Brought the sun and the flowers 

Where there used to be rain

Yesterday we dripped with moisture from the lashing rain and the sodden air when the rain occasionally ceased to pour, but as dusk arrived, the winds dropped and cloud cover slowly moved away.  Looking out towards Ireland, and the mountains of Wicklow, you could see clear blue sky above the foaming Irish Sea. 

But even bad weather brings its blessings, and the Earth soaked up the much needed water, quenching its thirst and giving new life to all its many dependants.  This morning the sun shines, not just on us, but on the first of this years blossoms.  Where two days ago there was nothing, now there is beauty.

A Long Journey

I spotted it first in the budding willow that sits above the stream, where it passes under the road.  It was the flitting movement to my left that caught my eye.  It wasn't the usual movement of a Blue Tit or Chaffinch, the birds I would regularly see in that area, it was quicker and more graceful.  I stopped and scanned the branches, and then I spotted it: the first warbler of the year.  My heart always skips a beat when I see the first migratory bird, a bird that will have flown thousands of miles, just to come and nest, and rear young, in my area.  Many humans think that they are so superior to the other species that inhabit this planet, but could you imagine a human managing to travel 3000 miles, without a compass or map, and managing to arrive back in the country of their birth?  Most of us would be lost after the first one hundred miles.

My view of the warbler was all too short, as he quickly flew across the lane, through the spiky hawthorn hedge and into an area of scrubland that grows alongside the stream.  My view of him was so brief that I didn't even get a definite identification, but I am pretty sure that it was a Willow Warbler, a delightful yellow-tinged little bird, that weighs only 10 grams.  This bird is unusual in that it moults twice a year, once in its over wintering area and once in its summer home.   The experts aren't sure why this happens, but it might be due to the extremely long migratory journey that it makes.  

It has been two days since I spotted it, and I have had no views since.  The weather has turned colder and much more windy, with winds once again in the region of 50 miles an hour.  I do so hope that he, or she, makes it through this snap of rough weather: after such a long journey it would be a tragedy if it didn't.

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. 

"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"