Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot

For most of the several years we lived in Africa I only had a small film camera – an Olympus-trip. It had a good lens and was great for general landscapes, but of course it had no zoom facility. Obviously, this was a big handicap when driving through bush country in search of wildlife to photograph. Also I did not have the aptitude to make the best of varying light conditions. E.g. The header photo was taken in Zimbabwe in July, winter in the southern hemisphere, with a midday view in Hwange National Park as gloomy as an English November. In other words, that this photo worked at all was sheer good luck. In fact I could probably say the same for most of the photos in the old Africa album. There’s another problem too: old film does not keep well.

And yet I love this shot. It has the look of a painting; an air of timelessness. And besides which, the scene did seem to materialise by chance.

At the time we were living in Lusaka, Zambia, and had driven down to Zimbabwe to meet up with New Zealand friends and take them on a short tour through Zimbabwe back to Lusaka. We spent two days driving around Hwange under lowering skies. The bush was parched, so many shades of brown, and anyway the likelihood of spotting anything much from a Subaru estate car seemed slim. We thus spent our first morning on a high-rise game viewing platform, gazing at a very distant waterhole with some faraway buffalo and one giraffe. It was very mesmerizing, surreal even, but in the end one forgot to feel grateful for witnessing such a scene, and began to feel frustrated by the limited photo opportunities.

We left the hide and returned to Hwange’s paved access road, trundling between wide grass verges, that truth to tell, had a rather managed, suburban look about them. Finally we found a dirt trail that led to another waterhole, and parked up under a rain tree. There was no sign of wildlife when we arrived, but it seemed a good spot to eat our picnic lunch. It was only as we were driving away that we saw the elephants had arrived. One of those moments you don’t forget.

Lens-Artists: Lucky Shot This week Sofia sets the theme. Great fun!

Six On Saturday: Wind & Sun & Hail

It’s been a week of many weathers, including a sudden heat wave on Wednesday with days of piercing winds and low temperatures either side. One day we’re in the 20s C, and the next it’s down to 9 degrees. All very confusing, although I did manage to remember to think it was time to plant the seed potatoes – Red Rooster and Charlotte. They had grown some very chunky shoots while lingering in egg boxes in the downstairs cloakroom.

Also we could have done without the gale last Saturday. More of which in a moment. But first, the garden stars of the past two weeks have been these lovely little front garden tulips, Heart’s Delight (1). They have stood up to being roasted and thrashed, but I fear they won’t last today. As I write this, we’re having a hail storm and fierce sleety gusts. Most of their petals have already blown off.

And so to last Saturday’s gale, and good bye cherry plum tree (2). It wasn’t our tree, but it gracefully filled our kitchen window view and we liked to watch it through the seasons. It also made up for the ‘horrid holly hedge’ which we acquired along with the house. On Easter Sunday we woke to this:

The tree people came this week and cut the whole thing down. They said the remaining trunk showed signs of decay and had to go. There’s no denying it: it’s left a big gap. I doubt that the housing association owners will replace it, planting space being rather limited. Here it is back in March.

We can now see the retirement home’s almond blossom tree across the road, but the immediate holly hedge view seems rather bleak and gloomy. I’m wondering about having a Japanese Maple in a big pot at the top of the old steps opposite the side window. It’s a semi-shaded, sheltered spot. It might work?

Of miniature trees (3). On a happier note, the garden’s tiny trees seem to be faring well. We don’t have a great deal of space, and although I realise shrubs generally form the ‘spine’ of a garden, I couldn’t get to grips with what to choose or where to put them. Instead, I thought of dwarf trees. The conference pear is the prettiest of them just now. It’s in a raised bed beside the potato patch.

We also have 2 dwarf eating apple trees and a little Stella cherry on the top of the terrace wall, and in the front garden, two small crab apples (Evereste and upright Laura both about to flower), and a Merrybelle Plum, which is just over.

My thinking with the little trees is that we and the pollinators have the pleasure of the spring blossom (and maybe also some fruit come autumn), but they leave lots of room for the late spring and summer show of herbaceous perennials. And if we lose sight of them for a while among the phlox, rdbeckia and Michaelmas daisies it doesn’t really matter.

About to flower – a dwarf Christmas Pearmain just visible to the left of the tulip pot.

The weather may be changeable and bitterly cold (even by English standards) but there have been plenty of sightings of butterflies: orange tips, tortoiseshells, Common Blues. I’ve also noticed bumble bees, especially in the Pulmonaria (lung wort) flowers. Diana Clare (4) with her striking silvery leaves, is a new plant bought last year, so I’m pleased to see she’s settling down, and especially after the pigeons snaffled her first leaves.

Also looking its best with lots of flowers for the insects is the creeping rosemary (5), planted a couple of years ago along the front garden wall.

And last, but not least, it’s all thanks to he who builds sheds and car ports that aren’t for cars, AKA Graham. This week he finished making me a cold frame (6). Brilliant! He’s also mended my ancestral (grandfather’s) spade whose handle broke while I was trying to excavate the whirly washing line spike that needed to go somewhere else.

All we need now is to get growing with some warmer, less windy weather. Roll on spring!

Six On Saturday April 11 2026

Knowing My Ground: Spring On The River Avon

This week Patti at Lens-Artists asks us to consider fore- middle- and background when framing our photos. And it just so happens I took a few (I think) suitable photos back in March when we were staying beside the river at Bidford-on-Avon in Warwickshire.

The house had a fine view of the town’s fifteenth century bridge. On the afternoon we arrived there was brilliant sunshine. I’m glad I caught it! I liked the shimmery reflections of trees and church tower in the river, but also that you can glimpse the upstream banks through the arches. Can you see the swan?

A view from the bridge

And lastly a couple of photos from our visit to nearby Hidcote Manor Gardens:

I liked the layered look of the magnolia blossoms near and far against the flat grey sky.

What’s not to like about this red-framed window in the Hidcote tearoom, and such a rich red too. Then there’s the garden border beyond, still slumbering for the most part, and in the distance the manor house roof.

Choose a pane, any pane…

Lens-Artists: Framing your shot – fore-, middle, and background

This week Patti sets the theme, and gives us some excellent examples and guidance. Go and see!

The Changing Seasons: This Was March 2026

It’s been a tricksy month weatherwise. The leafing trees and blooming bulbs have been saying spring. Likewise the few days of blue sky and warmth that lured us, wantonly, to cast off clouts and dream of summer days. But then next, to put us right, came winds, icy, perishing blasts under leaden skies, and it was back to triple woollies.

Towards the end of the month came another false spring. As we drove out of Shropshire and down to Warwickshire its arrival seemed so certain. More blue skies. Banks of daffodils and primroses on every roadside. The blackthorn and wild cherry blossom running riot in dazzling white arcades; hawthorn hedges bursting in greens too green to imagine.

We were off for a few days beside the river at Bidford-on-Avon, on the fringes of ‘Shakespeare Country’. (It’s said that Will took part in a riotous drinking contest at the Falcon Inn in Bidford). It is also known for its ancient bridge, built in the fifteenth century, downstream of an an even more ancient Roman ford on the Icknield Way.

We arrived on a perfect afternoon. And so the spell held – for another day.

Our spot on the river with narrow boats moored alongside

And then it was back to grey skies and sharp winds. But we still enjoyed a ramble round the mostly slumbering ‘garden rooms’ at Hidcote Manor, the must-see creation for passionate gardeners and plant lovers, and one of the Cotswolds’ biggest visitor attractions. But as you can see, signs of spring, apart from the magnolias, were few and far between. This is definitely a summer garden:

There was an amusing sighting though. I stopped to take a photo of the couple at the gates, and then realised they were watching a little robot lawnmower trundling back and forth between the hedges. It seemed to have its work cut out:

We also came upon a novel way to display (actually get to see) hellebore flowers, which do so hide their faces when growing out in the garden – a shallow dish filled with water:

It’s actually been a fine season for hellebores – even if it is hard to see the flowers. These were spotted at Hillers’ garden centre near Bidford.

On our final evening we walked along the riverbank accompanied now and then by swans. I think they were hoping for a hand-out:

Now home again, the little tulips in the front garden make a bright show. At least they do when the sun comes out. At the moment as I write this they are closed up tight under gloomy cloud. Also waiting for spring…

The Changing Seasons: March 2026 This month Brian from Bushboys World is the host. Please go and see his marvellous gallery of March sightings.

Blue Sky Morning

Breakfast on the lawn. A jug of coffee and fresh cut orange and apple with toasted nuts. And at last the sun on our skin. A sense of bliss after the dark, wet months.

Overhead, in the big blue, jackdaws drift from their roost to all points and back again. No reason necessary. Far off, too, above the town, white glints catch my eye. They shimmer like foil reflecting the sun, and soon, drawing near, take form: a pair of buzzards in their best feathers. It’s the white underwing that catches the light. They glide by. A pair. Aerial synchrony. It looks like a slow pas de deux.

And next comes the red kite, Shropshire’s largest raptor. Sipping our coffee we lean back to watch. It’s far up, the tell-tale V of the tail feathers, the wide wingspan. We almost take such sights for granted now. The sparrows, though, dash for cover in the holly hedge. And that’s when, gaze lowered, I notice the brimstone butterfly. Wings of pale apple green, it’s flitting about the garden at high speed. Then up and away over the fence, across the street and into the Thorntons’ garden. It’s the second I’ve spotted this week. I don’t recall ever seeing brimstones before.

Along the garden path there’s a continuous sprinkling of cherry plum blossoms. The ice pink petals fall like slow snow flakes. On days like this the tree looks its festive best against the sky. It’s not our tree but grows near our hedge, casting the new spring garden of daffodils and hellebores in dappled light.

And so with the sun and the blue sky all seems hopeful, bountiful, beneficent, and I breathe a long slow breath. Muscles soften. Winter tensions dissolve. Here, in our small garden world, spring is happening.

Lens-Artists: Time to relax This week Anne at Slow Shutter Speed wants to know what helps us relax.

Shadowed At Wenlock Priory

In its time, the Cluniac Priory at Much Wenlock, Shropshire, did much overshadowing. For one thing it was physically one of the largest ecclesiastical houses in medieval Europe. For another, its Prior ruled over both its resident French monks and the lay populace of peasant farmers and artisans who lived and worked beyond its walls. Then in 1540 came the Dissolution of the monasteries. By order of Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII’s fixer, roofs were stripped of their protecting (highly valuable) lead, and the place, no longer watertight, literally, if slowly, began to dissolve.

Before the end though, the Priory was often a spot for some very shady dealings, forging currency not the least of them.

There’s more about the history in earlier posts Centred at Wenlock Priory and 5 Stories 5 Photos: Hidden Wenlock #2 All of which had me thinking about shadows and recalling the early autumn afternoon when I went to the Priory specifically to capture the ruins in some high-contrast light conditions. I’d taken many photos there in the past, but in the middle of the day. The end products were, without exception, pretty underwhelming.

And so for John’s Lens-Artists’ challenge I thought I’d show a series of different shadowed shots from that late-day autumn visit. I was using a point and shoot Panasonic Lumix including the dynamic monochrome setting for the sepia and black and white shots.

Lens-Artists: Shadowed This week John sets the theme and explores different approaches in his post.

Changing Seasons, February 2026: The highlights

Here in England, it’s too easy to harp on about our months of wet and dismal weather. But February has not been all wall to wall gloom. Last week, when we had two sunshine days, everyone was out and about, spurred on by fits of exuberance. How we’d missed the sun. It felt a battery recharge.

I made the most of it, too. Not only did I mow the lawns, but I also dug out my compost bin and spread the contents all over the back garden beds: instant refurbishment to rain beaten soil, and no digging required – at least not beyond the confines of the compost bin. No-dig pioneer gardener, Charles Dowding, would surely give me a thumbs up for effort. The blackbirds are certainly pleased with me, although I’m not so pleased with them. They seem to think the garden path is a better spot for my compost.

And so the highlights – the crocus certainly. They’ve stood up magnificently to rain and wind:

And in sheltered corners the daffodils are just now following on:

And about the town, the hedgerows are hanging in hazel catkins that catch the light:

While hedge bottoms glow with bursts of freshly opened celandines, some of our earliest wild flowers:

Meanwhile the cherry plum tree over the garden hedge, is treating to us to a sherbet pink confection of early blossom:

And then one afternoon last week at sunset…

…a blackbird perched in the top of our big apple tree and sang a call and answer duet with a compatriot somewhere across the town:

And I stood transfixed, listening, breathing in the sappy scents on the air, thinking of spring…

With apologies for the visual shudder

The Changing Seasons: February 2026 Host Brian has a wonderful February gallery featuring his local wildlife. And as ever at Touring My Backyard, Ju-Lyn has both fine views and she’s been creating more fabulous treats in her kitchen.

The Power Of Juxtaposition

Grasses, sky and clouds on Wenlock Edge

Sometimes you need to lie down to take a photo; taking this header shot was one of those moments. I wondered how the thin stems of meadow grasses would look against the fiery sky. They had much to compete with. Some more distant treetops got a look in too. Earth to sky: we’re holding our own despite the light show.

And a different take on earthly-aerial juxtapositions; this time a barley field, sun reflecting off the tufty awns that surround the grain. I liked the contrasting textures of spiky crop and meringue-soft cloud; the green against the blue, white-grey contrast:

The colour red always makes its presence felt. Here a single red bird cherry leaf:

The showy crab apples somehow make a lowly snail all the more remarkable.

I do take an awful lot of landscape photos, but perhaps you can have too many ‘good views’. The presence of some living/moving element generally makes for a more engaging shot:

This rather strange view of a Stiperstones tor was shot in monochrome in gloomy midday light. Odd things seem to happen in this mysterious Shropshire upland: so who knows where the sky went. But then I liked the happenstance appearance of the tight-knit group of hikers. They walked into the shot, their group posture conveying group purpose: they will reach the top.

And you want to follow them.

This is another chance Stiperstones photo, taken on the same day. Despite the poor light the tor does seem to radiate something. That’s my other half on the skyline. As ever he has stopped to see what had become of me, dawdling somewhere behind. I was so pleased when he stood still. There he is – a tiny human beside a momentous stack of geology, remnant of the ancient days when this quartzite ridge was crushed and fractured during the last Ice Age.

Back then, two great glaciers (one from Ireland, the other from the heights of Plynlimon in mid-Wales) convened in the Shropshire hills. They kept the ridge company, not covering it, but nudging the tops through alternating periods of freeze and thaw. Needless to say, this would not have been a human-friendly landscape. Even now, in bad weather, it is a brutally exposed spot.

And closer to home, the not quite live elephant on Wintles Hill adds a certain something (if only viewer puzzlement) to this Shropshire autumn landscape. The different layers of sunlight and shadow also caught my eye:

#IAmNotACrop

Lens-Artists: the power of juxtaposition This week Patti at Lens-Artists asks us to consider the power of juxtaposition in our compositions. Please see her super post for guidance and inspiration.

‘Views’ From The Ether: AI or ET?

As faithful followers of this blog may have noticed: I’ve not been here lately. There is a reason of sorts. There may be signs of spring outdoors, but indoors my brain has opted for deep hibernation. I’ve had nothing to say. And there is too much gloom and mud for interesting forays with my camera. So there we have it. No posts since January 31st. And only five posts this year.

And strange to say, this does not appear to matter ‘views’ wise. In fact my rising Word Press stats from January have me deeply puzzled.

It’s true that early in the New Year, WP featured a December post in Freshly Pressed: ‘Winging it: chance encounters with aerial kind’, and the views of that particular post have risen over succeeding weeks from the original 60-odd to 213, but does that explain the big jump in daily ‘views’ – whatever these ‘views’ may be.

Already there have been 31,508 in 2026. In seven weeks. On February 12th there was the first big spike of 2,500. But the next day, – Friday the 13th – and this is what started me looking – there were a whopping 15,000, spread across that day and mostly from the USA. Since then, views have averaged around 350 a day, but with odd spikes of 800 – this when daily views used to be 50 or so.

Back in the autumn I also had several weeks of elevated stats, China being the source of the uptick, generally around the 200s. But then China tuned out at the end of last year and hasn’t been back since. I remember several other bloggers reported stats oddities around this time.

So what’s going on? Are beings from another universe thinking of visiting Shropshire and checking out the geography? Or are AI bots harvesting posts for their own educational purposes? It certainly looks like it. On any one day this year, scores of my back posts are apparently being viewed several times over, including ones ephemeral and passingly obscure, i.e. those relating to long past photo/word prompt challenges.

In an unhinged moment I thought I’d ask A.I. what it knew about me. Here’s the short version of what it had to say:

Tish Farrell is a writer known for her engaging stories and reflections on various topics, including gardening, travel, and personal experiences. Her blog often features her thoughts on life and nature, along with her photography.

tishfarrell.com

Well! A glowing testimonial surely? But do I actually need a writerly reference from some mechanistic confection; do I even admit to a flutter of appreciation when I first read it? Blood and sand! What is this brave new world that’s being foisted on us? It’s enough to return me to a state of blogging silence.

And so back to the more pleasing contemplation of rain drenched crocus. This view at least is of something real. Tangible. Growing. Actual. Not contrived, conjured or manipulated. I experienced the flowers’ existence a couple of weeks ago in our town’s ancient graveyard, and took their photograph. And now, along with the crocus, I feel an urge to sink my soul’s roots deep in the good soil of Planet Earth. Isn’t this the version of reality that most of us cleave to?

I think I’ll start a meme – if someone hasn’t already done so:

#IAmNotACrop

Reasons To Be Cheerful: Six On Saturday

January came with heavy snow and gale force gusts that brought down snow-laden trees. Then there were days of frost and biting winds, then heavy rains that flooded fields and roads. There were also many low cloud days, the hills around the Castle shrouded in murk the colour of mud; not much sight of the sun. But through it all the snowdrops have been emerging in ever bigger clumps. They are everywhere around the town, in pots and borders, on patches of abandoned garden, under walls and hedges. And they’re still going strong.

Our own snowdrops are too newly planted to make a clump or a photo worth taking, though we’re still pleased to see them. So these are the neighbours’ snowdrops.

The garden has been looking pretty dreary, but there are signs of spring – when I put on my specs and do some low-level peering. The Tete a Tete daffodils for one are looking promising:

We’re also approaching the main season for hellebores. The December flowering Christmas Carols have kept going through snow and frost, but the rain has muddied and bruised their faces.

This purplish-pink one, just opening outside the kitchen window, is faring better:

And still in purplish mode the Ajuga reptans looks to have put on a growth spurt along the back garden path. I think it may be Atropurpurea. It’s certainly looking very purple here in the afternoon light:

And since we’re in the back garden, it’s worth looking in on the winter greens. At one stage they were buried in six inches of snow, but now I see the Swiss Chard and perennial beet have begun to regrow, and the purple sprouting and cauliflowers planted out in the cleared runner bean bed in September are bulking up. The land cress, meanwhile, has been sprouting edible, peppery salad stems all winter.

And finally there are the slivers of tiny mauve crocuses that have popped up all over the front garden. On dull days they are almost invisible, their petals in tightly wrapped small spikes that remind me more of fungi than flowers.

But earlier this week we actually had a blue-sky-full-on-sun day, and the tiny souls opened wide, though barely an inch across at full petal: their own small force of nature.

Six on Saturday Our host Jim, as ever, has plenty to show us in his garden; always something new to see or learn about there.