This week Amy at Lens-Artists has set us a fine task – the pursuit of natural light. It’s one of the aspects of photography that fascinates me most; especially when it’s in short supply. Anyway, I instantly thought of the strange light effects that happen across the Menai Strait between the North Wales coast and the island of Anglesey, caught here during various December sojourns on the island. All the views are looking towards the Welsh mainland and Snowdonia.
This year at Travel Words Jude is encouraging us to think hard about colour in our photography. This is the final week for brown – earth shades. From Sunday there will be a new colour scheme to look out for.
Apologies for the swift change in temperatures after yesterday’s balmy temperatures on the Zambezi. Here in Wenlock we have been suffering frigid twirls and swirls of Polar Vortex: snow, sleet, wind, frost and in between, torrential rain. But we’ve had some sun too with china blue skies. Here’s the month’s round-up:
Snowy landscapes: Windmill Hill (including the above with this mysterious snow tree), Linden Walk and Linden Field, over the garden fence…
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Birds and beasties…
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Frost art including some very fancy ice works created by my allotment water butt…
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And the first signs of spring…
But it’s always cheering to spot one. Even more so if they burst into song and brighten up a wintery twilight. But they can be fractious, being fiercely territorial when it comes to seeing off competitors. They are also very demanding. For much of last year I had one appear as soon as I started work on my allotment plot. If I went near any of my compost heaps, it was there at my feet, demanding that I instantly turn over the heap so it could stuff itself with worms. Obviously I had been labouring under a misapprehension thinking I was the allotment holder. Silly me. As I said: robins rule. I was just there as the field hand.
Bird Weekly: Lisa calls for brown feathered varieties
It’s a place for all seasons, and only a few minutes walk from our house. There are several approaches but I’ll take you up the Linden Walk that runs beside the old railway line. To the left lies the Linden aka Gaskell Field, now the town’s main recreation ground, and site of the annual Wenlock Olympian Games since the 1850s.
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Near the top of the Linden Walk there is a parallel avenue of conifers. At the end turn left by the seat. In fact follow that chap in the brown coat. He knows where he’s going.
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The path next takes you briefly along the wooded flanks of Shadwell Quarry. On the left as you go, at the top of the Linden Field, is a fine parade of oaks planted in the late nineteenth century to commemorate various Olympian Games doings. Watch out for the squirrels.
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The path up the hill is quite steep. In winter the limestone meadow looks like this:
And like this:
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But in early summer it’s a riot of orchids, lady’s bedstraw, clover, wild thyme, vetches, agrimony and St. John’s Wort:
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And in late summer it’s the grasses’ turn to flower:
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But whatever the season, if it’s not too windy, there’s a good place to sit and admire the view:
It is rather strange, but when you are wandering round Much Wenlock you are hardly ever aware of its upland surroundings. Yet it sits in a steep-sided bowl between the upthrust strata of Wenlock Edge and various residual hills and hummocks from Ice Age days. It is a place of natural springs and erstwhile saintly wells, with hints, too, from ancient finds that its waters may well have been venerated in Roman times. It was doubtless the reason why the Saxon Princess Milburga established her convent here around 670 CE, ‘cleanliness being next to godliness’ and so on. She was the subject of many local legends, most of them relating to her fleeing the unwanted attentions or lusty males, while conjuring protective streams and rivers to thwart her pursuers. The water from the town well named after her was believed to restore poor eyesight.
The priory ruins and parish church you see in these photos date from six and more centuries after Milburga, belonging mostly to the Norman era wherein the invaders sought to dominate the local populace with overbearing architecture. Wenlockians, though, knew how to take some advantage from the situation. It was said that the best ale in town was brewed from rainwater collected from the church roof.
This month Jude at Travel Words is asking us to consider the beauty of BROWN – earth colours.
Over the garden fence a week ago. More snow forecast.
On Christmas Day we drove over Wenlock Edge to Little Stretton to spend the day with our family. It was a bright and chilly day, but as I climbed the steep steps to my sister’s home I saw the spring bulbs already emerging in her terraced beds and some frisky pink primroses freshly opened. The house is perched on a lower flank of the Long Mynd and overlooks Ragleth Hill. So while the turkey was roasting, I stood out on the deck and took these photos, watched a pair of buzzards who live in the garden’s larch trees waft over in the stillness.
And now I’m thinking that these views are rather apt for Jude’s new challenge at Travel Words. She wants us to think about colour through the coming year, and in January that colour is brown: earth shades.
The close-up above was a very ‘long shot’, but I like the way the sun glints off the bare branches of the dark wood; the layers of russet leaves and bracken and the deeper soily looking browns among the ash trees. It could well be a candidate for Jabberwocky’s tulgey wood. It also reminds me of one of those ‘heavy’ Victorian oil paintings – Arcadia seemingly overdone with every expectation of rustic maids and shepherds popping up. But here it is. No time-slipped lads and lasses, just a piece of real Shropshire landscape.
Becky is keeping us ‘upspired’ during trying times. Interpret ‘up’ anyway you like, but keep it sUPer square.
Life in Colour: brown Jude at Travel Words wants us to really pay attention to colour. This month she asks us to explore shades of brown.
On Saturday night we had high winds and deluge. Rain pounded the roof-lights for hours. The gale buffeted about the cottage. Today we woke to eerie stillness, the sort that only comes with snow.
