Photo Challenge

The Weather In The Garden

So far this week at The Gables we’ve had frost, biting wind, and yesterday an all-day deluge with wall to wall gloom. But today, St. Valentine’s, the rain has held off. In fact it’s been almost warm, with a glimmering of sunshine, and up in the top garden this clump of seedling crocus was in full fanfare.

And not only that, Mr. Whippy, the ice-cream man, was back in town. Jangling rendition of O Sole Mio up and down streets. And then while I was snapping the crocus, along buzzed a honey bee, the first I’ve seen and heard this year.

Anyone would think it was spring.

But then February can be a tricksy month in England, ambushing us with a day of sudden warmth, only to whip up more icy blasts just when we’ve been daft enough to cast off our thickest winter woolly.

So: best not to count one’s spring chickens too soon.

This bee, though, is definitely seizing the moment, making the most of fine weather, and a rich pollen harvest. (Note the gathering sac on the rear leg; full pollen facial thrown in). What’s not to love.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Lens-Artists: Weather This week Anne at Slow Shutter Speed has us weather watching. Plenty to inspire us in her lively photo essay.

How Did My Garden Glow…

There’s more than a hint of nostalgia in my choice of photos here. With the turn of the year and the first hints of spring, I am thinking about gardening; and more especially, of gardens left behind and the things I used to grow there.

The new home garden, though small, has potential as they say, but much like the house, every part of it needs attention. We’ve had the hedges cut into shape and the apple trees pruned. The greenhouse is all but mended, and the slab for Graham’s shed is laid and ready for his latest creation. But the biggest challenge is reining in the overall infestations of ground elder, ivy, Spanish bluebells and a devilish creeping shrub with red tubular flowers that seems intent on taking over the place.

Basically, when it comes to fresh planting, we’re pretty much at ground zero, with an awful lot of ground to shift. And while it is feasible, with serial determination, to clear areas of the invaders, it will likely take a few seasons to do so. All of which means holding back on plans for any permanent planting, at least on the herbaceous and shrub front. I am resisting using weed killer.

The invaders’ persistence is not such an issue when it comes to making vegetable plots. They can be cleared and weeded every year at the end of the growing season, and again in spring. In fact it has crossed my mind to grow this year’s potatoes in the front garden where we’ve lifted a load of unsightly paving. I’ve also thought of using that space for a mixture of annual flowers, beans and greens, i.e. cottage garden style. I probably will do that. After all, you can grow climbing beans up sunflowers. They like to cohabit. And it seemed to work at the Broseley rental house where I made a quick-fix garden last year.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of starting some perennials off in pots. I know we will miss the allotment raspberries, so I’m trying a small bush variety called Yummy . It will apparently grow well in containers, at least in the short term. I’ve also rescued a few of the previous occupants’ plants from the infested beds, and ‘quarantined’ them in pots too, thus capturing any remnant ground elder which can be carefully unpicked during re-potting or planting out.

But then I’m truly missing our Evereste crab apple tree from the Sheinton Street garden. It’s a very slow grower, so if I do give in to buying a replacement, it might well manage in a big pot for a while.

So: onwards and upwards. I’ve come to the conclusion it is my lot in life, much like generations of my Hampshire gardener ancestors, to wield a spade, endlessly making new gardens wherever I end up living. You may expect some of the results to crop up here. For now, some very pleasing ‘borrowed landscape’ from back in the autumn – the rowan tree over the hedge by the greenhouse. A wonderful birds’ pantry.

Lens-Artists: warm colours This week Egidio wants to see warm colours in our photos. Please see his blog post for some wonderful warmth and inspiration.

Simply Does It

Wild oats and a summer storm brewing: I liked the muted tones in contrasting textures.

These convolvulus flowers seemed to light up a shady corner:

The barley field: shades of green with front row sgraffitto effect:

Ladybird sheltering in a sage leaf – what’s not to love?

And finally – three photos taken at Penmon Point on the island of Anglesey. In descending order: view of Puffin Island; looking across Menai Strait to the Welsh mainland; boy looks at lighthouse.

Lens-Artists: Simplicity This week Philo at Philosophy Through Photography sets the theme. Please go and see his inspiring examples.

Backlit From The Wenlock Archive

This week Ann-Christine at Lens-Artists wants to see our backlit subjects – always an appealing approach as far as Mrs. Farrell’s concerned. This year, though, the sun has been so tricksy – more going than coming – there seem to have been few chances for new naturally backlit shots.

Which means dipping into the archive: a Much Wenlock retrospective in other words; I know some of you won’t mind revisiting Sheinton Street.

Underneath the Horse Chestnut tree, last summer on the old railway line

Wild Arum Lily/Cuckoo Pint/Lords and Ladies last spring on Windmill Hill

Evereste Crab Apple blossom over the garden fence

On the kitchen table: lilac and hawthorn blossom

Looking up into the ‘upstairs’ garden: lemon balm and montbretia leaves

Winter sunset in the Sytche Lane rookery

Late summer sunset on Townsend Meadow with nettles

Lens-Artists: Backlit

Windfall Quinces At The Allotment

For one reason or another, but mostly due to some serious rainstorms, I had not been to the allotment for several days. When it wasn’t raining, slithering across the field in the mud did not appeal. And then the wind got up. And then just when I thought I’d go, another downpour began. And so it seems that after our too arid summer, we’re in for a very wet autumn.

But yesterday came the window of opportunity. The morning was almost sunny. We anyway needed some veggies. So wellies on, off I trudged along Townsend Meadow, which is now a green haze of sprouting wheat. The rain is suiting it. It has also been suiting all the field beans spilled during the summer harvesting. They have been pushing up through the wheat, and I noticed yesterday that the farmer has clearly been over the field with his big herbicide sprayer. I find it astonishing that plant-killing chemicals can be so attuned as to know a broad bean seedling from a wheat stem. Anyway, the application is clearly doing its stuff, and the wheat looks fine.

Up on the plot all is soggy and much blown about, and certainly not at all photogenic. There was lots to gather though – leeks, beetroot, chicory, carrots, and still some tomatoes, lettuce and rocket in the polytunnel. I didn’t stay long. The wind was gusting up into a small gale. You can see what it did to quince crop. The tree this year was laden. It seems a waste not to use the fruit, but apart from quince jelly, which needs loads of sugar, it’s not really a favourite in the Farrell household.

Townsend Meadow: wheat and field beans (before the spraying)

#WalkingSquares This November join Becky in her daily walks, or whenever you can, the only rule, the header photo must be SQUARE.

Reflections: Looking Back On Tiwi Reef

Today in Shropshire we are having a heatwave – 26 C which is hot for us. It’s making me think of Kenya days when we used to spend Christmas (the hottest season) on the South Mombasa coast. We took all our best friends and family there. So: fond, if long ago, thoughts of grilled reef fish and lobsters bought from the local fishermen, and daily visits from the vegetable seller who pushed his sturdy Chinese bike along the coral paths, the black frame slung with raffia panniers, the contents garnered from his shamba – pawpaws, tomatoes, red onions, tiny hen’s eggs, warty lemons, a pepper or two.

Of course it was steamy there beside the Indian Ocean, but breezy too, and the verandaed beach cottages, following the local style, were built to catch it – tall makuti thatched roofs, large unglazed windows shaded by louvered shutters with moveable slats. Billowing mosquito nets over the beds. The outside sounds blowing in, crickets in the hot grass, finch chatter in the Madagascar flame trees, plangent call of the water bottle bird emptying its flask, a descending doo-doo-doo-doo…then waft of frangipani, and further off, the ocean crashing on the reef. The smell of the sea. Aaaah! Tusker beer, anyone?

Lens-Artists: seeing double This week Jez has set the challenge. He has some stunning reflections on show.

Centred At Wenlock Priory

Of course for centuries Much Wenlock Priory was the centre of things for the ordinary folk who lived along Wenlock Edge and across the River Severn beyond Ironbridge. And I don’t only mean for the saving of their souls or temporal spiritual guidance. Successive priors were effectively CEOs of a large agricultural and industrial business enterprise. They ruled over an extensive landed estate in much the same way as powerful feudal lords of the manor ruled over their serfs and villeins.

The Priors laid down the law. They exacted rents, tithes and substantial death duties from the community, while the peasant smallholders, who were their rent-paying tenants, were obliged to provide a considerable amount of their labour – ploughing, harvesting, transporting goods. The Priory was also a big wool producer and it was involved in industrial enterprises such as quarrying, milling, extracting coal, operating an iron-making bloomery in Coalbrookdale, and so presumably relying on members of the 18 local serf families to do much of this work.

The Priory also did very nicely when anyone died. One third (a terciar) of the value of the deceased person’s moveable goods would be claimed. In 1377 when John Brice a local lord of the manor died, his executors had to pay out 5 oxen, plus a further third in value of 5 cows, 7 horses, 132 sheep, 90 ewes, 75 lambs, 2 silver spoons, and 3 drinking bowls with silver decoration. Other terciar records indicate that people’s every last possession was weighed up (in all senses). This might include the value of meat in the larder, the iron parts of a plough, corn in the barn, pans and axes, a worn out harrow all converted to monetary worth and paid in coin (Wenlock in the Middle Ages W F Mumford).

It is thus pleasing to know that there were moments when the Prior’s powers were well and truly challenged. In 1163 the villeins rebelled and ‘threw down their ploughshares’, calling for the repressive Prior to be deposed. The monks’ response was to excommunicate the lot, a truly horrifying penalty at the time. This only led to a riot. The church was besieged and knights called in to save the monks. But in the end the Prior was forced to hold an enquiry before a committee of knights and monks who, it seemed, listened to the villeins’ grievances and effected a compromise. In the following centuries, as the villeins’ own economic power grew, they were more and more able to demand payment for their services (A History of Much Wenlock Vivien Bellamy).

But with all this taxing and tithing, you can well see why in 1540 Thomas Cromwell wanted to get his hands on, as in liberate, the accumulated wealth of nation’s monastic houses. And here in Wenlock we still have the end result, nearly 6 centuries on – the dissolved relics of one of Europe’s most prestigious monasteries.

Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: Centred

Head To Head

Best Friends

Cupboard love at Nairobi’s Giraffe Centre

‘Looking at you looking at me’

Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge: this week Cee wants to see heads and facial expressions

It’s Not Too Late To Plant Tulip Bulbs

In fact they are supposed to fare better disease-wise if planted towards the end of the year, rather than in autumn with the other spring-flowering bulbs. I came across this particular bouquet in Aardvark Books (Hereford’s wonderful second-hand book emporium and book lovers’ heaven). Stunning, isn’t it? You can well see why tulip mania broke out in 17th century Holland. (Perhaps one of history’s more benign expressions of humans losing all sense of proportion).

Tulips of course are not native to Europe (hence the excitement when they first arrived there). Their homeland is Turkey where they grow wild, and it was the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire who bred and filled their gardens with ever new varieties. Trade in the bulbs was forbidden and each new variety carefully recorded. But as might have been predicted with such highly desirable items, they escaped at last. And ever since we’ve had more and more new versions, each one designed to incite tulip lust. So much so, I find it impossible to choose whenever I look at a bulb catalogue. On the other hand, as I said, there’s still time to plant some…

Life in Colour: Kaleidoscope Jude wants plenty of colour from us this month.

A Spot Of Bird Watching

In the previous post Chasing the light over Townsend Meadow my header photo featured my ‘stand-on-bed-while-using-open-rooflight-as-tripod’ school of photography. I now confess to using the same method to spy on my local corvids. I think the pair flitting above the field fence may be carrion crows. It’s hard to tell at this distance, but we do have a couple who come daily to forage in Townsend Meadow. It is part of their territory that includes the Linden Field across the road. Also each year they come with an offspring. They call to each other across the field. I note a strain of lament in it.

But back to spying. If, with my stand-camera-on-open-window method, I then turn the lens 45 degrees to the right I can then cover activities in the rookery in the wood beside Sytche Lane. The lane borders the field boundary, and the wood borders the lane and is an unkempt sort of place inaccessible to us ordinary Wenlock folk. Both rooks and jackdaws congregate here, and in large numbers. At dusk, and particularly in autumn, they put on breath-taking balletic performances, swooping and swirling for many minutes over the meadow. If you happen to be out there when they start (sometimes my return from the allotment coincides with the opening passes of the corvid air show) it can be exhilaratingly eerie, and especially when a cohort, several dozen strong, whisks by my shoulder. There’s a rush of air. Wheeeeesh. Then gone before you register quite what happened.

You can get a gist of this phenomenon from my short video at the end of the post.