Milton Country Park Through the Year

October Colours

2017-10-20T07:25:00.000+01:00

I am taking a short break from writing this blog, partly because I don't have the time at the moment, and partly because I am unsure of the future direction of the blog. I feel that after two and a half years, I have thoroughly documented Milton Country Park, and don't necessarily think I have any more to say.

In fact, I was thinking of stopping the blog altogether until yesterday morning, when I took the dog for a walk around the park. Everything was bathed in a light mist, enough to obscure, but not thick enough to obliterate. I found the light inspirational, particularly as the moist air deadened the sound of traffic on the nearby dual carriageway. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera with me, as the dog is at an age where she demands too much attention.

Looking across Dickerson's Pit, I could see the shapes of the trees on the far bank, but the details had gone, and the colour was drained from the leaves. On the water, a couple of swans and a few seagulls loomed preternaturally large and white in the mist. On the ground, the leaves that had been ripped off the willows in the recent wind were rotting down to a mosaic of yellows, browns, purples and reds, turning the water of any puddles that had formed on top of them a light orange-red colour.

Everywhere I looked, I could see potential shots: bright yellow maple leaves which had fallen between sinuous dark tree roots; a forked tree overlooking the water; a clump of toadstools at the base of an old ivy covered willow; and a new view that had been opened up from the north end of Hall's Pond.

This has persuaded me to continue. The challenge is clearly greater, as I have already photographed the more obvious spots. But looking at the works of Edward Weston, Paul Strand, and Minor White, I am very tempted to seriously try some black and white photography, with its emphasis on tonality and form. And this is what I will be doing in my next post, hopefully, within the next month.

Flower Meadow

2017-09-23T06:21:00.000+01:00

A flower meadow in Milton Country Park? Not quite. Just two fairly small flower beds planted with an abundance of flowering annuals which reached their very colourful peak during July.

9 July 2017

I talk about the garden reaching its peak in July, but in reality, it is more of a ridge than a peak. As these pictures show, by the beginning of July, the beds were very colourful, but predominantly white, with individual highlights of blue and purple.

9 July 2017

As the month progressed, the density of the flowers increased and more pink and red appeared in the mix.

16 July 2017

With a number of bright red poppies:

16 July 2017

Finally, by the beginning of August, the bed becomes predominantly yellow with barely any white blossom at all:

6 August 2017

After that, the display steadily declined as the flowers faded and died.

Next: October Colours

Summer Surprise

2017-09-09T07:20:00.000+01:00

It is well over two years now since I started intensively photographing Milton Country Park, yet this summer I came across two plants I had not seen before in the park: bee orchid and lady's bedstraw. This was only the second bee orchid I have ever seen, though the The Wildlife Trusts give its status as common throughout England.

Bee Orchid - 9 June 2017
All that wonderful mimicry wasted in England

The bee orchid is interesting, not only for its bee like flower, but also because it has evolved two separate mechanisms of pollination. The first is through bees that are lured to its bee-like flower with its promise of a mate. The second is self pollination. Unfortunately, the bee that the flower has so carefully evolved to mimic does not occur in England, and so the bee orchid is left to self pollinate. This means, that at the cost of some loss of genetic diversity, the bee orchid can extend its range beyond that of relevant bee.

Site of Bee Orchid - 9 June 2017
Bee orchid barely visible in the bird's foot trefoil, ground ivy and grass

Bird's Foot Trefoil

As the image above shows, the bee orchid that I photographed was in a mass of other plants including some bird's foot trefoil. In fact, I only spotted the bee orchid because I was trying to get a close up of the trefoil.

Bird's Foot Trefoil - 9 June 2017

Bird's foot trefoil gets its name from the arrangement of its black seed pods which is said to resemble a bird's claw. For a plant that seems to have no medicinal or culinary uses, and only minimal folklore, it has collected a huge collection of common names including: grandmother's slippers, ladies shoes, Gods almighty thumb and finger, kings fingers, granny's toenails, crow's toes, ladies shoes and stocking, bacon and eggs, and lady's slipper.

Lady's Bedstraw

Clump of Lady's Bedstraw - 9 July 2017
This clump was found growing among the nettles at the south end of the park

The other surprise was to find a clump of lady's bedstraw growing in the park. This is common enough on chalky ground, but is not normally seen in the rich peaty soil of the Cambridgeshire Fens. There is an interesting contrast between lady's bedstraw and bird's foot trefoil: both have minimal folklore associated with them; but where the trefoil has many alternative names, bedstraw has few; and where trefoil has almost no uses at all, the bedstraw was a really useful plant. As it's name suggests, it was used to fill mattresses, as a flea repellent, as a cheese coagulant, and to colour Double Gloucester cheese. Medicinally, it was used as a remedy for gout, epilepsy, and urinary tract infections.

St John's Wort

St John's Wort - 14 June 2017

The final plant I want to highlight in this post is St John's wort, or more specifically, woody St John's wort (Hypericum prolificum). As far as I am aware there is just a single plant of this flower on the North bank of Todd's Pit. Hypericum is a large varied genus including low growing herbs through to trees that reach a height of 12m. Confusingly, all members of the genus may be called St John's wort, derived from its flowering on St John's day - 23th June.

Next: Flower Meadow

Small and Beautiful

2017-08-26T06:59:00.001+01:00

A single narrow leafed pea is flowering in the middle of a mass of cinquefoil, a purple counterpoint to the surrounding sea of yellow. The pea, approximately half a centimetre across, is a perfect scale model of its larger cousin and gardener's favourite, the sweet pea. Here, this tiny flower is noticed only by keen botanists and the photographer with his camera poised barely a centimetre above the ground.

Narrow Leaved Pea - 31 May 2017
The yellow in the background is cinquefoil

Cinquefoil

Cinquefoil Growing on Wood Chips - 31 May 2017
Some clover and grass can be seen in the cinquefoil at the bottom of the picture

The cinquefoil is colonising a heap of wood chippings, its stolons advancing on a broad front towards the top of the heap, dragging a wealth of yellow flowers, each the size of a buttercup, with it. At its leading edge, there is only cinquefoil. But farther back, other plants beside the pea are growing in the clump, including speedwell, white clover and, inevitably, grass. This is ecology in action, the first stage of a new plant community - where last year there were only wood chippings. Each species literally fighting for its place in sun. A contest with some collateral benefits, as all the flora will benefit from the nitrogen fixing activity of the clover.

Cinquefoil - 9 June 2017

Cinquefoil, a native of Britain, is seen by gardeners as an aggressive invader of lawns. In the past, it has been grown as a herb, particularly valued as an astringent used for cleaning wounds. It was believed to be an effective protection against witchcraft. Over the years, it has accumulated a number of alternative names, some of which, such as five fingers relate to the shape of its leaves. Others have a far less obvious origin: biscuits, bloodrot, ewe daisy, shepherds blood, and shepherds knapperty. Some of these are shared with the very similar tormentil, suggesting a degree of confusion between the two species.

Germander Speedwell - 9 June 2017
A lone speedwell plant in the clump of cinquefoil

Black Medick

Black Medick - 14 June 2017
The grass stems tower above this tiny herb

Another invader of lawns and mown grass is the black medick. This yellow flowered relative of the clover, has flower heads about four millimetres across. But the flowers that I photographed were growing in recently cut and well trodden grass, and the whole flower head was little more than two millimetres across. The name medick is derived from the Latin name for the plant, Medicago lupulina, which in turn is derived from the Greek medike, meaning a plant that had been introduced from Media (modern Iran). Not surprisingly given its low growing habit and very small flowers, it is a plant that has been generally overlooked in folklore, with few recorded uses except as a source of honey. Some claim it is the original shamrock.

White Bryony

White Bryony - 31 May 2017

The small pale green flowers of the white bryony are easily missed in the thick foliage of a hedgerow at the height of summer, in contrast to its chains of red berries, also called devil's apples, which are a prominent feature of autumn. White bryony is also called English mandrake, and like the mandrake it has a forked anthropomorphic root. It is said, that just like the mandrake, that when a white bryony plant is pulled up, its screams are so monstrous they cause agony, if not death, to anyone within earshot. But English mandrake has none of the magical properties of mandrake, it is not soporific, hallucinogenic or aphrodisiac. However, white bryony has been used as a very powerful laxative, to cure gout, to induce mares to foal, and to keep rats away from stored wheat.

Cleavers

Cleavers - 31 May 2017
Even close up the white flowers are almost invisible

This year was the first time I have ever seen the small white flowers of cleavers. Like most other people, I knew this straggling annual from the smothering green blanket it forms over bushes and other vegetation and its habit of attaching itself to my clothing whenever I get too close. The tiny flowers born singly in the leaf axils are almost certainly the smallest things I have photographed so far in this project. Chris Packham in his book 'The Wild Side of Town' states that cleavers is insect pollinated. This seems quite amazing given that the flowers are almost vanishingly small.

Cleavers has long been used for various purposes: as bedding (Virgin Mary is reputed to have used it for the bed for the baby Jesus); the stems made into a mat and used to sieve milk; as a pot herb; its seeds used as a substitute coffee; its roots used as a source for red dye; and any number of medicinal uses including as a diuretic, a tonic, a sleeping draft, a cure for ear ache, and a remedy for snake bites. It has an equally impressive collection of alternative names: goosegrass, clivers, robin-run-in-the-hedge, love-man, sticky-willy, burweed, catchweed, and hedgesheriff.

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Next: Summer Surprise

From Candles to Conkers

2017-08-14T07:02:00.000+01:00

One of the delights of the English countryside in spring is the sight of a horse chestnut in flower, with its cones or 'candles' of white or pink blossom radiant against a background of the vibrant green of its newly unfolded leaves. It seems to be a visual megaphone, saying to the insect world, 'Here I am, I am in flower, come and pollinate me'. This is its moment of glory.

Candles of Horse Chestnut Flowers - 11 May 2017
Few of these flowers will bear fruit due to the ravages of the leaf miner moth

The horse chestnut is of course a foreigner, first introduced from the Balkans in the seventeenth century. Unsurprisingly, it quickly found favour with the landscape gardeners of the time. For instance, Christopher Wren redesigned Bushy Park specially to incorporate an avenue of these trees stretching from Teddington to Hampton Court. An avenue that Queen Victoria made an annual pilgrimage to visit and admire. Others were equally enamoured, including Capability Brown who planted 4800 chestnut trees in one estate in Tottenham alone.

Mature Tree - 21 May 2017
A mature tree in full bloom is an impressive site
This tree by the Old School Lane entrance look very different in August

The brash floral display of this newcomer total eclipses the far more subdued (O So British) flowers of the native trees like oak, ash, poplar and birch. But they are wind pollinated as every hay fever sufferer knows. They do not need to advertise themselves, and can have discrete brown or green catkins, reliant on nothing but the wind for the essential pollination.

Cankered Tree - 13 August 2017
The same tree as shown in the previous photograph
showing the effects of the moth.

But by August, the horse chestnut looks decidedly drab. The larvae of a leaf miner moth (for a picture and other details of the moth click here), which first appeared in Britain from Europe in 2003, tunnel into the leaves and turn them an unsightly brown. This infestation has reached epidemic proportions with well over half of all trees infected. Although the moth larvae are not fatal to the trees by themselves, they weaken their hosts and make them more susceptible to other pathogens. One pessimistic prognosis is that horse chestnuts could be virtually wiped out within 15 years.

Cankered Leaf - 11 August 2017
Leaf damage and black holes where the moth has hatched

The affects of the canker are well illustrated by a comparison of two horse chestnut trees in Milton Country Park. By August, the large tree by the entrance shown in the photograph above has a lot of damage. On the lower branches at least, I could only find one solitary conker. In contrast, on one of the trees planted in the last couple of years which shows very little leaf miner damage, there are any number of clumps of fruit with four or five conkers in each group.

Fruit on a Healthy Tree - 11 August 2017
One of many groups of conkers on a healthy tree

Finally, in September, the fruit is ripe and falls to the ground to be collected as ammo for endless games of conkers.

Single Fruit on Damaged Tree - 11 August 2017
This was the only conker I could see on the lower branches of the large tree featured above

And That Old Chestnut

One thing did puzzle me: where did the saying 'that old chestnut' come from? It apparently comes from an 1816 play by William Diamond. One of the players endlessly repeats a joke about a cork tree with only minor variations. His listener, bored with the 28th repetition, interrupts with the line "A Chestnut. I have heard you tell the joke 27 times and I'm sure it was a Chestnut!". The actor, William Warren, who played the listener later quoted the line at a dinner party when another guest started telling an old joke. From there, the phrase 'that old chestnut' passed into the language.

May Day and Hawthorn Blossom

2017-08-01T06:48:00.000+01:00

The hawthorn flowered early and abundantly this year. The hedge shown in the photograph below was covered with blossom in the first week of May, at least a fortnight earlier than the previous two years. Furthermore, a spell of settled weather meant that the flowers remained undamaged for an extended period of time

Hedge in South of Park - 4 May 2017

Hawthorn flowering at the beginning of May is unusual in modern times, but this was not always so. Traditionally, the blossom would be out on May 1 and be used as decoration for the May Day celebrations. But that tradition must have come to a shuddering halt in 1753. In 1752, the English calendar had been reformed to bring it into line with that of its continental neighbours, with a one off removal of 11 days from the year (the day after 2 September 1752 was the 14 September 1752). This meant, that in an average year, the hawthorn would not now flower until the middle of the month.

White Hawthorn Blossom - 14 May 2017

It must have been a strange May Day, and for many, a very disappointing one, in 1753. One of the big events in the calendar with a key component missing. It must have been a bit like Christmas without the lights would be to us.

Pink Hawthorn Blossom - 14 May 2017

At that time, England was not an industrialised nation, and most people earned their living working on the land. Live would not have been ruled by the clock and the calendar as it is today, but would have been tied to the natural world, its seasons and its weather. The lack of hawthorn blossom on May Day must have been one of the most obvious effects of the new calendar.

This year the hawthorn has again blossomed on May 1. Maybe, with climate change bringing milder winters, the old custom of 'gathering nuts in May' can be revived.

Hawthorn Arch - 7 May 2017

I have already photographed may blossom twice before, in 2015 and 2016, but that hasn't dampened my enthusiasm for taking pictures of these beautiful bushes.

West Bank of Dickerson's Pit - 7 May 2017

One of things I wanted to achieve this year was better close-ups of the flowers, particularly the pink blossom. On some of the bushes, as the flowers age, they turn a delicate shade of pink. Inevitably, by the time the blooms are at their most pink, they are looking decidedly tired and weather worn.

Shades of Green - 4 May 2017

Besides the drama of the hawthorn, May is the time of year when the trees are at their most verdant, and their green foliage is at its most varied. It ranges from the bright yellow green of some of the very newest shoots, to the darker, and more blue, of the ivy that envelops many of the trees in the park.

Cow Parsley and Hawthorn - 7 May 2017

Another plant which adds very significantly to the whitening of the park at this time of year is the cow parsley. One area of grass beside the path that leads to the Fen Road exit is completely covered with this flower.

Laburnum

2017-07-22T07:12:00.000+01:00

In late April and early May, Milton Country Park is white with hawthorn blossom. The only tree to break this hegemony of white is a solitary laburnum bush that grows besides the path as it winds it way along the east bank of Dickerson's Pit. Its branches arching over the path are heavy with long clusters of bright yellow flowers, fully justifying its alternative name of 'Golden Rain'.


Golden Rain - 4 May 2017 This picture clearly shows how appropriate the name 'Golden Rain' is.

But beware! This beautiful bush has a reputation for being highly poisonous. Although all parts of the bush are toxic, the main danger is to children who eat the seeds as they would eat peas. Symptoms range from nausea to, more frighteningly, convulsions, frothing at the mouth, and going into a coma. Fatalities are extremely rare.

Path besides Dickerson's Pit - 4 May 2017
The bright yellow flowers eclipse the white hawthorn behind.

As with many plants of late introduction into Britain, there is very little folklore associated with the laburnum, which was first cultivated here in the mid sixteenth century. One snippet that I found interesting, is that a laburnum will fail to flower if a neighbouring tree is removed.

Medlar Tree

Medlar Flower - 11 May 2017
Single flowers are almost hidden among the full grown leaves

My next tree, the medlar, certainly does not challenge the dominance of the hawthorn. A single tree is situated at the southern end of the orchard. Its blossom is almost hidden by its leaves, which are full grown by the time its single white flowers are out.

Medlar Flower Bud - 11 May 2017

I have included in this post, not because of its visual impact, but because its name intrigues me. To me, it sounds medieval, conjuring up the age of chivalry, of knights in armour, and grand banquets. It is certainly old. The medlar, which has been cultivated for thousands of years, was first brought to England in the eleventh century.

But it is not possible to discuss the medlar's name without considering its fruit. 'Medlar' is thought to be derived from the French 'Medler', and means nothing more than the fruit of a small fruit bearing tree?!

Medlar Fruit - 6 September 2016

One alternative name is 'open-arse' or 'openaers', derived either from the appearance, or the laxative properties of the fruit. The French also have an alternative name 'cul-de-chien' or 'Dogs Arse'.

It is with the more vulgar name that the medlar first found its way into English literature: in the prolog to the Reeves Tale, Chaucer uses the term 'open-ers' or 'openarse'. Later, Shakespeare was to use both 'medlar' and 'open-arse' in a single speech in Romeo and Juliet. In modern literature, D H Lawrence continued the faecal reference, when, in one poem, he described the medlar as: "Wineskins of brown morbidity, autumnal excrementa".

Wayfaring Tree


Wayfaring Tree Flower Head - 23 April 2017

Another tree which flowers in late April or early May is the wayfaring tree. There are just a few of these tree in the hedgerows at the north end of the park, their white flowers overwhelmed and easily overlooked among the apple and hawthorn blossom. I only spotted them for the first time this April, after more than two years of paying close attention to the plant life in the park.

Path by Wetlands - 23 April 2017
Wayfaring tree embedded in one of the hedges at the north end of the park

'Wayfaring Tree' is another of those traditional English names which I find so evocative. The name was given to it by Gerarde, describing its habit of growing by the wayside.

Next: May Day and Hawthorn Blossom

The Wisdom of Dandelions

2017-07-08T15:39:00.000+01:00

It seems that almost every plant, no matter how small or insignificant, played a part in the world of our ancestors. Plants were used for food, for medicine, for protection against witches and evil spirits, and as good luck charms. They could foretell the future, forecast the weather, bring bad luck into the house, and act as link to the otherworld of pixies and fairies.

Dandelion - 25 April 2017
Though dandelions are abundant outside of Milton Country Park
inside there are only a few clumps growing on the edge of paths.

The dandelion - the name is from the old French dents-de-lion referring to the leaves whose shape resembles lions' teeth - has a reputation as something of an oracle. The flowers can be used to foretell everything from a child's future wealth to the true status of a woman's love, as well as forecasting the next day's weather. The seed heads are equally potent: blowing on the seed head can yield such diverse information as the time of day, the number of children a child will have, and the state of the blower's love life.

Germander Speedwell

Germander Speedwell - 25 April 2017
Close up the resemblance of the flower to birds' eyes is obvious
Its alternative name is birds-eye trefoil

If the dandelion flower is for the picking, my next flower, germander speedwell, definitely is not. To pick one of its tiny blue flowers was to risk having a bird peck one's eyes out; a belief presumably based on the resemblance of the flower with its dark blue periphery and white centre to a bird's eye. Except in Ireland, where it was sewn into clothes to protect against accidents!

Clumps of Germander Speedwell - 4 May 2017
The only substantial clump of this flower on a small triangle of grass at the north of the park.
Massed flowers like this add a cheerful blue flush to the meadow

In any case, the name 'germander speedwell' suggests happier assocations: 'speedwell' - a flower to speed the traveller on her way, cheered on by its masses of bright blue flowers.

Cuckoo Pint

Cuckoo Pint Inflorescence - 17 April 2017
Though large cuckoo pint flowers are easily overlooked for two reasons:
firstly, they are green; and, secondly by the time they come to flower
the plants are often hidden among the fast growing nettles and cow parsley.

The cuckoo pint (rhymes with mint, and is short for pintle a name for the penis) is the dirty postcard of the plant kingdom. The resemblance of its flowers, with their poker shaped spadix partially enclosed in a pale green hood or spathe, to human genitalia has titillated the imagination of generations. As a result, it has been called over 150 names including lords and ladies, devils and angels, boys and girls, naked boys, naked girls, and jack in the pulpit. The starch in its roots was used for stiffening altar clothes, church linen and Elizabethan ruffs.

Comfrey

Comfrey - 11 May 2017
In the woods in the south of the park,
there is a large mass of comfrey growing either side of the path.

Comfrey is an example of a plant cultivated for its medicinal properties. The name 'comfrey' , derived from the Latin 'con firma' to grow together, and other traditional names such as knitbone and boneset, reflect its value as an aid to the healing of broken bones. It has also been used as a poultice for bruises and to relieve arthritic pain, and a remedy for nappy rash.

White Dead Nettle

White Dead Nettle - 17 April 2017
Up to this year, there have been just a few clumps of this plant in the park,
this year it lines the bike tracks at the south of the park.

Finally, white dead nettle reveals how much pixies and fairies were part of the popular imagination. Its flowers, which occur in pairs, were said to be pixie shoes left outside their house. Maybe, the likeness can only be seen after drinking a distillation of the flowers which according to Gerard makes the 'heart merry' and 'restores the spirits'. From its alternative common names of 'deaf nettle', 'dumb nettle' and 'blind nettle', the white dead nettle is three wise monkeys all rolled into one plant!

Apple Blossom

2017-06-24T15:57:00.000+01:00

My camera and I disagree about apple blossom. We agree that close up the individual flowers with five white petals tinged with pink are among the most beautiful of the springtime tree blossom. We disagree about the impact the flowering of the apple trees has on the landscape of Milton Country Park in general, and its orchard in particular.

Apple Blossom - 23 April 2017
White petals with pink tinge and underside

This has been a good year for blossom and the orchard has been the prettiest I have seen it. To my eye, the apple blossom was plentiful and stood out from the background. The camera saw things somewhat differently: the blossom was there, but was only one of a number of elements competing for my attention in the final picture.

Orchard - 25 April 2017
Apple blossom at its peak. The bare branches and the metal guards
around the trunks seem far more prominent than I remember them

This is not the first time in the course of this project that I have come up against this phenomenum whereby the visual weight of an item is completely reduced, even though the proportion it occupies in the final picture is probably greater than it was in the original scene. It underlines how the brain interprets a picture completely differently from the way it interprets the image formed on the retina by the original landscape.


Path by Wetlands - 16 April 2017 Apple tree growing by the path which seemed far more obvious than it does in this image.

Folklore

Buds - 9 April 2017
The buds on this tree were a very deep pink, almost red

Over the ages, the apple has featured prominantly in myths and legends, which is hardly surprising given that there is evidence that man has been eating apples for over 7000 years. Here, I want to highlight some of the folklore that is specifically associated with apple blossom.

Blossom - 23 April 2017
Its not difficult to see why apple blossom
should symbolize a woman's beauty

In China, apple blossom symbolises a woman's beauty. In other cultures, the flowers are associated with love, and have been included in love sachets and candles to attract love. In Wales, apple blossom was laid in coffins to restore youth in the afterlife.

Apple Blossom - 23 April 2017
Catch a falling petal to bring you luck
Catch twelve for a year of good fortune

I finish with a bit of English weather lore:

If apples bloom in March
In vain for them you'll search;
If apples bloom in April
Why then, they'll be plentiful;
If apples bloom in May
You can eat them night and day.

From that, it appears that 2017 should be a good year for apples!

Catkins

2017-06-10T06:40:00.000+01:00

In early April, sandwiched between the white blanket of the early plum blossom and the delicate pink and white apple blossom, the willow trees flower. The narrow leafed white willows gleam gold in the sun from the myriads of catkins curving between the leaves and around the branches like an army of woolly caterpillars. The goat willow is still leafless, and its plumper, straighter, flowers make the bushes appear as if they have been covered with balls of pale yellow cotton wool. Although the willows are some of the most numerous trees in Milton Country Park, their flowers do not have the impact on the landscape of the massed white flowers of other spring flowering trees.

White Willow Catkins - 9 April 2017
In Scotland, branches of willow catkins were used
to decorate churches to celebrate Palm Sunday.

To the English imagination, the willow is the tree of summer, long hot lazy summers spent messing about on the water. A role immortalised in its eponymous reference in Kenneth Graham's classic 'Wind in the Willows'. And if not on the water, then sitting in a deckchair watching cricket on the village green and listening to the sound of leather on willow, before eating scones and drinking cups of tea in the interval between innings.

White Willow - 9 April 2017
This tree with new shoots growing from its broken trunks,
illustrate why willow is a symbol of rebirth and immortality in many parts of the world

Over the centuries, willow has had less happy associations and became particularly associated with grief. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, forsaken lovers would wear a cap made of willow twigs and leaves. A couple of hundred years later, willow found its way as a decoration on gravestones.

Goat Willow Catkins - 2 April 2017
These catkins in the house are reputed to reduce fevers

Yet for an indigenous tree, known from ancient times, the willow has attracted relatively little folklore or mythology. The Druids believed that two scarlet snake eggs were hidden in the willow, one contained the sun, the other the earth, from which the universe was hatched. Celtic tradition holds that the willow is a source of great psychic energy.

Goat Willow - 2 April 2017
The goat willow catkins are far more conspicuous than the white willow counterparts,
not only are they thicker, but there are no leaves to hide them.

Perhaps, our ancestors did not feel the need to weave stories around the willows, because they were, and still are, such really useful trees. Listed uses include: cricket bats, baskets, wicker furniture, wattle and daub walls, outdoor furniture, ornamental boxes, doors, fodder and fuel. This is apart from the medicinal uses of willow, which, we now know, are derived from the salicylic acid in its bark. Salicylic acid is the active ingredient of Aspirin, and just like Aspirin, willow bark was used to relieve pain and reduce fever, as well as treating a wide range of other conditions including gout, rheumatism, sore throats (as a gargle), skin conditions, whooping cough and catarrh.

White Willow Seeds - 30 April 2017
By the end of April, willow seeds are well formed
and far more visible than the preceding catkins

But the willow is not only useful to humans, it is a valuable food plant for many insects. In particular, the caterpillars of three of our largest moths, the red underwing, the puss moth, and the eyed hawk moth, all feed on the willow.

On a botanical note, I have identified the narrow leaved willows in the park as white willow, but this is by no means certain, as they could equally well be crack willow or hybrids. Similarly, I have used the name goat willow for the broad leaf varieties with only marginally more confidence.

White Willow Seeds - 2 April 2017
These seeds will soon blow about the park like snow
and give a fluffy white covering to ground and water.

Hornbeam

Other trees in Milton Country Park that have catkins at this time of year include birch, poplar and hornbeam. The latter is a tree I have never seen, or at least positively identified, until this year. Even then, I initially confused it with the beech trees: it has similarly shaped leaves and a smooth bark, but the leaves are out earlier than the beech and the flowers are completely different.

Hornbeam - 2 April 2017
The hornbeam is associated with clairvoyance, wisdom, and long life.
In some folklore, the hornbeam itself is held to be immortal.

The wood of hornbeam is very hard, harder than oak, and it is this characteristic that gave it its name: in Old English 'horn' meant hard, and 'beam' meant tree. Because its wood is so hard, hornbeam is rarely used for cabinet making as it tends to blunt tools, and is much more commonly used where its strength is an asset: for making butcher's blocks, cog wheels, and striking hammer in pianos. Romans used it to make their chariots.

Hornbeam Catkins - 2 April 2017
Fertilised seeds mature and ripen to nutlets
a favourite food of the hawfinch

Unfolding Spring

2017-05-27T15:11:00.000+01:00

Spring. As the sun moves nearer the equator, the days get longer and warmer. On the trees, new leaves and flowers burst out of the buds which have been dormant during the winter. The countryside is transformed from a dull monotone to a celebration of vibrant greens.

Young Sycamore - 24 March 2017
Sycamore are amongst the first trees to get their leaves.
Here at the end of March the new leaves shine in the spring sunshine.

In the past two years, I have tried to capture the landscape of the park at the tipping point when the trees first begin to turn green, with results that have not been wholly convincing. This year, I have photographed individual buds as they unfurl.

Field Maple - 26 March 2017
Field maple is one of the dominant shrubs in the park.
Their new yellow/green leaves give the park a springlike feel.

In February, the trees are drab, brown and bare, hide nothing. The opposite bank of Dickerson's Pit is clearly visible across the water from the path that runs alongside the eastern border of the park. By June, the trees are completely covered with leaves, whose colours range from the willow's silvery green, through the red green of the sycamore, to the bright saturated colours of the hawthorn, and which form an almost impenetrable screen between the waters of the pit and the visitor.

Bramble - 26 March 2017
There is plenty of new growth on the brambles,
but plenty of last year's leaves are still in evidence.

But the change is gradual, and like all gradual changes, it isn't noticed, particularly since it is punctuated by tidal waves of white spring blossom. How late would the leaves have to appear before anyone remarked on the delay? For instance, imagine if the winter was very cold and extended so that the trees were still bare in June, would anyone talk about the lack of leaves, or would they discuss how late the hawthorn flowers were?


Oak - 23 April Oak are one of the last trees to get their leaves. This was one of the oak trees on remembrance meadow.

Neither is it a single monolithic process, but a whole series of changes as each tree species gets its leaves at different times. It starts with the elder in February; this is followed by the sycamore, then the hawthorn; and, finally, in May, the beech and the poplar. As far as I can find out, only the relative timing of the appearance of the leaves of the ash and the oak has made it into weather lore:

Ash before Oak - we're in for a soak,
Oak before Ash - we're in for a splash

Horse Chestnut - 26 March 2017
The unmistakeable sticky bud of the horse chestnut
on one of the newly planted chestnut trees at the south end of the park.

Perhaps the one bud everyone knows is the sticky bud, the large bud of the horse chestnut which is covered in a sticky resin. The resin serves a dual purpose, it protects the bud from frost and water damage, and also against attack by small insects. As the day temperatures rise, the resin melts and very quickly the large palmate leaves unfurl.


Unfolding Hawthorn Bud - 26 March 2017 Close up of bud shows emerging flower buds amongst the unfolding leaves

Close scrutiny of a developing bud reveals it is far from a simple case of a single leaf emerging from a single bud. Take, for instance, this picture of a developing hawthorn bud. There is clearly a rosette of leaves, inside of which are the flower buds. All tightly packed together in the minimum possible space. If this were the end product, we would admire it. As it is only a short lived stage in the development of the anticipated flower, it is ignored.

But beyond a masterpiece of packaging engineering, consider what a photograph cannot show. Each new cell that is created has the same DNA, and therefore the same potential, as every other cell in the whole tree. What controls how any particular cell develops? What determines whether it becomes part of the fabric of the leaf, part of a vein, or part of a petal?

Further Reading
Aesculus hippocastaneum
Horse Chestnut

Next: Catkins

Blackthorn

2017-05-13T06:28:00.001+01:00

One of the pleasures of writing this blog has been learning about the plants that I have photographed. It has not been the botannical science that has piqued my interest so much as the folk lore and herbal remedies associated with the trees and flowers. For it is the plant lore, and the origins of some of the romantic sounding vernacular names, that give such a fascinating insight into way our predecessors viewed the world.

Blackthorn Blossom - 26 March 2017
Superficially very similar to the plum blossom, but without any leaves
and the individual blossom are slightly smaller.

Previously, in this blog, I have discussed how the name we use for a plant or flower alters our perception of it ( see my post 'Using New Eyes Part 3' ). I believe that the same is true of anything that we have learnt or have been told about something. So after reading about the old superstitions surrounding some particular species, we can never look at it in quite the same way again; we see it in a new light.

One bush that I will now look at somewhat differently is the blackthorn, a shrub that is easily overlooked in Milton Country Park as its white flowers appear just as the very similar cherry plum blossom is dying off. It is very easy to confuse the two species, as I did in 2015 when I misidentified all the early white cherry plum blossom as blackthorn. In fact, there are only half a dozen or so blackthorn bushes in the park.

The name 'blackthorn' is not a great revelation: it is simply a straightforward description of the bush, and suggests the means of distinguishing it from the cherry plum, which does not have thorns.

Blackthorn Blossom in the Hedge - 17 April 2016
I took this photograph last year, but have not bettered it since.
The blackthorn is quite lost among the surrounding the bushes.
Interestingly, by mid April this year, the blackthorn had finished flowering.

What has changed the way that I look at blackthorn is learning that it is the preferred wood for making shillelaghs. Apparently, wood from the blackthorn root is particularly suitable as it does not crack during use. Shillelaghs were originally clubs used for fighting and self defence, and are still used in a form of martial art. Now, whenever I see a blackthorn bush, I will inevitably think of it as the source of that most potent symbol of Ireland.

Beyond its Irish connection, and its use in making sloe gin, blackthorn has gained a sinister reputation over the thousands of years it has been known to man. It has been very heavily associated with witches and the dark side of their craft. Its wood was used to make a wand with thorns at its end used to cast spells to bring harm to others. The tree is also linked to warfare and death.

Other Flowers

This is my third post in a series on the subject of March flowers in the park. The first two in the series dealt with plum blossom and with daffodils. Besides these and the blackthorn, there were a few isolated bushes in flower, a couple of which caught my eye.


Berberis - 23 March 2017 A single bush besides the jetty on Dickerson's Pit

The first was a large berberis bush on the banks of Dickerson's Pit. It had clearly been established for a number of years, yet I had completely missed seeing it up until now. Though I am disappointed in my failure to spot the bush, in many ways, it is a very good illustration of the underlying philosophy of this whole project: there is a lot to gained by close careful observation of our environment, however familiar it may be.

Flowering Current - 21 March 2017

Then there are a number of flowering current bushes scattered around the park. Their pink flowers providing a contrast to the prevailing whites and yellows of the other blossom in the park.

In the Garden

Blue Hyacinth - 12 March 2017
A colourful corner in the Sensory Garden
with a blue hyacinth surrounded by the red leaves of a bush I cannot identify

There was more colour in the sensory garden, which is at its prettiest in early spring. But without any large blocks of colour, the interest was in the detail, like the contrast between this blue hyacinth and the red leaves surrounding it.

White Polyanthus - 12 March 2017
In the background to these white polyanthus, growing in the raised bed in the sensory garden,
are hellebores and daffodils.

I particularly enjoy photographing the raised bed, as it is very easy to get a worm's eye view and a just a few square inches of garden becomes a landscape filled with towering plants.

Polyanthus - 15 March 2017

In the same bed are a number of other polyanthus plants. I liked the way the flowers of this plant seemed to be being held in a protective cocoon of green leaves.

Flowers From Hell

2017-05-03T18:36:00.000+01:00

Daffodils are forever associated with Wordsworth and the Lake District, and his host of golden flowers dancing in the breeze. The impact of their large colourful trumpet flowers is heightened by the fact that they flower at a time when the rest of the landscape has lost very little of its winter drabness; even a single flower is easily spotted. So relatively few daffodils have a major effect on the landscape of the park, particularly in the area around the Visitor Centre and the childrens' playgrounds.

A Fanfare for Spring - 12 March 2017
Outside the Visitor Centre, a group of daffodils at their best
welcome the visitor.

From Hell to Life Preserver

These first flowers of spring are seen as a symbol of rebirth, but that has not always been the case – in ancient Greek mythology, Wordsworth's gleeful blooms were seen as flowers from hell. Pliny claims that daffodils grew on the banks of the underworld river Acheron to cheer the passing souls. In another myth, daffodils were white until Pluto dragged Persephone, the worman he loved, down into his underworld kingdom and turned the bunch of the flowers she was carrying yellow. Egyptians also included daffodils in funeral wreaths.

Group of Daffodils - 12 March 2017
There are no great masses of daffodils in Milton Country Park
just groups of flowers in the grass or around the trees.
Almost all the daffodils are found within a couple of hundred yards of the visitor centre.

The daffodil fared little better under the Romans who introduced the flowers to England in the mistaken belief that their sap could help to heal wounds; in truth daffodil sap has entirely the opposite effect and acts as an irritant. More macabrely, Roman soldiers carried a bunch of daffodil bulbs around with them to be eaten if they were mortally wounded in battle. The bulbs are both narcotic and highly poisonous, so presumably the men thought that they would die peacefully and painlessly.

Over the ensuing centuries, daffodils have gathered a lot of folk lore, some good and some bad. I find it interesting to speculate on how these various beliefs started, and how they became established and spread. We are used to daily headlines telling us what to eat and what not to eat for a long and healthy life. And we know where these stories come from: scientists have studied the diets of thousands, if not millions of people, over many years; then analysed the results on powerful computers to come to their conclusions. Even then, the more sceptical of us wonder how they could isolate the effects of one food from a mass of diets, different life styles, different genetic susceptibilities, etc. Our predecessors had access to none of this.

Naturalised Flowers - 12 March 2017
Clumps of daffodils naturalised below the birches beside the car park
Their bright yellow flowers dominate the otherwise drab scenery

Take for instance, the belief that to deliberately avoid trampling on daffodils is to bring good luck. Is this no more than a lord of the manor trying to preserve his view from his dining room window; a sort of 'keep off the grass' notice for an illiterate and superstitious population?

Or what about the stricture never to give a single daffodil, always give a bunch, because to bring a single daffodil into the house will bring bad luck? Is this just a way of saying don't be mean?


Beneath the Trees - 6 March 2017 There are a number of small clumps of daffodils scattered throughout the park, many beneath the trees, where their bright blossoms shine brightly among the brown leaf litter.

But good luck and bad luck are very general and fuzzy ideas, whose interpretation depends on how someone looks at life. Yet, some beliefs are quite specific: to bring daffodils into a house with poultry in it would stop the eggs hatching or the hens laying any more eggs. How did this come about? Did farmer Giles walk into his local pub one night, and tell everyone that his hens had stopped laying eggs ever since his wife brought those daffodils into the house? Did someone else vaguely recall that something similar had happened to old Martha in the next village? Then as the tale spread, did others remember similar incidents – naturally forgetting all the countless bunches of daffodils that had had no effect whatsoever on laying chickens? So a legend was born.

Sensory Garden - 12 March 2017
The golden trumpets of daffodils dominate the central bed in the Sensory Garden

Wordsworth, of course, reversed these bleak views of the daffodil with his famous celebration of the plant. Now, in the twenty first century, this flower once associated with death is now being used to improve life: since the late 1990's daffodils have been grown commercially for their galanthamine content, a substance which has been shown to slow down the progress of Alzheimer's disease.

March 2017

2017-04-22T07:02:00.000+01:00

It is March, and the beginning of spring. It is a good year for plum blossom, and the trees are covered in masses of white flowers, making the park feel bright and cheerful. This is all helped by a spell of dry settled weather with more sunny days than the pessimists at the Meteorology Office would have us have.

Bank of Cherry Plum Blossom - 15 March 2017
This bank of blossom bordered the path along the southern boundary of the park

I realise that in writing the second sentence 'It is a good year for plum blossom...' , I risk sounding like a gardener (which I am not) taking proprietorial pride in his crop. Nevertheless, it is an indicator of how much more aware I am becoming of the changing seasons and the differences from one year to the next.

By Dickerson's Pit - 13 March 2017
At the north end of the park, large bushes like this one laden with blossom
could be seen, which ever way I looked.

I have spent a lot of my life outdoors in the countryside, albeit the compromised landscape of intensive arable farming: as a schoolboy, I chased butterflies and moths; later, I cycled to work; walked at the weekends and on holiday; and, most recently, took the dog for a daily walk. But in all these activities, the changes in the countryside was a backdrop to the main activity; I was aware of the passing seasons, but took little notice of the detail. Changes in the weather was always a more immediate concern.

Blossom Arch - 12 March 2017
So abundant is the plum blossom that it forms an arch over the path
and frames another blossom filled bush beyond.

I wrote at the start of this blog, that the challenge was to see the park, that was so familiar to me, with new eyes. Comparing this year's tree blossom with that of last year suggests a degree success in that direction.

Plum Blossom - 12 March 2017
A close up shot shows just how profuse the blossom is

There seems to be virtually no folklore or legends attached to plum blossom, probably because the plum is not native to the British isles. The cherry plum was originally introduced for its fruit and grafting stock for domestic plums. However, the blossom of the cherry plum is used in one of Dr Edward Bach's Flower Remedies as a remedy for people who are in fear of losing control.

In contrast, where the plum is part of the native flora, in Japan, the blossom is seen as a symbol of spring, and a sign that the worst rigours of winter are past and that better weather is on its way. In China, plum blossom is used for decoration during the spring festival.

Blossom Among the Hazel Bushes - 13 March 2017
It may simply be because the sun was shining,
but this blossom among the bare hazel stems appeared far more obvious than in previous years.

Originally, I planned to write just a single post about Milton Country Park in March. But there has been such an explosion of blossom, I now have enough material for three posts. I decided to restrict this post to the plum blossom alone because of its importance to the appearance of the park at this time of the year. My next post will be of other blossom in the park during March, followed by a closer look at some of leaf and flower buds developing on the trees and bushes.

Next: Flowers from Hell

Tree Down

2017-04-08T06:23:00.000+01:00

On February 23rd, storm Doris swept across England. Although the centre of the storm passed across northern England and Scotland, the winds in the south of the country were still strong enough to cause considerable damage. In Milton Country Park, a number of trees, mostly the older ivy encrusted willow trees on the eastern edge of Dickerson's Pit, were either uprooted or broken in two.

The root ball of fallen trees always seem improbably small.

The park was closed on the day of the storm, and by the time it reopened the following day, all the paths had been cleared of fallen trees. All the photographs in this post were taken on either February 24 or 26.

Willow tree snapped in two.

The root ball of a felled tree always seems impossibly small for the size of the tree above the ground. The diameter of the roots is far less than I would expect, and there is no long tap root burying deep into the ground. Yet the leverage exerted by the trunk and crown swaying in even a moderate wind must be quite immense, and, one could well imagine, far too much for such a small anchor. All those thousands of little roots must effectively stitch the tree into the ground.

Close of fracture gives some idea of the forces involved.

But, even more impressive, are the forces that must be involved to break the trunk of a tree in two, splitting what appears to be quite solid wood in two as cleanly as if cleaved by an axe.

There's a certain sadness about a fallen tree.

The woodland trust are quite clear that ivy does not kill or harm its host. However, I wonder if the presence of a heavy growth of ivy on a tree in anyway increases its chances of being blown over in a high wind. The ivy must increase the wind resistance of the tree, which together with the weight of the ivy, must put an extra strain on the root system. On the other hand, the thick ivy tendrils surrounding the trunk, grounded in their own independent root system, could be acting as guy ropes and actually help to stabilise the system.

Ivied crown heaped up beside the path

I found the sight of the remains of a once mighty tree lying on the ground quite sad. On one side of the path was a heap of what appeared to be ivy, but the sawn ends of branches showed it was the canopy of the fallen tree. On the other side of the path, was a line of neatly sawn sections of its trunk, which seemed to me to be like chapters of a biography - a life parcelled out into manageable sections and lifeless.

The trunk of the tree sawn into neat sections.

However, in time, the wood will become an active biosystem, and provide a home and food for insect larvae and fungi; and, a surface for moss and other small plants to grow on.

Next: March 2017

Winter

2017-03-25T07:27:00.000+00:00

January, February 2017. Winter 2017. Still no snow. For two years now, I have been photographing Milton Country Park, and in that time we have had no snow at all. Unless, that is, you count a flurry of snowflakes in the wind that did not settle and quickly turned to sleet. But at least this year, we had a spell of bright frosty weather, enough to freeze the water in the pits.

Ice on Dickerson's Pit - 24 January 2017
The ice near the shore is richly textured
A texture that is subtely altered around the white lump of ice.

Why do people feel compelled to throw things on the ice? No sooner had the ice appeared, then stones, logs, branches, balls, and general rubbish littered the frozen surface. It is as if the sight of its smooth white surface was too much for mortal eyes and had to be covered up. But as my first photograph shows, the surface of the ice close to the shore is richly textured, even without the debris.

Frosty Orchard - 22 January 2017
Almost the only time I have successfully photographed the orchard.

The same cold spell produced a couple of mornings when conditions were right to cover not only the low growing vegetation, but also the branches of at least some of the trees with rime.

Dickerson's Pit - 14 February 2017
A scene that could easily have been taken three months earlier
but not three months later when leaves on the bushes in the foreground
will completely obscure the view.

Apart from the frost, little has changed over the last couple of months. The changes that have happened are the gradual growth of plants such as cow parsley, comfrey and nettles. But this new growth is only a couple of inches high, and make almost no impact on the appearance of the park.

Clematis Fruit - 24 January 2017
Fluffy white balls catching the light

Far more apparent are the fluffy white clematis fruit which are still in abundance on the climber, and very noticeable when they catch the low sun.

Snowdrops - 19 February 2017
A typical scene in the woods in the park
with an isolated clump of snowdrops growing amongst the trees.

During February, the snowdrops finally blossomed, probably at least a month later than last year. The name 'snowdrop' refers to the large pendants or drops that were worn by ladies in the sixteenth century either as earrings or on brooches. I was surprised to find that alternative names for these flowers include death's tear; and that the only folk lore surrounding them is that it is unlucky to take them indoors.

Conversely, snowdrops are seen as a symbol of hope. One legend has it, that after Adam and Eve were evicted from the garden of Eden, Eve became depressed with the apparently endless cold wintry weather. To cheer her up, an angel appeared and changed some of the snowflakes into flowers, as a sign that the dreary weather would eventually cease.

Jetty - 26 February 2017
The willows are probably even more colourful in February
than they were in the autumn - their yellowing leaves drab
compared to their branches at the end of winter.

A far more earthly sign of the imminence of spring is the gold and orange colours of the willow branches at this time of year.

Next: Tree Down

Sprat-Weather

2017-03-11T07:05:00.001+00:00

Sprat-weather - fisherman's slang for those dark depressing days of late autumn and early winter when it never seems to get properly light. It seems such weather is good for catching sprats; perhaps the fish suffer from SAD and lose the will to live. On that basis, December should have been an exceptional month for sprat fishing. Almost every day was damp, and gloomy with a biting cold wind penetrating the thickest of coats.

Dark Days - 13 December 2016
Sun reflecting in a muddy inlet off Dickerson's Pit

For me, this first image captures the mood of the whole depressing spell, a dark muddy patch of water reflecting a small rare glimpse of the sun.

Frosty Cheer - 8 November 2016
The frost provides little more than a white backdrop to the colourful leaf

Enough of the gloom and a whole lot more cheerful picture! It has not all been grey murk. There have been spells of bright frosty weather, although there have been none of those gloriously pretty winter mornings when all the trees are covered in rime. At most, only the table tops, the grass and the low growing vegetation in the more open parts of the park have been covered in rime. This picture was taken on the first frosty day of the season at the beginning of November. The brightness of such sunny mornings more than make up for the cold.

Moss on a Precipice - 8 November 2016
Again the frost brightens up the picture

I love the way a photograph can remove any sense of scale, and literally make a mountain out of a molehill (or vice versa). In this case, the moss growing on one of the planks of a table top is left teetering on the edge of a precipice.

Frost Candyfloss - 5 December 2016
The brown of the dead grass at the base of the plant, and
the colour of the trees in the background, underline how little
was affected by the frost.

A further brief frosty spell at the beginning of December, painted the grass and low growing vegetation with a veneer of ice, and left this plant looking like a stick of white candy floss.

Winter Jasmine in the Sensory Garden - 2 January 2017
This winter jasmine climbs over the gate to the sensory garden

With most of the trees now bare, the only bright colours in the park were to be found in the garden. The bright yellow of the winter jasmine climbing over the gateway to the sensory garden bringing some much needed good cheer to the day.

Dogwood - 2 January 2017
The bright yellow and reds of the dogwood,
eclipse the copper beech

In the garden opposite, the dogwood stood out brightly against the dull copper of the beech hedge and very muted greens and browns of the bushes and trees behind.

Next: Winter

A Foggy Day

2017-02-25T07:14:00.001+00:00

February 5 was the first seriously foggy day we have had for many months. Although the fog did not penetrate the woody areas of Milton Country Park, it was sufficiently thick to obscure the opposite banks of the major pits in the park.


Jetty - 5 February 2017 The trees on the opposite bank are barely visible

Fog is a thief of vision. It drains the landscape of colour and detail, leaving only the vaguest of details looming in the grey light. I notice that the dictionary definition of loom is to appear indistinct and in an enlarged form. Is this because the eye has nothing else to fix on in the monotonous gloom, and fills the space with anything it can discern?


View of a Bridge - 5 February 2017 One of the bridges between Deep Water and Dickerson's Pit

The photograph above and the one below were both taken from the end of the jetty looking towards Deep Water.

Dickerson's Pit - 5 February 2017

In this second image, there is a hint of colour in the reeds in the foreground.

Birds in the Mist - 5 February 2017
Cormorant on island in middle of Dickerson's Pit

Loom has connotations of menace. The featureless landscape becomes disorientating, and the silence, so often a feature of thick fog without any wind, can be disconcerting. The smallest sound is magnified - a bird's warning cry becomes a siren, as the mind invents what it can't detect.

What I hadn't appreciated before is how white objects appear so luminous in the gloom. In the middle of Dickerson's Pit, between the end of the jetty and the opposite shore, there are a couple of small islands. Even with some image intensification, this cormorant on a branch on one of these islands, is only just discernible. In contrast, the white gulls behind seem to positively glow.

Looking South Down Dickerson's Pit - 5 February 2017

Moving around, this photograph is a long view down Dickerson's Pit. Like the previous image, the swan and the white gulls stand out in the gloom.

Reeds - 5 February 2017

To an extent, fog is the photographer's friend: in blanketting out anything except the foreground, it can leave the subject of the picture isolated against a background of studio simplicity.

Next: Sprat-Weather

Ivy

2017-02-11T06:41:00.000+00:00

Ivy is the elephant in the living room of the countryside: it is always there but almost completely ignored. It is not beautiful or photogenic; it is not exotic; it does not have brilliant flowers, and, its black berries are all but invisible. Yet, it is a major factor in the appearence and atmosphere of Milton Country Park.

Ivy Leaves - 22 March 2016

In parts of the park, ivy not only festoons the the trunk of every tree with a thick, shaggy green coat, it also carpets the ground beneath. Together with long tendrils hanging down from the branches, these areas take on the atmosphere of a lush forest.

Ivied Trees - 29 January 2017
The thick ivy tresses on the trunks, fill the space between the trees
making a wall of green.

Ivy and Wildlife

But is ivy a friend or a foe? Contrary to what some may think, ivy does not kill trees. It is not a parasite, and uses the trees purely for support; it derives all its nutrients from its roots. It is easy to believe that ivy is the culprit, when you see a dying tree, its crown completely infested with the plant. However, the host had to be moribund before the ivy could grow that much, as a healthy tree canopy can provide more than enough shade to deny the ivy the light it needs for photosynthesis and growth.

Ivy Tendrils - 18 September 2016
Tendrils hanging down give a tropical forest feel to the woods

Ivy is undoubtedly of great value for wildlife. Its dense foliage provides a place where birds can nest, bats can hide, and insects hibernate. Its leaves are eaten by a number of insects, including the angle shades moth. Ivy flowers are an important source of nectar at a time of year when there are few other sources. Its berries provide food for a number of birds including blackbirds, thrushes and black caps. This winter, the berries have been disappearing as soon as they are ripe.

Ivy Covered Bank - 6 February 2017
Ivy provides a thick ground cover, with leaves turning a rich red during autumn

Folklore

Ivy is rich in folk lore and mythology. Its main claim to fame is its eponymous reference in the carol 'The Holly and the Ivy'; although ivy is not mentioned at all after the first line. The holly in this carol represents Christ, the reference to ivy is probably a hangover from earlier traditions which linked the two plants. In fact, during the fifthteenth and sixteenth century there were a number of holly and ivy carols.

Ivy Tendrils - 24 February 2015
It is difficult to believe that ivy is harmless, when the whole trunk of a tree is smothered in its tendrils

In these early traditions, holly represents the male and ivy the female. Ivy would be brought into the house at Christmas as a symbol of fertility. It was thought to be bring good luck to women; and if grown on the walls of the house protect its inhabitants against witch craft. Drinking ivy vinegar was said to protect against the plague.


Ivy Flowers - 15 October 2016 Note the lanceolate shaped leaves on the flowering branches

Ivy was sacred to Bacchus, the god of wine and orgies, who wore a crown of ivy, which gave him immortality. To the Romans, ivy was also a symbol of intellect, and winners of poetry competitions were awarded a wreath of ivy.


Ivy Berries - 3 February 2017 Rich food source for birds the berries start disappearing from the bushes as soon as they are ripe

Fungi

2017-01-28T06:42:00.001+00:00

Over the last couple of months, I have been hunting for fungi in Milton Country Park, with more success than I had expected. Fungi are neither numerous nor prominent in the park and I have only ever seen the odd one or two in the years I have been visiting there. But a fairly determined search during December and January revealed quite a few specimens, mostly small and mostly growing on trees or rotting wood. The restricted habitat in which I found the fungi may simply reflect the time of year, and there may well be more mushrooms and toadstools in the park at other times of year, which I have simply overlooked.

Jelly Ear Fungus - 18 December 2016
This fungus is said to be the tormented spirit of Judas Iscariot trying to escape

I feel I should attempt to identify my findings. However, I am no mycologist, and a quick trawl through the relevant sites on the net quickly persuaded me that any names I put to the fungi were unlikely to be accurate. So, instead, I have used vernacular and generic terms, which may still be wrong, but, because of their imprecision, are unlikely to seriously mislead anyone.

Bracket Fungus - 13 January 2017

Fungi occupy a shadowy in between position in the natural world, neither plant nor animal. Many, including myself, may see them more as plants without chlorophyll; but, there are larger differences which dictate they are classified in a separate kingdom.

Bracket Fungus - 13 January 2017
Old bracket fungus now providing a suitable surface for moss to grow on

In some ways, they occupy a similar position in mythology and folklore: of this world, but part of the unseen world of fairies, gnomes and goblins. There are plenty of general, unspecific, references to the importance of fungi in folklore, without any details being given. The one exception, are fairy rings, which I have not seen in Milton Country Park.

Bracket Fungus on Floating Log - 22 January 2017
The largest fungus I found in the Country Park
Like trees, fungi add growth rings each growing season
On that basis, I reckon these specimens are over ten years old.

I did find one fungus in the park that has folklore attached: the Jelly Ear fungus. The Bible relates that Judas Iscariot hanged himself from an elder tree in shame after betraying Jesus. This ear-like fungus, which is found on elder, was thought to be the tormented spirit of Judas trying to escape. It was originally name Judas's Ear, which was later shortened to Jew's Ear - a name that has now fallen of favour because of its anti-semitic overtones.

Stag's Horn Fungus - 22 January 2017
Also known as the Candlesnuff Fungus because it glows in the dark
However, its bioluminescence is so feeble, in these days of light pollution, an image intensifier is needed to see it

Most of the fungi that I found were bracket fungi, a group of fungi of many different genera that grow on trees and are of a similar shape. There are both saprophytic and parasitic members in the group, the latter of which will prove fatal for the host tree. Bracket fungi are long lived and specimens at least twenty years old and weighing up to three hundred pounds have been reported.

Toadstools - 10 April 2016

I have found three types of fungus which are not bracket fungus: one - the stag's horn fungus which was growing on a rotten tree stump; while the other two appeared to be free living.

In April last year, I had come across a clump of toadstools breaking through the soil. Two derivations are suggested for the name 'toadstool': one from the German 'tod' - death, and 'stuhl' - stool; the other based on a belief in the Middle Ages that, as they were poisonous, they were associated with toads.


Among the Leaf Mould - 22 December 2016

Finally, I found this tiny toadstool growing among the rotting leaves. My first reaction was that it was immature, but clearly its fruiting body is fully developed, and this must be its final size.

Mites Eggs

Mites Eggs - 22 January 2017

While photographing some fungi on a fallen twig, I noticed small white dots on a nearby fallen leaf. I assumed that this was some form of fungi. The photograph reveals that each white dot, about the size of a pinhead, is attached to the leaf by a very slender stalk. After further research, I have concluded that these are in fact mites' eggs. I went back two days later to try to get a better photograph, but by then wind, rain, and passing animals had disturbed the leaves, and the affected leaf was lost.

Last Fruit, First Shoots

2017-01-14T06:20:00.000+00:00

Entirely appropriately for a post published in January, this article looks back at the last seeds and fruit of the old year, and the first green shoots of the plants which will eventually flower in the spring of the new year.

Cabaret de Oiseaux - 2 January 2017
The dawning sun on a new day in a new year provides
a suitably dramatic backdrop to the seed heads of teasels from last year.

Cabaret des Oiseaux (or more prosaically teasel)

What a wonderful name for a plant – a spectacle of birds – if my schoolboy French is correct. With a name like that doesn't the plant look even more majestic, and can't you just see a cloud of goldfinches feasting on the seed heads? It presumably gets this name from the birds feasting on its seed heads.

Besides that name, the English 'teasel', or 'gypsy comb', or 'brush and comb', sound functional and unimaginative, all derived from the use of the seed head to tease or raise the nap of woollen cloth. Somehow, such names drain the plant of its stature and becomes just another brown plant with an industrial use. Yet, in this most drab time of year, the teasels are impressive, standing very upright, seeming to challenge the weather to do its worst and blow them down.

Tall and majestic - 11 December 2016
A group of teasel plants stand proud against the skyline.

Teasels are not widespread in Milton Country Park, but a couple of clumps in the Orchard are particularly noticeable as they are growing on top of a small bank, where these photographs were taken.

Burdock

Burdock Fruit - 5 January 2017
Non-descript brown fruit easily overlooked, not so easily picked off clothing.

Burdock is another plant whose fruit are conspicuous at this time of the year, although not necessarily for the right reasons. They attach themselves with their natural Velcro to anything and everything that passes.

Unlike teasel, burdoch has attracted a host of imaginative English names besides burdock (bur a knot of wool, and dock a plant). Along with Herrif, Airup or Aireve, derived from Anglo Saxon and mean hedge robber, other names include: personata, happy major, clot bur, fox's clote, beggars buttons, cockle bur, Robin Hood's rhubarb, and love's leaves. These last two referring to the shape of its leaves.

Burdoch first featured in this blog in September and at that time, I mentioned that it was the inspiration for Velcro, and its use for dandelion burdock cordial. But there is more to burdock in folklore than a zip and a drink.

Firstly, there is burryman: a man completely covered in burdock burrs who parades the streets of South Queensferry, Lothian, on the second Friday in August every year. The origin and reasons for this ritual, which is credited with being at least seven hundred years old and may be well be thousands of years old, have been forgotten, and we are left with theories ranging from warding off evil spirits to bringing luck for the forthcoming herring fishing season.

Secondly, burdock has been used medicinally for a wide range of conditions including skin problems, rheumatism, and cancer. It is also a liver tonic and a diuretic.

Finally, and a little whimsically, knights in the middle ages rode into battle wearing a sprig of burdock for protection!

Gelder Rose and a Hint of Autumn

Gelder Rose Berries - 20 December 2016
The bright red berries are almost lost among the surrounding branches

At this time of year, the trees are bare, and most of the berries have fallen or been eaten by the birds, the remaining berries give the bushes a hint of autumn, an ephemeral blush of red, a barely discernible shimmy of colour. In strong sunlight, at a distance, the bush looks quite red, but close up the fruit are few and far between and overwhelmed by the bare brown branches.

So it was with these gelder rose berries, visible at a distance as a faint reddening of the hedge, closer up there were just enough, and were bright enough, to catch the eye.

Last Apples

Last Apples - 11 December 2016
A few apples still hanging on high in the branches of this tree

I was really surprised to find any apples at all still on the tree, but, as this image shows, high up in one tree there was still quite a crop. A fact that speaks volumes for the mild and benign autumn that we have had.

First Shoots

Comfrey - 28 December 2016
Comfrey plants have already grown enough to be clearly visible
above the leaf litter.

On a grey December day, walking on a carpet of fallen leaves, among trees with bare branches, and no colour anywhere, it is easy to believe that nature has shut down, gone to bed, for the winter. Yet, already, there are plenty of signs of spring in the park. Plants like this patch of comfrey are easily visible above the layers of dead leaves. Also much in evidence are young cow parsley seedlings, each a couple of inches high. They will remain almost dormant, growing only very slowly throughout the winter, until April or May, when they seem to grow four feet in a matter of days, and cover the countryside with white frothy flowers.

Spring in Autumn - 28 December 2016

Look more closely at the leaf litter and it is not hard to spot much smaller seedlings, with just two or four leaves, pushing their way up. It is difficult to believe that these plants, so small and tender, will survive the frost and snow of winter and blossom next spring.

More Autumn

2016-12-24T06:22:00.000+00:00

The End of Autumn - 14 December 2016
The colours are autumnal, the bare trees wintry.

There are at least three common definitions of autumn. The first, and the one I grew up with, is the astronomical definition of autumn as lasting from the autumn equinox (September 21) to the winter solstice (December 21). The second, meteorological definition, defines autumn as lasting from September 1 to November 30. The third simply asserts that autumn is the period between summer and winter.

I like this third definition, because it is fuzzy, and natural systems have fuzzy boundaries. I think of autumn as the time when trees lose their leaves; plants die back; and fruit and seeds ripen and are harvested. It is the period between the lush greens of summer decorated with colourful flowers and the drab browns of bare earth and branches of winter. A period of transition without any limiting dates.

Late Fall - 22 December 2016
A single green leaf recently fallen from a hazel bush
contrasts the the dark browns and blacks of the rotting leaves around.

December, when most of the photographs in this post were taken, is clearly at the end of autumn, if not actually in winter, by any of these definitions. It also contains one of the turning points of the year: the winter solstice, after which, the days will grow longer, and eventually start to warm up.

In the countryside, while there is still much evidence of autumn, the scenery is increasingly taking on the drab and bare appearance of winter; not withstanding the occasional glimpse of spring.

A Touch of Spring - 11 December 2016
Bright hazel catkins, with alder catkins behind, bring a feeling of spring to the park.

Certainly, in December 2016, there still much of the feel of autumn in Milton Country Park, but at the same time winter is beginning to appear. The reeds around the pits in are an autumnal golden brown, and there are still a few leaves left on the trees, whose mainly bare branches speak of winter. The thick carpet of dead leaves on the ground have turned from yellow to a deep rich brown darkening into black as decomposition gathers pace. In contrast, emerging hazel catkins bring a real spring-like feel to the park, especially when they sparkle in the early morning sun.

Goose Summer

Goose Summer - 1 December 2016
Fallen leaves floating on still blue water on a clear bright 'Goose Summer' day

'Goose summer ' is an old term for spells of fine weather during autumn; the name referencing the custom of eating geese during the autumn after they had been fattened in the previous months. It was during one such spell, that I came across this mass of leaves floating on calm water. A scene that, for me, sums up such weather and that 'Goose Summer' seems the perfect title.

'Goose summer' later was contracted to 'gossamer', and eventually lost its connection to the weather, and, instead, used to refer to dew covered spider's webs which are visible on clear, cold, autumn days. But, the loss of goose summer, like its opposite 'sprat weather' (dark, damp, miserable, late autumn days when it barely gets light), leaves the English language the poorer.

Drowned Leaves - 22 December 2016
Fallen leaves decorate the roots and concrete rubble at the bottom of the lake

As the season progresses, the floating leaves become saturated and fall to the bottom of the water where they can still be seen decorating the rubble and roots.

Brambles


Colourful Brambles - 18 November 2016 Not necessarily noted for their contribution to autumn colours this bank of brambles presents a colourful sight

One plant that does not immediately spring to mind when autumn colours are mentioned is the humble bramble. Yet, although, not all bushes change colour, those that do can be quite spectacular, with individual leaves turning a brilliant red that is as bright as anything that more renowned trees, such as maple, can offer.

Bramble Leaves - 11 December 2016
Some bramble leaves turn a vibrant and intense red in autumn

Happy Christmas

This is my last post of 2016, so thank you for taking the time to read this blog, and hope you will continue to do so in 2017. Merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

Next: Last Fruit, First Shoots

Autumn Leaves 2016

2016-12-10T06:20:00.000+00:00

Poplar Leaves - 2 November 2016
When on the tree, the yellow and red leaves would have been admired;
on the ground, the range of colours is actually increased.

We all admire the brilliantly coloured leaves of autumn while they are still on the tree. But when they fall off the tree, onto the ground, our attitude changes; their beauty is forgotten and we see them only as a nuisance. They make our streets and gardens untidy; they block the drains; and, they form a slippery layer on the railway lines, stopping the trains running to time. All that is left is to collect them up, and either burn them or put them in the rubbish; except for gardeners, who use the dead leaves for compost.

Contrasting Leaves - 8 November 2016
The maple leaf contrasts strongly with the surrounding oak leaves
in colour, shape and texture.

But there is still plenty of visual interest in the leaves as they rot away on the ground. While the vibrant colours remain for a few days at least after the leaves have fallen, the range of colours is increased, not only by browns, dark purples, and blacks of the decomposing leaves, but also by different coloured leaves from adjacent trees. Similarly, there are strong contrasts in shape and texture when a leaf from one tree falls on the leaves from a different type of tree.

Why Leaves Turn Red and Yellow

Fallen Leaves - 8 November 2016
Most of the colour of dead leaves derives from the breakdown of chlorophyll
unmasking yellow and orange pigments already present.

The process by which a living green leaf, producing sugar and oxygen from sunlight and air, turns bright red or yellow, and eventually falls to earth and rots away, starts when the length of the night exceeds a certain value. The tree then builds a barrier between the leaf and the rest of the tree, cutting the leaf off from nutrients absorbed through the roots, and tree from the sugar created in the leaf. As a result the green chlorophyll pigment decays, and exposes the yellow and orange colours of the xanthophylls and carotenoids normally present in the leaf.

Maple Leaves - 8 November 2016
Red pigmentation develops after the leaf is already dying.
What is the advantage to the tree?

Interestingly, the red colours come from a third group of pigments, the anthocyanins, which are only synthesised when the leaf is dying. It is not entirely clear what the advantage to the tree is to have red leaves in autumn. Theories include: to warn off aphids which might want to use the tree as an overwinter host; to undermine the camouflage of herbivores; or, to attract birds to the tree to eat berries which may otherwise be overlooked. The anthocyanins in maple leaves have been shown to stunt the growth of any nearby saplings.

The Weather For It

The best display of autumn colour is produced when a moist growing season is followed by a dry autumn with sunny days and cool, but not frosty nights. Heavy rain, gales and frost are all likely to bring a premature end to the display.

Folklore, Legend and Medicine

Oak Leaves - 8 November 2016
With a mass of leaves like this, it is easy to see why the Lakota believed
they had been dropped as a protective blanket.

Fallen leaves, though such a prominent feature of the countryside in their season, do not feature greatly in folklore. They have been associated with fairies, with a swirl of leaves believed to be evidence of fairies dancing. Catching a falling leaf, particularly at the beginning of autumn, is said to protect the catcher from illness, or, more specifically, colds, throughout the winter.

But, perhaps, the most charming legend is that of the Lakota American Indians. The god who looks after living creatures saw the suffering of the plants and flowers as they shivered in the increasing cold of Autumn. Feeling sorry for them, the deity ordained that the trees should shed their leaves over the earth as a blanket to keep the plants warm. In return, the trees were allowed one great last blaze of glory.

I could find no reference to any medicinal use of fallen leaves. However, a Finnish company is developing the technology to extract natural pigments from the leaves for use in the clothing and cosmetic industries. The residual biomass is high in nutrients with possible uses as a fertiliser.

Next: More Autumn

Autumn 2016

2016-11-26T05:29:00.000+00:00

The Golden Season - 8 November 2016
Autumn in golden in Milton Country Park
Here the trees in Remembrance Meadow are all turning yellow

Autumn is nature's siren, using its beauty to lure us into the misery of winter. It is living proof that you can say anything with a smile on your face: this attractive season of reds and yellows presages nothing but wind, rain, snow, ice and darkness. Yet we love it! It is a beautiful woman with a dagger behind her back.

Poplar Trees Catch the Morning Sun - 2 November 2016
Poplars are one of the first trees to change colour
Here a group shine gold in the morning sun.

And why are we so keen to see the back of green leaves? Admittedly, by October the green has become rather dull and tired, the flowers, except for a few stragglers, have gone, and the countryside is generally untidy. But the green is the green of chlorophyll, and without chlorophyll there would be no oxygen, and with no oxygen, we could not live.

'Copper' Oak - 18 November 2016
This oak catches the eye with its copper coloured leaves
In mid-November, the oaks are perhaps the most colourful trees in the park

Autumn is famously the season of 'mists and mellow fruitfulness'. It may be climate change, but mists have been very few and far between in the eighteen of so months I have been writing this blog. Similarly, by mid-autumn most of the apples, plums and pears have disappeared from the trees and bushes. Though, in a mild autumn like this one, there are still a lot of hawthorn berries on the bushes. Presumably, the birds have been able to find plenty of food elsewhere.

A Winter Larder - 18 November 2016
With a mild autumn, there are still plenty of berries of the bushes for the birds when they need them

The photographs for this post have all been taken in the first half of November. At this time, while the poplars and the sycamores have turned yellow, there are still some trees and bushes that have barely changed colour at all: the willows and brambles are still quite green. In contrast, one oak tree in Remembrance Meadow has lost all but a couple of its leaves; an early reminder of what is to come.


Goodbye to Summer - 8 November 2016 Last few leaves left hanging on this oak tree, yet still only early November

In contrast, these willow trees on the banks of Todd's Pit were taken just two days earlier:

Willow Bank - 6 November 2016
Still plenty of green leaves on these willow trees on the bank of Todd's Pit

Next: Autumn Leaves 2016

Reeds

2016-11-12T08:50:00.000+00:00

Deep Pool - 3 July 2016
Single reeds have a simple elegance.

This project to document Milton Country Park through the year is based on three assumptions.

Firstly, I believe that any natural, or semi natural environment, not matter how ordinary, banal, or familiar it may seem, is worthy of attention.

Secondly, any semi natural environment (there are very few truly natural environments left in England) is to be valued for what it offers, and not dismissed because of its lack of dramatic scenery, or noteworthy and endangered plants and animals. For most people, more exotic and dramatic locations bring excitement for perhaps a fortnight a year; it is in the local neighbourhood that one can enjoy nature for the other 300 odd days a year.

Thirdly, that a photographer with sufficient skill and imagination, and given the right conditions, should be able to produce interesting, if not beautiful images of such places. Edward Weston's pictures of Port Lobos and Eliot Porter's intimate landscapes of New England have been particularly inspirational to me.

Wetlands - 11 September 2016
Flower heads of the common reed shine in the early morning sun

This brings me to the subject of this week's post: reeds (I use the word loosely for any plant that that has lanceolate leaves and grows by the water). I admit that I find these plants neither interesting nor visually appealing. A search on the net did not unearth any particularly interesting facts: no witches, fairies, goblins, spells or miracle cures; just practical uses in thatching, water cleansing and floor covering for churches. So, in many ways, to write a post on the subject of reeds illustrated with interesting photographs is a good test of the ideas I outlined above.

Dickerson's Pit - 3 August 2016
Reeds are important to the appearance of the park

But reeds are important both to the ecology and to the appearance of the park. With over 2000 metres of water's edge to colonise, plus the majority of the wetland area, there are a lot of reeds in Milton Country Park.

Soft Rush - 26 June 2016

Visually, isolated plants have a certain elegance as shown in the image at the top of this post. With back lighting, the flower heads of the common reed are a dramatic sight. And in the fading evening light, I found the semi-circle of circle of rushes in shallow water just away from the bank made an attractive scene.

Branched Bur Weed - 7 July 2016

As mentioned above, I have used the term 'reed' very loosely. I now recognise there are at least five different plants involved. The commonest of which are the common reed, Phragmites australis; the soft rush, Juncus effusus; and yellow irises, Iris pseudocaris. The latter is definitely not a reed, but included here because of the shape of its leaves.

Greater Spearwort - 7 Jully 2016

In one small inlet off Dickerson's Pit, I found two other plants. One was branched bur-reed, Spharganium erectum, which looks like a model of a chemical formula found in a schools science laboratory. In the same short stretch, I was surprised by some large yellow flowers among the reeds, which on investigation proved to be greater spearwort, Ranunculus lingua.

I certainly have not unearthed any earth shattering facts or created world beating photographs, but what I have found and the images I have made do nothing to dissuade me that even the most unpromising material is worth close attention.