My Daily Ramble

   

   My daily walk was one of interest today, after the first half hour pounding tarmac and concrete at last the atmosphere changed and my footsteps are suddenly absorbed by the narrow farm track with lush cut grass forming my centre eye line for the next mile or so.

   Still the fen breeze blows strong and direct, reeds rustling in the deep farm dyke and what seems like every leaf in tiny orchards tremble. A green woodpecker gives flight as he senses my arrival into his world, his pale green body riding that roller coaster flight of his, up and down he travels until a loud screech signals his arrival in one of an avenue of high poplar trees.

   On my right is around ten or twelve acres of stubble, not crisp new freshly cut wheat or barley, but rain soaked weathered stubble that was cut a couple of weeks past and still cradles those long lines of cut straw, now too wet to bale. On my left sit several parcels of private land, maybe just over an acre in size, some home of small orchards, some set with flowers for cutting, some with regimental lines of vegetables, carrots, beans and leeks and one piece of this rich dark soil left wild, home to an amazing array of birds, I feel so lucky and free from work and the crazy world in which we live, even if for only an hour.

   As I walked I did wonder what backs had bent working the hoe on this stone free black soil a hundred years ago, how cold were these open spaces that produced the food of kings and were their lunches spent like this one, free from noise and among natures summer theatre?

   There are still extensive areas of reed in the fenlands and the same is found here around Upwell which is encouraged by some and frowned upon by others, to me it can only be a great addition to the natural habitat that wildlife need here and let’s be honest, how strange would this magical world of marsh look without the reed beds.

   As I neared the end of my walk a grey heron took off from this hunting stance in the far end of the dyke, his look one of disapproval and disgust, but soon I’d be gone and he would return.

Late Summer Signs

Seasons Change

Big wide clear blue sky here this morning, the perfect late summer morning, blackberries hang with that slight coating of dew from bramble and a gentle breeze places a hint of chill in the air, the seasons again change and nights draw in as yet again those thoughts of winter and colder months entre my day dreams.

Wet Sunday

  Wet Sunday

 My Sunday morning walk was today one of damp air and cooling rains, Baptist Road was no more layered in hot tar but this morning the rains wash harvest straw from the verge and run to farm dyke which surrounds a small two acre field of dark rich fen soil that holds potatoes still green in tops.

   The regular deaf fen tiger who walks his chocolate lab and tells of Upwell past, was this morning noticeable by his absence and the whisker faced farmer with face that drops to one side after stroke stood watching the drizzle fall upon his half cut harvest from the doorway of his tractor shed, a nod of his head and shrug of the shoulders explained his disappointment.

   Two young pheasants glean the stubble along the north headland, their feathers dishevelled yet still their beaks pick and peck the damp grain and the smell of rain and wet straw filled the fenland air.

   Yet again the apple orchards were full of green woodpeckers, the wet weather bringing the worms they desire to the surface, the odd Jay flew from tree to tree and as ever I felt close to nature albeit soaked to the skin!

All Creatures Great And Small

Spring Love


   Nest building, courtship dance and songs of love fill the magical fenland countryside, waters deep and clear run through river and drain while the blue wide skies hold mighty waterfowl and great birds of prey.
   Alive the hedgerows on this Sunday of March, no more the gales will thrash the lone eel catchers cottage, no more will willows bend on reed clad river banks, just sun filled mornings will greet us now.

Spring Monday

Sunshine, Birdsong and Fresh Spring Breeze

   Those hints of spring stand green and sounds of a fresh new summer arrive in our ears, fen folk spot those young green reed shoots that point to a summer of wide blue skies and fierce hot sun that will dry the dark soil into dust. Great water birds will gather nesting materials and the deep drains will once more hold young shoal of Roach and Perch, Heron bills again will rule the river banks and spear through clear waters has great willows kiss the mirrored current that heads to the mighty wash, alive the magical lands of the East this morning are.

A Damp Fen Morning

Rain Filled Skies And Tired Eyes


   A grey morning welcomes us on this day of worship, cries from the tall manor tree rookery ring out like those calling bells that fill church towers all over this garden of the east, while men of the land and ladies in fine silk drop coin from gloved hands in stone temples this bead maker once more enjoys a day at his flame.
   No ice does lay over the dark soil just the green young wild rape seed that self set in autumn mildness, rich green they stand with game birds walking their shallow paths and broken wet stubble rotting beneath their young leaves.
   Where is that winter we fear, the snows and freezing winds of the north that wrap these flat lands in white soft coat and form ice on dyke and river through every black night, all that shows this fresh year is the rains from the west, great storms that bully our coast and burst our rivers banks and still cold damp mornings such as this, we wait and watch those great open skies that rush over us, we wait.  

Rain, Winds And Dark Mornings.

How Wet This New Year Of Ours

   While single streams of white smoke lift from the terracotta chimney pots that rest on those low roofed fen cottages where dirt floors had flooded in years past and fen lend has since played with their upright appearance, the rains once more soak the rich garden of the east. Those huge wide skies form deep dark cloaks that sail high above the hard people of the fens while they work the reed beds and farmland, to these folk of the marsh this is just another part of life in their magical world.
   For this bead hermit it's a day of cleaning beads, while the wild winds blow away the remains of the old year, natures fresh start and one I hope will be good for all of us.