Through Bare Trees

The long break really threw me off track and I felt like I was forever chasing my tail after that. After nearly 3 weeks of lounging, it was quite hard trying not to continue the holidays at work :-0. It was a shock to the system trying to settle back into the old routine. It was back to getting dressed in the dark, waiting for the bus in the dark with the wind chilling to the bone and coming home in the dark. The long, dark, cold days just made me want to go into hibernation, curled up like hedgehogs in a cosy pile of leaves. But then, seasons were what that kept the earth going, as they marked and celebrated the year. So darkness and chill during January were really how things should be.

Feeling a little blue in January is normal

~Marilu Henner~

On the way to work, I came across quite a few breakdowns. According to the AA, the first working day in January was traditionally the busiest day of the year for breakdowns. Flat batteries were the main culprits because many cars were left idle for up to a fortnight in cold conditions which caused the power output of the battery to drop. Batteries can be dead at any time of the year but it was more likely in winter when cold temperatures hit the batteries with a triple whammy. The power output dropped, the ability to accept a charge also dropped and load increased due to lights, wipers, heated seats being used more. Not a good start to the new year.

During my lunch break, unless it was raining, I went out for a walk to get away from the stuffiness of the office. Walking across the frosted grass that crunched with every footfall was a heady pleasure. It was freezing as the  false sun brought no warmth with its bright glow. Up in the north, there had been snow, but here in the Midlands, we’d lots of heavy rain, then hard frosts and then high winds. It was a real mixed bag. Except for the white stuff. Where were they? We’d received yellow warnings for snow since Xmas but it never materialised. There were a few wintry showers, but I want proper white stuff that stick to the ground and doesn’t disappear in an hour. But, I think there was still time, fingers-crossed.

After a very slow start at work, I was looking forward to the weekend to recover. We made a few trips to our favourite playground. We heard that the migrants were beginning to trickle in. There were sightings of the Bittern which we were looking forward to see. But not today. The pair of Golden Eyes were back and the drake looking very pristine with his shiny, green head, bright yellow eyes and white face patch. Nearby, a pair of Pochards were having a snooze. Cormorants were busy drying themselves out, perching on the posts with their wings spread out. I was hoping to see the fox that Babe had spotted a few days ago, but he didn’t receive the memo.

At East Marsh Hide, we enjoyed watching the Mute Swans having a bath. They were really splashing about in the icy lake. There were also plenty of whistling Teals, surface-feeding Mallards, diving Tufted ducks and also a single Shelduck. I wanted to check out Carlton Hide because Babe had been very fortunate to see a pair of the Kingfishers fishing by the pole. It was good to see them back at this pool. As we were slowly turning into icicles, we decided to walk back to the car. Along the path, we were harassed by the Robins, begging for food. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten to bring the mealworms. We also spotted cowslips flowering on the banks. A bit early, we thought.

We walked back through the forest. It was lovely seeing the forest exposed and uncovered as it showed its structure and form through bare branches dusted with frost, accented against the low winter sun. It felt different walking through on such a cold day, looking at features that was concealed by the thick foliage in summer. The volunteers had been busy again and clearing a lot of trees and bushes. Removing these had opened up the canopy, allowing light to filter in, creating a dappled shade which might result in an explosion of bracken and brambles. They’d to be careful because felling trees might result in a loss in the diversity of species which can’t be recovered and the soil exposed and prone to erosion.

Through bare trees
I can see all the rickety lean-tos
and sheds, and the outhouse
with the crescent moon on the door,
once modestly covered in
summer’s greenery.

Through bare trees
I can watch the hawk
perched on a distant branch,
black silhouetted wings
shaking feathers and snow,
and so can its prey.

Through bare trees
I can be winter’s innocence,
unashamed needfulness,
the thin and reaching limbs
of a beggar, longing to touch
but the hem of the sun.

~Lisa Lindsay, Bare Trees~

Behind the visitor centre, Babe spotted a flock of Goldfinches, Siskins and Redpolls having a feast, The very small, greenish-yellow Siskin were feeding in the conifers extracting tiny food items from tight spaces using their sharp beaks. They were very acrobatic as they fed at the tops of the birches and alders. The streaky little brown Redpolls were also in the party with their buzzing notes and musical whistles. Babe managed to take this beautiful photograph of the birds feeding on the ground.

“They fed wholly on the alder and looked beautiful, hanging like little parrots, picking at the drooping seeds of that tree”

~J. Thompson~

We also attended a Wassailing event at the reserve. Wassailing was the traditional blessing of next year’s apple harvest, a ceremony dating back to Anglo-Saxon times.  Coming from the Anglo-Saxon phrase ‘wes hal’ meaning good health, the wassail was said to banish winter blues and usher in spring. Historically, it took place on the Old Twelfth Night of Christmas . It was all about awaking the apple trees and scaring away evil spirits (worms and maggots) to ensure a good harvest of fruit for the autumn.

“Wassaile the trees, that they may beare

You many a plum and many a peare

for more or lesse fruits they will bring

as you give them wassailing

The Wassailing events were often associated with Morris dancing sides which was a bonus because I enjoyed watching them. We left the casa quite early and was surprised to see cars parked along the entrance. Oh dear, we drove in and out again to find a parking space. I didn’t know it was going to be this popular. Anyway, last year was a wash-out because it was raining heavily. As soon as we arrived, Greenman and family who was there earlier than us came over and we’d a little chat while enjoying the performances.

There were 6 sides and unfortunately their names weren’t listed anywhere. But one of them was the Coventry border Morris side Elephant Up A Pole which was based in Earlsdon. Their members blacked their faces up, wore rag coats and danced with a large stick. The traditions dated back to the Welsh borders where out-of-work agricultural labourers and miners wore costumes and blacking their face to disguise from their bosses as they danced for beer money or begging and busking during the winter months. And some even had pheasant feathers in their hair, to proudly proclaimed that they were poachers, too.  

I am not against tradition or following any political correctness, but I think it was important that we stopped and started thinking about the repercussions of wearing black face paint. We don’t live in a world that was free from racist oppressions. When looking at these dancers, the first connection most people saw was the black face and perceived it as a racist act. Blacking up had always been used to parody black people and culture. Morris dancing, like any other traditions need to change and make itself relevant. These dancers now were no longer labourers and they perform for fun and charity. Tradition was only in danger of dying out if we treated it like a fossil that was too brittle to evolve. Morris dancing and dancers won’t disappear if they don’t paint their face. Anyway, not all the sides have their faces painted. Who knows with this minor change, Morris dancing will be embraced by all ethnicities.

Morris dancing had plenty of defenders, among them the poet John Hegley, who described himself as a ‘torchbearer’ or ‘stick-beare’ for the tradition. It was known during Shakespeare’s time as it was documented by the exploits of Globe Theatre actor Will Kemp who Morris danced from London Norwich. For me,  this will be the last time I will be watching the Morris dancers if they carried on dancing with black painted faces. It will be a shame because I enjoyed the quirkiness but …

We later drove to Draycote Waters to see if any newcomers had turned up. Unfortunately, we didn’t see any but these sailing club fleet training and racing through the lake kept us busy. Draycote Water was a 650 acre reservoir opened in 1969 and was by far the largest expanse of water in Warwickshire, The reservoir was filled by water that was pumped uphill from the River Leam at Eathorpe village and from a supply at Stanford Reservoir north of Rugby. During the weekends, the reservoir was always buzzing with boaters, windsurfers and yachters. And in summer, the fishermen will join the party.

“Sailing a boat calls for quick action, a blending of feeling with the wind and water as well as with the very heart and soul of the boat itself. sailing teachers alertness and courage, and gives in return a joyousness and peace that but a few sports afford”

~George Matthew Adams~

We walked along the embankment towards Farborough Bank and spotted the usual culprits. Great Crested Grebes in their winter colouring and Little Grebes were enjoying the afternoon sun. Large groups of Coots were congregating quite close to the bank. We enjoyed watching them pattering noisily over the water before taking off. Wagtails were flying in and out of the rocks with their looping flight and rapid twittering. And we were lucky to have seen the wren again. It was hopping and darting from underneath the nooks and crannies and then it disappeared. By this time, the winds were really blasting away and the tips of our noses felt as though they were about to drop off. It was time to head home.

We also made a trip to Slimbridge WWT but had to turn back at the Warwick interchange because our car was not running smoothly. Oh…oh. It was quite scary because the car kept on misfiring  and stopping especially at roundabouts. At home, Babe tinkered around and decided that it needed to be checked out by the garage. The worst thing was that it just had its MOT done and we’d paid the car tax. Typical …

Meanwhile, on the feeders, the female Blackcap was busy feeding on the fat-balls. Babe had seen the male but I’d not seen it yet.  The Robin was on the raised beds to see if it can pull any worms from the soil. The Wood pigeons were watching from the elderflower tree at the bottom of the garden while the House sparrows were peering from the hedges. Dunnocks, Blue and Great tits were taking turns on the seed trays while a Blackbird was happily tucking on one of the apples that I’d scattered on the ground.  A pair of Collared doves waited patiently, perching on the fence, to join the party.

I spent the day pottering about in the garden. I planted the pink pampas grass by the fence and looked forward to see it flourishing and flowering. Imagine pink fluffy flowers. That will surely brighten up the neighbourhood. I did a bit of tidying, cleared the dead foliage, weeded and dug the soil in the raised beds. There were plenty of worms underneath it. I scattered home-made composts and fingers-crossed, these worms will do their magic. I couldn’t wait to start growing things again. Around me, there were signs of life. The fresh green shoot of the chives. bronze fennel and artichokes were pushing their way slowly through the soil. The bulbs too were poking out from their dark world. I couldn’t wait for these spring blooms.

Bare branches of each tree
on this chilly January morn
look so cold so forlorn.
Gray skies dip ever so low
left from yesterday’s storm.

Yet in the heart of each tree
waiting for each who wait to see
new life as warm sun and breeze will blow,
like magic, unlock springs sap to flow,
buds, new leaves, then blooms will grow.”

~Nelda Hartmann, January Morn~

Ring out the old, ring in the new

Ring out the old, ring in the new

Ring, happy bells, across the snow

The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true

~Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1850~

We started the new year with a stroll around Draycote Waters. We wrapped up warm to check out the place because the weather here was always on the chilly side.. When we drove past Dunchurch, we saw the statue of Lord John Scott had been transformed into a huge yellow movie character standing proud in the centre of the village. Every year a group of mystery residents gave the statue a Christmas makeover and this year was a giant Minion. The Minions were the comic helpers of the super-villian Gru from the hugely popular Despicable Me films. Each Christmas pranksters dressed up the statue in the dead of the freezing cold night, a tradition which goes back to the 1970s. Over the years, it had been transformed into Spiderman. a Smurf, a Telly-tubby and most recently, Prince George. I wonder who will be next?

At Draycote Waters, it was buzzing with runners, joggers, cyclists, walkers, mums with prams and children riding their shiny new toys. We stuck to the main path and scanned the waters which was, thankfully, void of fishing boats and yachts. That was why the natives were swimming so close to the banks. We’d never seen so many Great Crested Grebes in their winter plumage before. They lacked the ruff and the head were only black and white. Their body plumage was duller and greyer. From time to time, barking calls ‘rah-rah-rah’, clicking ‘kek’ and low growling ‘gorr’ could be heard.

Some were even displaying early territorial behaviour like swimming in the aggressive posture with head low and stretched forward over the water. We saw one caught a fish that was quite big but was reluctant to let it go  and was struggling with it for some time before it managed to get it down. We must remember to come here again in early spring to catch their very elaborate and oh so romantic courtship displays which we’d seen so many times and will never tire off.

Pirate-eyed

Dragon-ruffed

Lion-manned

Pharaoh-masked

I am water-gypsy

~Beeseeker~

Further down, a group of dumpy Little Grebes were swimming buoyantly with feathers often fluffed up, giving a plump appearance. The smallest of the grebes, they were also known as dabchicks, although Shakespeare preferred ‘dive-dapper’. These winter adults had lost their orange red neck and cheeks. The back and crown remained brown although slightly paler than summer outfits. When they dived, there was a distinct splash and when they flew, they go low on rapid wing-beats.

“Upon this promise did he raise his chin

Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave

Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in’

~Shakespeare ‘Venus and Adonis’~

As we continued along Farborough Bank, we spotted the Golden Eyes paddling happily. We were quite surprised to see the handsome males displaying which we think was a bit early. The stunning Galdwall were also dabbling very close to the bank. There was plenty of Tufted ducks and Coots bobbing about in the water. Pied wagtails were scrambling in between the rocks hunting for delicacies and uttering that distinctive, two-note ‘chis-ick’call  during their undulating flights. But what excited us most was when this adorable Wren popped its head up.

One of our commonest and smallest species, it crept silently mouse-like close to the ground searching for insects and spiders. The long, thin bill enabled it to probe in the crevices of the rocks. It was so tiny with a short, cocked tail and an attractive rufous brown fine barring. When it flew, the flight was direct with rapid wing-beats. It was the Druidic bird of augury and in Cornwall, traditions say ‘hunt a robin or a wren, never prosper man or boy’. You have been warned. We turned back when the dark, low clouds covered the sun and the chilly winds began lapping up the waves. We don’t want to turn into an icicle.

Our next trip was to  Slimbridge Wildfowl and Wetland Trust again. The twitchers feathers had been ruffled by the sighting of a very rare duck at the reserve and it was a very good opportunity for us to check it out.  And as we guessed correctly, half of the country’s twitchers and photographers had flown here. We came across some very impressive lens, binoculars and spotting scopes. We knew everyone was going straight to the pen where it was in residence and decided to check it out later. We wanted things to calm down a bit and did our usual routine with a pit stop at Rushy’s Hide. The usual culprits were here with the addition of a Redshank busy feeding along the mudbanks.

Then, as we walked through the tunnel. we saw a group of people standing along the bank looking intently at something. Aha… I knew what they were looking at. We crept in slowly and joined the queue. The bank vole was back and there were 3 of them. The word was out.  Seeds were scattered along the entrance and as we held our breath, these cute little heads started popping out. All you could hear were the cameras rattling away. We were so glad to see them again.

We headed to Willow Hide and it was so packed that we decided to forego it. The water rail must be showing off again. We checked the tack field and it was heaving. According to the notice board, there were 450 Wigeons, 340 Teals, 600 Lapwings, 70 Golden plovers, 4 Ruffs, 6 Redshanks and 170 Dunlins out there. The Barnacle geese, Bewick’s swans and Mute swans were feeding on the flooded plains. Closer to the hide, Mallards, Pochards, Tufted ducks, Galdwalls, Shelducks, and Shovelers were feeding on the edge of the scrape. We enjoyed observing this Greylag using its powerful bill to grate a tuber that it had successfully dug up. The serrated edge of the lower mandible ie lower section of beak, was used to scrape off the juicy bits and then eating the mush without having to drop it.

Then we slowly made our way to the Asian pen where the piece de resistance was residing. It was a female Ferruginous duck. At first, we couldn’t see her because she was skulking in the shade. Babe spotted her immediately as she was the only one that he hadn’t seen before. She was a nervous bird and kept on moving into the channel and back. I don’t blame her when she was the main focus from these impressive lenses, spotting scopes, binoculars, mobile phones and i-pads. Everytime she ventured out in the open, all you could hear were the cameras rattling away. I wonder if she knew what she’d caused.

A rare vagrant from continental Europe, she was a diving duck with a white triangular patch under the tail and a white belly. The wing edges were white but only visible in flight. She had a short beak giving the peaked head a triangular appearance. The white eyes stood out from the dark feathers on the head. It was classified as globally threatened species because of its declining population. We were so blessed to have seen her because we knew we might never see her again. In the pen, she kept associating with the resident Baer’s pochard, which was critically endangered in the wild.

Twilight. Red in the West.
Dimness. A glow on the wood.
The teams plod home to rest.
The wild duck come to glean.
O souls not understood,
What a wild cry in the pool;

What things have the farm ducks seen
That they cry so--huddle and cry?
Only the soul that goes.
Eager. Eager. Flying.
Over the globe of the moon,
Over the wood that glows.
Wings linked. Necks a-strain,
A rush and a wild crying.

A cry of the long pain
In the reeds of a steel lagoon,
In a land that no man knows

~The Wild Duck by John Masefield~

On the home front, during the cold and frosty mornings, I feel sorry for our feathered friends. They hopped about on tiny bare little feet with their feathers puffed and fluffed. The hedges surrounding the casa fluttered with the beat of a hundred wings. Everyday, I topped the trays with seeds and weekly top up the feeders with peanuts and fat-balls. I also added a home-made suet block and a coconut feeder which will be replenished once they disappeared. The water bath was washed every week. It was truly a labour of love as these next few months they needed our help more than ever.

We enjoyed all our garden visitors . We were repaid immeasurably by hours of quiet contemplation as we watched their antics in the garden and provided us with photographic opportunities. Once in a while, we welcomed a new friend and this time was a female Blackcap feeding on an apple that I’d stuck on the tree branch. She was easily recognisable with her chestnut-brown cap. This winter visitor has a delightful fluting song which I’d never heard before giving it the nickname of ‘northern nightingale’ and ‘lesser nightingale’.

British-born black caps migrated to Spain or Africa for the winter, traitors :-). The birds we see here in the winter months came from Germany. Better not tell UKIP about this …When they returned back to Germany to establish breeding territories they’d a shorter migration so had an advantage over those returning from Spain. Because they had a short distance to fly, they tended to arrive earlier, pair up quicker and have first choice of the best nesting sites. Smart huh.

In the garden, too, gossamer threads criss-crossed every where. I think the spiders had taken over. We enjoyed coming out photographing their intricate lacework from bough to fence to branch. It was impossible to walk without walking into one of these long single silk threads stretching yards across the garden. With all the overgrown hedgerows, ivy, clematis and blackberries winding their way through the garden, they were ideal forthe   spiders and there were cobwebs draping them everywhere, as were the master weavers who created them. Early mornings, they glistened with dew and late at night, the glowing moon sprinkles silver highlights to them. Very enchanting these silky tripwires.

A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White

If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.

Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.

~Emily Dickinson~

Maulud Nabi fell during this week. It was the day to celebrate the life of the Prophet Muhammad (SAW). It was on the 12th day of the Islamic month of Rabi’al-awwal., the third month of the Muslim calendar. It was an important day to refresh our knowledge and reflect on his life. Some Muslims see the occasion as an event that was worthy of praise and celebrations while others believe the celebrations of birthdays were against the Islamic law. To me, there was nothing wrong in commemorating the event to express our love  towards him, inspiring the younger generations by the great examples of the Prophet.  

“Kindness is a mark of faith, and whoever is not kind has no faith”

~Prophet Muhammad (SAW)~

On the last day of my holiday, we paid a visit to RSPB Sandwell at the outskirts of Birmingham. We drove through freezing fog patches alternating with bright sunshine. We were trying to make the most of the Christmas break and this kind of weather meant thick coats, boots, gloves and hats. As the saying goes, there was no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing :-). We stopped at the cabins near the entrance to enquire about any sightings of the Ring-necked parakeets. Unfortunately, they weren’t around but at least this handsome Bullfinch made up for our disappointment.

We drove through a very muddy road and parked beside the construction site. The new visitor centre was supposed to be completed by June but we didn’t see anything up at all. The feeding station had been moved further down but it was too dark to get any good photographs. We headed straight to the very noisy Lakeside hide and scanned the lakes. The volunteers were very excited about the presence of a Pintail but we were more interested in counting the Common Snipes. They were so well camouflaged among the reeds. At first, I spotted only one and then as your eyes adjusted, we began to see more and more. Babe counted 8 but according to the volunteers, there were at least 30.

We saw a dozen Mergansers  floating on Forge Mill Lake and were heading towards the farm. We decided to track them by following the nature trail which was near the River Tame. Along the route, we saw a Gold-crest skulking in the undergrowth, spotted a heron hunting near the reed-beds and heard a water-rail grunting from deep in the swamps. By the banks of the lake, we spotted the Mergansers before they flew off towards the farm. I wanted to complete the circular trail but the car-park was closing soon. Never mind, it was still a lovely day to end our holiday.

At home, Babe was very surprised to find that I’d packed away all the Christmas decorations except for the wreath outside the front door. I love all the decorations and usually left taking them down to the last possible minute. But after a month, the baubles started falling off from the ceiling and the garlands somehow managed to disentangle itself, that I think I needed my casa back to normal. The old tradition was to leave the decorations for the twelve days of Christmas. I took the decorations down in stages. First was the cards, then stuff in the kitchen were put back in the cupboards and finally everything else related to Christmas.  Anyway, it was the new year and therefore they were packed and gone for another year.

Talking about the new year, apart from wanting to loose weight (again), this was my new year mantra.

Smile, breathe, and go slowly

~Thich Nhat Hanh~

and

The Brief Guide

less TV, more reading
less shopping. more outdoors
less clutter, more space
less rush, more slowness
less consuming, more creating
less junk, more real food
less busywork, more impact
less driving, more walking
less noise, more solitude
less focus on the future, more on the present
less work, more play
less worry, more smiles
breathe

pray*

http://zenhabits.net/brief-guide/

*I added this.