THE FIRST OF JOLLY OLD JUNE

We're waiting for a storm.

The weatherman this morning told those going to work in sunshine they'd be returning in wind and rain. We're anticipating winds of fifty-one-miles-an-hour. That may not seem very fast for readers in less temperate climes; but for us round here it's strong. (Especially if you are by waves or under a tree which could fall over.)

I've been rumbling around in a bad mood all day. I blame it on the weather. There's something about anticipating a storm that puts one on edge.

And I've been rumbling in and out of the house; going to look every now and then to see what's happening and thinking 'I'm sure June isn't always like this'.

And it isn't. I began Loose and Leafy in 2008 so I've lots of recorded Junes to check on - and nearly all began with pretty flowers and blue skies.

But even if the theoretically first day of summer has nothing summery about it, there are still interesting things to mention.

Flower photography outdoors can be challenging. A day might seem completely draught free but individual plants waggle around as if engaged in their own private hurricane and the pictures come out blurred. But see the photos above. Why did these plants stand perfectly still today when everything else was thrashing?

And the trees have been interesting too.

Here's an ash tree. It's mid-morning; the wind is on the rise but you'd hardly know it by the way the birds are singing. Not that they are in the tree. They are in bushes near by. Do birds not like ash trees?

The ash is at the foot of a bank so it's in a fairly sheltered spot  . . .but even those birds exposed to the wind by the sea were determined to sing. This robin on a buddleia bush kept going even when it was blown right off its twig.

Back to the ash. By afternoon the wind is reaching even into sheltered places.

It's raining now and the light is skiving off early. Will I go out at mid-night to photograph silhouettes of fifty-mile-an-hour trees? I doubt it! (If I do, I'll let you know.)

P.S. Don't forget the Tree Following Box opens on Sunday 7th.

The photos and videos in this post were all taken  on 1st June 2015.

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HOLIDAY SNAPS

I was going. I was not going. Then I was. Now I'm back.

The chance came up to go back to the Brecon Beacons - this time to the North side of the National Park. And it rained. Again. Of course.

There was an afternoon when the sun shined. I noticed some good views in passing. I would return.

But it rained.

But there are always things to notice when the sun comes out between showers.

Like shadows. (Of foxglove?)

And views through barns.

Where light comes in through slats as well as through open doors.

When they get to the rusty stage, I have trouble distinguishing between sorrel and dock in pictures. I was in a rush at the time or I would have paid attention to the leaves.

There's drama in the morning; and in the evening.

Swifts are gathering on the wires ready for their autumn migration to Africa. Not that they are short of insects to eat yet. Each evening they swished backwards and forwards human-knee-high snatching at insects above the grass.

And that silhouette of a bird in the tree. It looks like a robin to me. What do you reckon? (You might have to enlarge to see.)

And on the wall in an outside loo - an Buff Ermine Moth. (Spilosoma luteum.) One of its antennae is broken.

Now I'm back I'll soon be replying to comments and getting ready to catch up with 'my' tree ready for the Tree Following box on the 7th.

Hope you have been having good holidays - whether in rain or drought or perfect weather.

(There ought to be a selection of greetings to cover the seasons. Why should Christmas hog it all? Happy summer everyone!)

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P.S. A new recommendation. Take a look at this page about the life cycle of butterflies and moths. A breathtaking set of information and pictures. (Includes the caterpillar of a Buff Ermine moth.)

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WHAT'S EVERYTHING DOING?

Clearly, I can't answer that properly! But I can note a few things - and I have to scurry between the house and the bank (the grassy variety) to keep up. For what's happening is happening fast.

Not that this pigeon sitting on a wonky post with its back to the sea is doing much at present. Unlike urban pigeons, and despite being great eaters, wood pigeons never seem to be in a rush.

It is, of course, an eagle in disguise.

What is the blackthorn doing?

It's sprouting flower buds along its thorns.

This, it seems to me, is an odd place for them. I don't mean there's anything unusual about what this small tree is doing. It's just that I think it's a surprising arrangement - flowers on thorns instead of beside them.

In February, on my other blog (Message in a Milk Bottle) a couple of people mentioned that they are unfamiliar with gorse. And the question came up whether gorse is always in flower. I can't answer definitively but I'd be surprised if there were any times in the year where some gorse isn't flowering somewhere. 

In the winter one notices it because its splashes of bright yellow stand out from the gloom. In the last couple of weeks, though, more and more branches have been spurting colour. In the summer, there will be great banks of it round here. I'll give it a post of its own.

What is the hawthorn doing?

Its leaf buds are opening. When they are new, hawthorn leaves are delightful; a delicate fresh green. Later, they darken and the trees become a bit blobbish.

I'm not a bird person. If I can't see who's singing, I don't necessarily know who it is. I can't tell an invisible dunnock from a lark. I guess by the landscape. Bushes - dunnocks. Flat, open land - larks. But, over and over, through the years, I've heard a wonderful song and looked around to see who . . . and it's a robin. And Robins are not shy. They sit somewhere prominent and let rip!

I wasn't the only one who stopped for the performance.

Perhaps we should have clapped during this pause?

Real bird-watchers are quiet people. Those of us who don't know one feather from another stand and chat. The funniest gathering of strangers is when field fares fill a bush and start yelling at each other. You can hardly see them but the bush almost vibrates with noise. One waits for it to explode. Passers-by pause and gaze at it in astonishment. And laugh.

And, just beginning, here and there, the big gold coins of dandelion flowers.

The sky is blue, the birds are singing, buds are opening, flowers are flowering (at least, some of them are!) all we need now is leaves . . . and we are away. Boring, isn't it? Happens every year. All the same. All very predictable. Ah, well, I suppose we'll just have to put up with it. (Expect we'll manage!)

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