TREE FOLLOWING OCTOBER - SYCAMORE BY THE SEA

I'll begin by zapping you with colour.

This is 'my' sycamore - the one I'm following; taken in the evening.

I was going to say "It's not really that colour" when I realised I don't really know what colour it is. If I were nocturnal, daytime colours would be an aberration. And in the rain it's something else.

Here it is on the morning of the same day.

Yet this isn't exactly right - for the sun was ahead on the right and not only was it lighting the tree in a morning-way, my camera and I were seeing it differently from each other..

Approached from another side, it was gently green and yellow and brown. From another a silhouette. From another it was almost wiped away in the white glare.

I can't get right close to its trunk because it's surrounded by brambles. Of the ones nearby (and there are many) these blackberries are the last to ripen. The sycamore's shade and a curve in the path combine to keep the sun away. They are sweet though.

(I know this because in a spirit of scientific enquiry I ate all the ripe ones I could reach.)

Quite a few leaves are falling onto the path before they are brown - maybe because the tree is exposed to strong, easterly winds which drive straight at it from the length of the English Channel.

Its seeds are blowing aside too. This one was a few feet beyond the over-hanging branches. One of the helicopter-blades has broken in the fall.

Peering closer one can see that while autumn hits the tree, little plants are growing through the dry and un-nutritious soil. They will be trodden down before they get very tall but for such plants the year is a perpetual spring, regardless of the official season.

We can see that one of 'our' pair of seeds on 'our' tree is broken too. I have photo after blurred photo of this same seed because the tree wouldn't stop waggling around in the wind. But I've followed the progress of this particular seed over the last couple of months so I kept going back. (One day, I'll go and they'll be gone.) 

I can't say this tree is lovely at present. As the leaves change colour (and some fall)  tightly packed clusters of seeds are revealed either against the sky or against the new yellows and paler greens. Individually they are fine - it's almost impossible to walk by without picking them up from the path and throwing them in the air to watch them spin round as they fall. But bunched up they can be ugly and unpleasant. These clusters here are looser and smaller than most - prettier.

(The reason I am able to identify one particular seed again and again is that the seeds on one low-hanging branch have developed farther apart from each other than those on the main part of the tree and one hangs at an odd angle.)

Slightly beyond the tree's shadow other plants are turning into skeletons. These dried stems will stand like this all winter.

But chicory is still flowering and hoverflies are fighting over individual flowers; dive bombing each other even if there are vacant ones on the same plant.

Why? Perhaps some flowers are already drunk-empty of  nectar and pollen? Or maybe hoverflies are jealous of each other and can't stand to see somone else on something good. Or maybe they don't like hoverflies who look different from themselves? (See below.) Anyone know?

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WHY DO LEAVES CHANGE COLOUR IN AUTUMN?

Wonderful, easy to grasp first time and brilliantly short explanation from Peter Gibbs of the BBC.

HOVER FLY SITES

Royal Entomological Society
"Over 250 species have been recorded in the UK, and more than 85 species have been found in a single garden."

British Hoverflies - Useful for ID because there are masses of pictures!

Nature Guide UK - I've only just found this site and have added it to the Loose and Leafy list of helpful and interesting ID sites. Even bigger pictures! It has other insects too. Well worth a browse.

Nature Spot

also on Nature Spot

Some Loose and Leafy blog posts where hoverflies make guest appearances.

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and close at 7pm on the 14th.

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OH FLIPPIN' 'EC IT'S A SEA MIST - TREE FOLLOWING FOR MAY

I'm beginning to regret my choice of tree. Not only did the coffee shop which had been a strong factor in my choice of location close, and not only is it a bit further from home than truly convenient, and not only am I still unclear what it is . . . . the light vanishes whenever I arrive to look at it.

In other months I've been largely to blame because I didn't properly allow for winter evenings drawing in as early as they do. Once we're past January I think we've hit summer and am a bit put out when forced to acknowledge we haven't got there yet.

But this time it was morning. No rain had been forecast and it was sunny when I set out. So what went wrong? Only that by the time I got there a mist had come in from the sea. That's what! The trees had started to drip. It was the Weymouth Kite Festival and the view from my tree should have been of the beach, the sea and colourful kites against a bright blue sky. You can see the actual view in the picture above. If you concentrate, you can see massive kites floating, sperm-like, in the murk.

Another reason I'm regretting my choice of tree is that it's right by where cars park and beside a path where people walk. What did I expect at the entrance to a park? Well, I didn't think, did I? And as I don't like cars or people in my pictures it makes photographing the tree problematic.

And as for the question of what it is. It seems too short for a sycamore and the dangly bits don't look right for the stalks of helicopter seeds; and the bark seems too flaky; and the wood a bit too red - even given that it was wet when I took this picture of the lichen that had lost its yellowness and turned slimy and green in the damp.

What with the light being muzzed up by mist, and the mist dripping drops on my lens, and a breeze shivering the branches and the sun positioning itself in an inconvenient place (again) . . . it was hard to take a proper picture of the leaves.

There were red blobs which might have been sticky buds and the unfurling leaves looked as if they might be horse-chestnut . . . but the flowers were pointing down. Conker-tree flowers stick up - like candles.

By next month all should be clear. It'll probably turn out to be something dead ordinary - like a cabbage.

Did I say 'ordinary'? There's no such thing as 'ordinary'.

By the trunk was the carapace (about four inches long) of what may have been a Spiny Spider Crab. (I was going to give you a link to an image of what it might have looked like when it was alive but the image I found clicked through to an article about Arsene Wenger and The Arsenal Football Club. I tried for a recipe but got what looked like half a baked potato so I gave up on interesting spiny spider crab pictures.)

And nearby, to console me for all the mist and dead crabs and slimy lichen and the ignominy of not knowing the identity of what will turn out to be a perfectly obvious tree (though not quite making up for the absence of a coffee shop) . . . . dandelions.

Why are we following trees? Shall we follow dandelions instead? (Perhaps another year!)

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I HOPE YOU LIKE BARK AND LICHENS - TREE FOLLOWING FOR MARCH

Last month when I introduced you to my new tree I showed you a little of the town where it stands - Weymouth in Dorset on the south coast of England. And several of you mentioned you'd be interested to know more about the wider context for this tree as well as the tree itself.

It's a bit difficult this - how to approach it; for in my my mind 'context' has tended to mean the absolutely immediate environs. But I now realise how insular this mind-set is. Many bloggers say quite a lot about the parts of the countries in which they live so regular readers already know whether they are talking about a big city or a wild and empty place, a hot and arid climate or freezing cold. All these things have an impact on whatever grows - including humans!

But on Loose and Leafy, it's only in the street plant posts that I show much of 'place' - and the 'place' for those posts could be in quite a range of towns so they don't help in the least when explaining my new tree. And because I was inspired by Janet at Plantaliscious to choose a tree near a coffeee shop I'm not in my usual hedgerow and wind-swept-pebbles context for these posts but standing in a well-tended park in Weymouth instead. So . . . .  As there is no way this tree would survive on Chesil Beach (!) and as it isn't growing in a hedgerow either I'd better say more about the town where it is growing. (Not that last year's tree was on a beach or in a hedgerow either. I can get a bit bogged down in this!)

I'll do this post in two parts. Town first. Tree second.

* * *

Now . . . unfortunately, and regretfully, I've had to sweep aside my original starting point. I chose my coffee shop. Brilliant. Good coffee. Pleasant location. So what's the problem? It was . . . it was near the bridge at the top of the post. It closed. Not just for winter or re-decoration. It's for sale. (The tree I'll now be following is on this side of the harbour.)

Here's another blow. The bridge should have opened up like Tower Bridge at four o'clock to let boats with masts go through. There weren't any. The bridge stayed shut. In the summer you can wait and wait and wait for ages while first the boats leaving the marina process through in single file; then the boats wanting to go in slowly pass in the other direction. For tourists that can be great fun and there's sometimes quite a festive atmosphere. If you are on the wrong side from the station and you are wanting to catch the next train it can be . . . can be . . . a bit frustrating!

But this is not the summer. There are few people around. The bridge stayed down. I didn't get my picture.

The merry-go-round is netted over. The music silent. The horses still.

It's altogether a netted-up and tied-up time of year. In some parks some small and delicate trees will be netted to protect them from winter cold. On the promenade most of the palms (or giants ferns? one of you is bound to know!) are tied round with ropes. I think this is to stop water getting in and rotting them through the winter . . . or to keep them warm . . . or to stop them thrashing around in the salty winds . . . again . . . one of you is bound to know!)

Diggers on the beach are a familiar sight and emphasise the prospect of summer. They rearrange the sand to make courses for motorbike races. They put back the sand and pebbles to where they were before winter tides inconveniently reorganised them. In the major holiday season the beach is machine-combed every early morning to clear it of litter and make it pleasant and safe for holiday makers. This digger is working on the start/end point for donkey rides.

And here too there's netting in winter; the railing between the promenade and the beach is netted like the trees. Well, no, the nets which used to be there in winter got torn up. The boards which used to be there in winter got broken down. Here, there's a heavy blue plastic material instead. The idea is to stop sand being blown up from the beach and running round town. It's all very well crunching escaped beach under foot when you go shopping but to have a blast of it in your face and eyes can be very painful.

RIGHT. . . . .  BACK OVER THE BRIDGE, UP THE HILL AND TO OUR TREE!

Hm. I still haven't taken a picture of it as a whole. In part this is because it's my habit to look at things in parts. And in part it's because I have an awful habit of arriving in the evening when it simply won't show up well in the fading light.

It had been sunny when I arrived in town and when I hung around waiting for the bridge to go up. But when it didn't go up, instead of visiting the tree, I trotted off to take pictures of a summer resort in winter so by the time I'd re-crossed the bridge dull light was well established. (And I hadn't even had the bonus of a cup of coffee!)

Never mind. Here ( I mean just above) are its toes. (I mean, its flare.)

And its bark.

My last tree got me fixated on bark. Sometimes it seems that every deciduous tree in existence is a sycamore - but this isn't sycamore bark is it? (or is it?)

And the lichen! If only I knew about lichen! (Actually - if only I knew about anything it would help!) Never mind. Plough on regardless. The bright yellow sort is the only kind I'm able to recognise. It pops up quite a lot on Loose and Leafy; Common Orange Lichen - Xanthoria Parietina. It's very common round here - being a lichen that thrives in a nitrogen rich atmosphere. (By the sea that means gull-droppings. In other places it means traffic. In others farm chemicals.)

There are masses of grey kinds on this tree too.

'Masses' may be an exaggeration but there are lots. Any chance anyone can name this large grey one? (Or even a little grey one?)

Whatever this tree turns out to be, it has wonderfully wibbly branches and twigs. Fairy-tale stuff!

Yup. That light is fading fast. But buds waiting to open show up well against the grey-ing sky so that's ok. And look at all those twists and twiddles.

My first post about this tree was in February 2015 - My New Tree .

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