STREET PLANTS AND STREET PEOPLE

A sow thistle growing on a wall may flower and thrive.
A human with no-where to go will be less successful.

As you know - can't fail to have missed - I am impressed by street plants. They live in shop doorways and gutters and flourish there. People don't.

You may also have gathered from previous posts that I visit Oxford from time to time. What I haven't said in these posts is that while photographing street plants, I've been taken aback by how many people live on pavements there too. I mean, in almost every town people sleep rough - but in Oxford, to an outsider like me, the visible numbers are shocking - so many doorways are every night turned into cramped, temporary bedrooms.

The sycamore tree in a drain we have followed for the last few years
still lives but is getting a bit cramped.
Drains are not meant for trees - nor shop doorways for humans.
June 2016

I don't understand. Oxford is a place with one of the best universities in the world. It's a place stodgy with outstanding brains. You'd have thought they could have set aside some time to put their intellectual heads together and work out what can be done.

Meanwhile, council funding for charities working with and for homeless people in Oxford has been cut by £1.5 million this year.

I don't want to go on about Oxford over much. It's just happens to be where I get most shocked. It's the place where I think about homelessness more than I do anywhere else - even more than where I live. It's the place where I think, over and over "what are minds for if not for addressing these kinds of basic needs?" And it's where (I expect you were waiting for this . . . ) where I know someone who is taking part in an event to raise a little of the money charities need to help those who are homeless, or newly homeless, or newly with a roof over their heads. Having somewhere to stay - though important - is not the end of the matter. It means a life-style change and that doesn't necessarily come easy to everyone.

THE BIG OXFORD SLEEP-OUT

Weymouth, June 2016

It's always hard to think of an event that will draw people to raise money, to raise consciousness, to 'make something happen' without it being naff or offensive. Selling jam to raise money for famine victims it's . . . well, there's something uncomfortable about it. So it may be that the group of students and local citizens who will be 'sleeping-out' for one night may find it a bit awkward . . . Being in the open for one night is not the same as curling up under a cardboard box every night in November. However . . . however . . . however awkward it feels . . . sometimes if money is needed you have to go with the ideas you come up with; ideas that are within your reach to fulfil

By clicking the link you'll go to the Just Giving page of a first-time fundraiser. She won't be the only one coming at this from scratch but she happens to be the one I know . . . And while each participant has been asked to raise £100 by being cold for a few hours . . . it would be good if every one of them were to raise more, for it's not for themselves they are doing it.

Here's the link.

If any of you do feel moved to give - perhaps you will think of those street plants

And how people are rarely as resilient as they are.

Money raised will be shared between

Oxford Homeless Pathways

Connection Floating Support

Aspire, Oxford

Photos in this post were taken in Dorset, not in Oxford. But these kinds of plants live in both places.

Some other Loose and Leafy Street Plant posts.

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P.S. I suddenly realise it looks a bit odd, exhorting you to give when it seems (from the list) as if I haven't done so myself! But due to the nature of my card I had to use the 'anonymous' option.

RAM, EWE, LAMB - A WALK IN THE WOODS BY HOLFORD

Sometimes I find I'm so familiar with the area I usually explore, I wish I were somewhere else! And, briefly, I was!

I went for another walk in the Quantocks - this time in a forest . . . or a wood . . . . ? I don't know what the difference is but this wood had a lot of trees in it (which is quite foresty) and I never came to the end of them (which is foresty too). But there was light drifting down through the branches (which is wood-ish) and it was 'magical' not 'frightening' . . . which heads it in the 'wood' direction because, in my mind, a forest has to be at least a little bit disconcerting.

The foot path followed a wide but shallow stream . . . and I followed the path . . . and here are some of the things I saw.

Fungi. Yup. Lots of Fungi. Here are some on a . . . birch? Um. Are they Birch Polypore Piptoporus betulinus? Um . . . They were about seven inches across and there were more above them in a line up the trunk - spaced into little clumps like this one.

And little black balls on a dead tree that had fallen across the stream. (I don't know precisely what these kind are but they are similar (only larger) to the ones I came across in a Dorset Beech Wood.)

And lichen? Yes. Lichen!

And ferns? Yes, lots of ferns. Plenty on the ground and some above our heads. Here's one on the branch of what I think is a Sessile Oak.

Flowers? Yes, there were oodles of flowers.

Here, where the trees are a little thinner and there's a tad more light - a Herb Robert Flower peeping through the leaves of Enchanter's Nightshade! (Which is also a gardener's nightmare.)

And here's a little Wood-Sorrel (Oxalis acetosella).

See oak leaves and blackberry leaves too?

And here's the stream.

And here are Caddis Fly larvae encased by the little pebbles they have each gathered round them for protection. You might like to enlarge this to see better. And have you noticed how clear the stream is?

And sheep? Yes. Since you ask there were sheep in a field on the other side of the stream at a point where it had taken a bit of a dip. So the field was up on a short bank - and there was a single strand of barbed wire around it.

Most of the sheep were quietly grazing, eyes down. But the ram in with them was running up and down bellowing, its huge fleece swaying dramatically as it leapt up onto a small promontory, roared and ran down again.  And for almost every bellow, a smaller call replied from our side of the stream - only high up so we couldn't see who was making it. On and on it went, bellow, cry, bellow, cry. Of course, as soon as I took out my camera, the ram ran down from the highest, most dramatic part of the view, back into the main body of the field. And the moment I began to film . . .  it ran behind a tree. So here is a video of a ram behind a tree bellowing . . . but listen. Bellow, cry. Below cry. (Then I'll tell you what happened next.)

Well . . . as you see, the ram was heading down to the other end of the field. We followed . . . and round a bend . . . there, waiting for him on the path, were the ewe and the lamb he'd been drawing down from the hill. So out he came from the field - under the barbed wire, along a little beach and over a ford in the stream, went right up to them, greeted them; then turned and started to lead them so he could show them the best place to cross the stream.

But when the ewe and lamb reached the water they hesitated and stopped. It was only a short distance so he was already scrambling up the bank towards the barbed wire but as soon as he realised they'd lost their nerve, he returned to them and encouraged them to get their feet wet. And across they went. And once he could see they really were fording the stream, he walked on a little to wait. And once they'd caught up, he led them under the wire and back into the field - where all of a sudden it was perfectly quiet and peaceful and everyone went back to eating grass.

(You might also like simply to listen to the video without watching. You will hear more that way.)

* * *

Places to go for more information

Caddis Fly  - on the Wildlife Trusts site.
Caddis Fly Larvae  (not for the squeamish) in the Life in Freshwater section section of the Field Studies Council site. 

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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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STICK YOUR EAR IN IT - STUCK FOOT POST FOR MAY

My first digital camera was a phone. I'd decided - perfectly reasonably, truthfully and not even slightly on a whim - that if I could take a photograph of my immediate environment every day . . . I would be happy.

Daisies in the cow-field. Sheep in the field beyond

Not that 'decided' is the right word. I'd known this for a long time. I don't think I had the internet then. I certainly didn't have a blog. I'm not even sure blogs had been invented. But there were simple cameras on what were, to me, expensive phones. And they were expensive. That first mobile phone-camera was twice the price of my new (though basic) smart-phone.

And off I went to take pictures.

Then there was the blog.

Then there was my first 'proper' digital camera.

And now I have the one I have now - which also takes moving pictures; little films.

Long before I bought my phone, I'd wanted to take films. I hadn't wanted to make stories or record events; I wanted to film what I could see while standing still. Specifically, I wanted to film waves at the place where sea meets land in a trickle, not a storm. Just that. But camcorders were expensive. Out of reach.

Green leaves seem brown when reflected in the water because of the tannin.
Eyeworth Pond, Hampshire.

Perversely, when I at last had a camera which also takes films, I began to enjoy sound rather than movement. I'd fix my camera on a scene and film the nothing-happening that I'd dreamed of but when I got my camera home, I'd find it was the sound that drew my attention. Sea sounds different when you listen to it.

So I wanted to buy some really good sound equipment - the kind which would pick up every nuance without being blasted out by a sudden gust of wind. Erm . . . out of my range!

And who would want to listen to my sound recordings?

I don't know why we blog. Sometimes bloggers blog about why they blog - and the answers are never very satisfactory - especially given the amount of time and effort and creative thought that we put into them. We blog because we blog. We take pictures whether or not we put them on the internet. And every so often I go out and fix my camera on a singing bird or a rattling mast and record the sounds they make.

Oddly, despite this being a solitary activity, I always have people in mind. Would they be prepared to listen to noises while looking at nothing happening? So I've kept these little sound clips short. For me, they are too short. I get them home and listen and wish they would go on and on instead of stopping almost as soon as they start.

I'm about to move on a step. After today I'll make my sound pictures longer. It doesn't matter whether anyone other than me puts them up on a screen and is entranced by the rustle of a leaf or a lawnmower in the distance. It doesn't matter any more than it mattered when I took photos every day without knowing that anyone else in the world did the same.

But longer films are for the future. The 21st will be a Stuck Foot Post Day. So I'm posting my latest short stuck-foot soundscapes. For ordinary Stuck Foot Posts I move my eye. I look down. I look sideways. Twist to see a little behind me. But these 20 - 30 second clips aren't just Stuck Foots, they are Stuck-Eyes too; stuck eyes so all that goes on is what one is hearing while standing still to see.

The first is from the 4th of April. The village is Milton Abbas in Dorset. I struggled with this because there are cars in the frame; but those I filmed with no content other than chimney tops take the sound so far out of context they no longer make sense. The roar at the beginning is a car moving away. The voices you hear are people in the kitchen at the pub I was standing near. I like these 26 seconds. They are life.

The second is staring at a cow field at Fritham on the edge of The New Forest (Hampshire) on the 13th of May. The Forest Trees are several yards behind me - mostly oak and out of sound-shot. I was standing under some kind of tree with needles instead of leaves and in front of a hedge I didn't pay too much attention to. The cows, dissobligingly didn't moo but birds did sing. That's the funny thing. You think you are watching cows when really you are listening to birds. Or maybe it's that you are listening to birds when really you are watching cows. Here are 38 seconds of both.

The third is on the same day, about ten miles from the cows at the River Black Water. In this clip we spend 47 seconds listening to the Black Water meandering its way through the forest. Eventually it will join with others in the Lymington River. (Not to be confused with various other River Blackwaters.)

And finally The Valley of Stones. So we've gone back in time to 27th April. The reason I've put this one out of sequence is the silence. We are on open grassland. No birds other than one lark. Larks don't like trees. Then the lark stops. This clip is 30 seconds. (The slight roaring throughout is, I suppose, the camera desperately trying to find something to listen to.)

If you aren't able to watch film clips on your computer, I really do apologise - but sound posts don't happen often. And if you are able to listen through earphones - maybe that's the best way to immerse yourself in the moment and hear it all at its best.

Are you a Stuck-Footer? Would you like to know more about Stuck-Footing? 

Then go to the Loose and Leafy Stuck Foot Page to find out more.

If you too have a Stuck Foot Post

a box for your links 

will open at 7am on 21st May and close at 7pm on 25th May (UK time)

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TREE FOLLOWING - MAY

Have you noticed how some trees are enthusiastically greening up while others are clinging obstinately to winter? It will be interesting to find out who has leaves and who doesn't. Magnolia people are likely to have flowers. Are there hawthorn blossoms where you live? How are the bluebells doing? And if bluebells don't live where you live - are there flowers under your trees?

I find the heat of summer hard - so I've been making the most of comfortable walking weather. This is a path near The Hardy Monument in Dorset. (Not Thomas Hardy the novelist but Vice Admiral Sir Thomas Hardy, famous for being Nelson's friend at the Battle of Trafalgar.) I'd just emerged from a short stretch of woodland where bluebells were getting ready to turn the earth blue. That was ok - but there was something extra special about the evening light out in the open and about the elegance of these more widely spaced trees. There was a rainbow between them too - a massive pillar of colour that turned out to be too shy to show up in the picture.

If you have become a Tree Follower in the last two months, I'd be glad if you were to check both you and your tree have arrived safely on the Loose and Leafy Tree Following Page. I'm pretty certain someone's details went missing while I was computer-less. If it was you - very many apologies.

The Link Box is now closed. All 44 links to May Tree Following Posts can be found by clicking here.

Link Boxes are kindly created by Mister Linky's Magical Widgets.

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I'm Following a Tree.
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National Trust for Hardy Monument

Wikipedia for Hardy Monument

Wikipedia for Vice Admiral Sir Thomas Hardy

Wikipedia for Battle of Trafalgar

Wikipedia for Thomas Hardy the Novelist - who also lived locally.

For more information about Tree Following, go to the Loose and Leafy Tree Following Page.

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THE VALLEY OF STONES

Imagine you are walking through the country on a route you've never taken before and you see a wooden signpost pointing to 'The Valley of Stones'. Well you have to follow the path don't you?

Exactly. So over I went and through the kissing gate and along by mountains of gorse. Plants and trees seem a bit all over the place this year. Last weekend I watched the London Marathon on television. I have no idea why I find this interesting. It's a whole load of people I don't know hurrying along through emptied city streets for hours on end - thousands of them! It's a bit like horse racing. I sometimes watch that on the television too. Perhaps it's the predictability of it. Everyone starts at A and tries to get to B as fast as they can. Then un-threatenting people who didn't do the hurrying talk to those who did - and that's it. When the news is otherwise full of bombs and earthquakes, things which burst terrifyingly out of the blue, perhaps I like to be reassured by events with no surprises. But the thing which stood out specially with the Marathon this year was how green were the trees in London compared with the trees in Dorset. A week later and everything here is lushing up. Some places are almost unrecognisable because the rain-inspired green-ness is so sudden - and tall.

Hang on - I think I've got lost. Why am I talking about horse racing and marathons and the trees in London? - oh yes - it's about gorse. Our trees may seem a tad slow in comparison this year and the blackthorn blossom may not be as impressive as usual - but the gorse? Oh the gorse! Roads are lined with it in brilliant yellow. It's all over the place and on the hills there's so much in flower it looks as if great billows of golden clouds have come to land in the grass. And there it was on my way to The Valley of Stones.

And a pond too; murky and mysterious. Brilliant! Sometimes it's like living in a children's story book.

Think England and you think thatched cottages. Maybe you think of crumpets and UKIP too. Maybe football in cities and cricket on village greens. Red buses? Late trains? We don't have red buses round here but I've seen quite a few UKIP signs in the last few weeks. They come - and will hopefully go. But thatched cottages are abundantly present - and comfortingly old. Why am I going on about cottages now? Um . . . oh yes. The cottages are tucked in valleys and folds between great big green hills. I mean really big. They aren't mountains. They don't go sheer up and sheer down. They go in great waves through the land. There are villages (and thatched, stone cottages) hidden in some of their folds but in other places there are no dwellings - just gorse and trees and cattle or sheep . . .

In the picture, we are part way down the hill. We will walk a bit to our right, then down, then left again behind the tree and continue further down still. It's not hard walking - just a bit steep in places.

Until we reach this place - The Valley of Stones.

Scale is hard to convey in photographs. I don't want to exaggerate how high are the hills on either side of this valley - but they are higher than they appear in the photo; so the presence of boulders at the bottom when the slopes on either side of them are smooth comes as a surprise. They snake along like a wide path. It's better seen when you are standing there among them or looking down from a distance. (Distance is hard to get right on blogs.) And don't be put off by the telegraph poles either. It's because we are out in the country that wires have to be supported above the ground instead of expensively under it. This place is is not remote in the way some of the wilds in Scotland are remote - but there are no houses nearby (only ruins); and when I was there, no walkers apart from the friend who came with me. The silence is tremendous.

Nor would I like to suggest I'm terribly genned up on science and geology so I'll simply copy the Natural England notice at the top of the path.

'This National Nature Reserve is named after the distinctive boulders that tumble down this dry valley in the downs. These sarsen stones, of tightly cemented gravels and sands, derive from the former capping above the chalk that became fragmented during the freeze/thaw conditions after the last ice age 10,000 years ago.

'This Reserve is also notable for its fine chalk grassland and the associated insects and flowers. Scarce lichens and mosses grow on the sarsens, The downland and heathy grassland is maintained by cattle and sheep grazing.

'This is part of a working farm, managed in partnership with the landowner, the Bridehead Estate, and a tenant. Stock are present all year so please keep dogs on a lead.'

Some of the rocks are smooth, but others, as mentioned on the notice, are made up of smaller stones stuck together and some of the flints are so polished by the weather (or so compressed?) they have glass-like qualities . . . (anyone know what causes this?) . . . and their broken faces shine as if they have been consciously cut for the sake of reflecting light just as windows and car mirrors do - or binoculars in the distance . And in this I am not exaggerating. They are pretty and special.

The notice mentions wild flowers. Most noticeable when I visited were violets clustered around one of the rocks but there were the beginnings of bluebells here and there too - for all that it wasn't woodland. You know what violets look like. You know what bluebells look like. And I posted about Oil Beetles last year . . . So in the spirit of bringing you pictures you might not often find on other blogs - I spent a little while moving from cow-pat to cow-pat taking photogaphs of these beautiful Yellow Dung Flies (Scathophaga stercoraria) who were mating en masse in the sunshine. They may be called 'Yellow' but if I have named them I would have said they are gold. I'm a fan.

Thinking of bright colours - what do you think of my new shoes? They may not look much good for walking in but they are so supple they give an excellent grip on rough (dry) ground and are extraordinarily comfortable. (I haven't tried them in the wet yet.)

And remember - It's only a week before our next Tree Following Festival. THURSDAY 7TH MAY!

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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.

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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 .

I'm Following a Tree.
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Tree Following
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A link box for Tree Following Posts opens every 7th of the month and closes on the 14th.
It's never too late to join in!

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WOBBLING IN THE WIND - A STUCK FOOT POST

For my Stuck Foot Post I thought I'd stick my foot on hard sand in the shelter of a vertical though not enormously tall cliff. This part of the south coast of England sticks out into the sea and on this day (15th January 2015) the western side was being beaten by big waves while about a mile and a half away (where I was) they were lapping gently against the beach. None the less, the plants and I were wobbling around in the wind - those which poked up above the cliff's shelter were thrashing.

The tide was going out and little streams were pouring out of the rocks and earth across a narrow strip that is mostly covered in sea water at high tide. With it going out, I was safe. It would have been a stupid place to stand otherwise.

I don't understand the sun. I would have expected it to be further round to the right. But, there it was, glaring in more from the south than I had anticipated. Or perhaps I'd turned more corners than I thought. A few years ago I bought a compass to help me decide where to go for what pictures but my belt, my mobile phone, all sorts of external metals interfered so it was a waste of time. I'd sit in a cafe and watch the needle spin round while I drank my coffee. The sun is more predictable. I may not know precisely where it will be but I generally have enough of an idea to know where to go and when. But I like silhouettes and this one was romantic.

Fortunately, the sun being a bit wester than I'd anticipated it better lit what I wanted to see. Swinging round to the right you can see the rocks I would have been sitting on if I weren't needing a good swivel. (I was very assiduous about this stuck-footedness so you can admire my flexibility in being able to get a 360 degrees view. (Admire, admire!)

These composite rocks confuse me. There are places where broken concrete has been used to defend the cliffs from the sea. And rocks from other places have been brought in to do do the same - which confuses a confusion of geologies. In this rock you can see loads of what I take to be oyster shells embedded in it. These could be new. (There are oyster beds near by.) They could be Roman. (Romans liked oysters.) They could be fossils. To me with my shining ignorance one looks just like another.

On one of the rocks was a piece of blue material. Something very odd is going on round here. I've found blue material in bushes too. They are different patterns - plain or plaid - but always blue. Who is scattering scraps of blue material round the place? And why?

Looking up from the rocks. Trees. I was expecting willow. This is not willow! So what is it?

A bit had fallen on a rock.

But higher up - would you not say these are willow leaves? They were moving in the wind so much it was hard to take their portraits. But then . . . it's the wrong time of year for willow leaves . . . isn't it? Well this cliff is a mixture of soft rock and earth so I wasn't going to climb up to see. It would probably have come down. Being squashed wouldn't be fun.

Twist a bit further. What do we have here?

Sea defences in the form of walls built at the bottom of people's gardens. Ivy binding the steep earthy bit, reeds along the top then . . . a little hawthorn tree would you say?

I don't know what the pipe is sticking up from the sand but I took its picture. Not only was it photogenic but it stood still. I reckoned the post deserved at least one photo in focus.

Swinging back the other way to where I started - a video. Nothing much moves. The boat pier and the boats stay still. (They have been brought out of the water for the winter.) But you can hear the little waves. You can hear the wind. You can hear gulls. And the sound that sounds like birds twittering isn't birds but the boats' halyards rattling in the wind. They are like wind-chimes. A sea-side orchestra.

(At the end, the camera swoops down to the rocks we began with.)

As a separate issue . . .
If you would be interested in recieving
and reviewing this book - see this post.

There you are; a Stuck Foot post. I wobbled. I swivelled. But my feet didn't move. Not even a centimetre. You too could write a Stuck Foot Post. ? ? ? 

If you'd like to leave a link, there will be a box open from 21st - 25th January. There are currently fewer Stuck Footers than there are Tree Followers but those of us who stick our feet for posts get a lot out of it (I think!). (Well I do!)

All photos in this post  (and the video too) were taken on the afternoon of 15th January 2015.

For more info. - there's a Page for Stuck Footers. Do join us!

And last week I Stuck My Foot in a Garden - you might like to take a look at that post too.

Stuck-Foot Link Box

7am on 21st to 7pm on 25th January 2015

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