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!)

The Loose and Leafy Tree Following Link Box

will open at 7am on Thursday 7th

and stay open till 7pm on the 14th (UK Time)

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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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THE VIEW SLIPS AWAY

Things are about to change. There have been storms at sea - and seaweed in piles on the beach. There have been landslips along the coast - on the South West Coast Path there have been thirty where in a normal winter there might have been three. In Devon, the sea turned red. Buds haven't opened yet. Flowers aren't out yet. There's a dull pause. But things, soon, will change.

March 31st 2013

Look at this view.

The tree on the right - its leaves will soon cover half the scene.

The brambles on the left will fill out and provide blackberries.

But . . .

March 31st 2013

The orange blur of willows in the middle - I won't be able to go back to them because - see the orange triangle below the castle? It's rock where there should be green - the bushes have slid. I wouldn't like to be slid upon if any more of the cliff comes down.

December 17th 2012

This is how it was in December.

December 17th 2012

On the left, the lower ladder is in place. The white, bare, tree in the middle is there.

March 31st 2013

And now . . .
 gone.

I was thinking nothing much happens with this view.

I was wishing I'd chosen something more dynamic.

Then part of it went.

You never can tell with a view!

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WALKING INTO THE VIEW

December 12th 2012

This is what the view I'm following looked like 12th December.

December 17th 2012

This is how it looked on the 17th. Apart from the light - it's pretty much the same. Indeed, if it weren't that my camera marks the date on the 'negative' I would have suspected I'd got in a muddle and they were taken on the same day. I've been going spare looking between one and the other, trying to find a difference. It's a sort of puzzle. But all I can see is that the tide is marginally further out in the second. If you count how many of the nearest rocks are uncovered, you'll see there's one more. Even the blackberries on the left have retained all their leaves.

Not a lot of substance for a blog . . . so . . . I decided to walk into the view. See the group of red trees at the foot of the cliff, slightly to the left of the castle? That's where we are going. If we take a direct route, it will take us about ten minutes but everything is very muddy and slippy at present - it has rained and rained and rained - so it'll take more like fifteen. And we need the tide to go further out before we can get there. We'll have to skip to the next day. Unfortunately, by then the light is going. (That's the trouble with winter!) None the less . . . nothing daunted . . .

. . . here we go!

December 18th 2012

Willows!

We have our backs to the water. Notice seaweed on the rocks? On the right is a tall, rusty pole. It seems to be what's left of an old notice. There are lots of these along this patch of shoreline. I don't know what they would originally have said and don't know how to find out but I've always assumed they are left over from the second world war to warn vessels against landing. If anyone local is reading the blog - maybe they can leave a note to say?

See the hollow between the middle willows? That's where we're heading. 

December 18th 2012

It would be nice to say we are going into a cave but, it's more like a dent in the cliff. Given the action of the tide, maybe it will one day hollow out . . . even then I doubt it will be a cave. The ground above is soft. There's more likely to be a landslide.

December 18th 2012

In another post, I'll show you the inside of the dent. It deserves a blog of its own (let alone a post!) but, for the moment, we'll keep focused on the trees. . . . Swinging round to the left, we can see the way many of the branches are growing horizontally. The bark is rough. Some of the branches are broken - yet they are alive. There is plenty of new growth.

December 18th 2012

Here we see the reason for the reddness in the view.

And, here too, we hit a problem. What kind of willows are they? I uploaded pictures to Ispot (if you are unfamiliar with Ispot, click the link, you won't regret it) but am still up in the air about whether they are Salix alba (White Willow) or Salix fragilis (Crack Willow). Salix fragilis is called Crack Willow because it cracks easily and bits fall off. The fallen bits root easily and, thus, it spreads.

As you know, I am not an expert in anything but comments on Ispot suggest that with neither tree would one expect to have shoots quite this red. Could it be a cultivar? It would be an odd place to plant a tree - right by the shore where the sea comes up to the cliff and chucks seaweed into its lower branches. On the other hand . . . landslides have tipped Horse Chestnut trees from people's gardens onto the shore not far from here so could a garden willow have slid down, clung on and carried on growing? Another puzzling thing is that this group of willows is happily living right by salt water. How are they surviving? Could it be there's enough fresh water filtering through the cliff to keep the salt at bay? And, finally, are all these trees of the same variety or are there two kinds of willow here? At the moment, I'm thinking only one but . . . but . . . I'll have to go back to see - maybe soon . . . or maybe in the spring.

Meanwhile, let's take in two more views. The first, standing within the dent and looking out to sea.

December 18th 2012

If you enlarge the photo, you'll see cormorants sitting on the marker buoys and another swimming near them. Can you see a ship beyond the harbour wall?

And, finally, lets step back again. Below is a picture from this morning (December 21st 2012).

December 21st 2012

By chance (and I'm not sure if this is fortunate or not) the tide is roughly in the same position. (It can go out quite a long way. I'll have to make a point of catching it with the sand showing to prove it!). Do you see where we've been?

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Recent Tree Following Posts on Other Blogs

Garden's Eye View - Latest view of the (Ash) stump.
Welsh Hills Again - The Chestnut Tree
Down by the Sea - Where the Willow's At
Gardening Ways - Plane Tree 2012
Experiments With Plants - London Plane Tree
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Have you updated your tree?

Who else is following trees? ClickHERE

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FOLLOWING TREES AND VIEWS AND WILLOW HERB

What is Tree Following and Who Does It?

Although I'm officially following an elderberry tree - or, rather, a clump of tangled elders, I've not abandoned the sycamore I've been keeping an eye on for several years. Indeed, there are quite a few trees, and bushes and patches of ground that I am specially aware of. This post is about five of them.

We'll begin with that elder.

As I've mentioned, it was cut back during the summer so the berries went AWOL and the undergrowth in front disappeared. This cutting, I have learnt over time, has a reasonably short lived impact - even though though the result is a one-sided tree. And, of course, I've yet to see what happens in the very long term.

One of the things I've noticed when choosing particular leaves to follow - observing them right from when they are little green blobs - is that the ones which come to my attention early tend not to do well compared with those which burst later. This happened with the hawthorn I thought was a blackthorn (oh dear!) and it is true of the elderberry too.

February 5th 2012

This is the shoot I chose on the elderberry tree. It seemed a good one at the time because it's in the crook of a branch and easy to find over and over.

This is how it was earlier in the year.

(February 2012)

September 27th 2012

This is how it is now.

Familiar pattern?

Sycamore I'm following - September 22nd 2012

Then the sycamore.

The ivy clinging to it was cut back during the year. Necessary, perhaps, but sad for me - I'm fascinated by the elegance of single strands and the beauty, the colour, the shape of its leaves. Of the trees in this little woodland area, it is not the leafiest, despite its sturdy trunk(s!) - and autumn this year is odd. A curl up at the edges and fall off kind of event instead of dramatic colour.

September  22nd 2012

Same Tree - September 2008

On the other hand, another elder bush - one which attracted my attention as early as 2008 (when I was using my phone as a camera) continues to grow and thrive and produce yellow leaves. This is not down to autumn. This is how the bush regularly is. Maybe it isn't an elderberry?

Remember the thistle from a couple of weeks ago? Where the bees gathered in June?  I've not been 'following' that particular plant. More, I've been aware of that patch.

Willow Herb Shedding its Seeds - September 21st 2012

Willow Herb grows there too. There are lots of Willow Herbs - not just the well known Rose Bay variety (Fire Weed on the western side of the Atlantic) and I don't want to hazard which this is. However, until very recent heavy rain and short, sharp wind, they were opening their pods and releasing seeds.

September 20th 2012 (in Esther's Garden)

I've not understood how this works before. One minute there are tall, thin, upright pods. The next, the plants are 'decorated' with an ugly, fluffy, tangled mess. By being more aware, this year, I've seen what happens. The seeds are evenly spaced in straight lines up the pods and each seed is attached to a closed parachute above it. The pods don't split at the sides so much as peel back from the top and, as they dry and open, they pull open the parachutes. This, to me, is clever and marvelous but, also (to me) the next stage is less impressive. Instead of flying away like dandelion seeds, they seem to fall where they are and get caught in the peeled back bits of the pods lower down the plant. This, presumably, is why tall willow herbs grow in clumps. Some seeds get away though and it's a good 'spreader'. The smaller versions which arrive in gardens, I have noticed, are more likely to give each other space.

Willow Herb which has dropped its seeds onto opened pods on the same plant - September 13th 2012

This picture is of a middle sized one in my neighbour Esther Montgomery's garden after the seeds have fallen into their old-cotton-wool muddle. (All sorts of things can look better in a photograph then in 'real' life!)

And, last up - a view.

This is new. Well, clearly not a new view but new that I'm following. Because it's by a bench, and because there's a castle to fix in the middle of the picture, we should be able to follow it through the seasons, certain we are looking, each time, in the same direction!

September 21st 2012

By putting the ruins of Sandsfoot castle centre frame, it should be reasonably easy to keep a steady eye on what is happening to the tree on the right of the picture, the brambles on the left and the view beyond.

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For more about Tree Following - Click HERE

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