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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MY NEW TREE (READY FOR FOLLOWING IN APRIL)

It was Janet at Plantelicious that gave me the idea. When she went out to find a new tree to follow she completed her walk with a visit to a coffee shop. "Brilliant!" I thought. "But I'll do it the other way round. I'll start with a coffee shop and work outwards."

So off I went to Weymouth, found a good coffee shop where the coffee is strong but you get a little jug of milk to top it up with and they sell meringue nests with cream and fresh fruit (ah!) and set out from there to find a tree.

This proved harder than I had expected. The first tree I came to was a Cordyline outside the council offices. There are masses of Cordylines along the coast of south west England. It makes us feel exotic. We call them Palm Trees even though they aren't. But the trouble with Cordylines is that they don't do much. Their tough leaves are there all year round. They shed them in circles from the bottom, a few each year as the tree grows taller. Their flowers are dramatic but ugly. They are like huge dead Christmas trees flung on them by vandals. My tree for the last year was difficult to follow. I enjoyed it. I really did. But I wanted an easier one this year.

Next was a scraggly, youngish tree by the marina. I wouldn't have minded this one because it's branches were low enough to examine. I wouldn't have minded the crane in the background or the council offices or the law courts - but it would have been hard not to include cars and people. (I try to avoid car registration numbers and people who have not given their permission to be photographed. Stopping every passer by would have been . . . totally hopeless.)

Disconsolate, I wandered back towards town, bought a tray of chips and went to sit by the water in the part of the harbour where the working boats are. Across it was the Nothe Hill with the Nothe Fort and and Nothe Gardens - and trees. Towering above the rest was a fan of branches. "That's what I'll follow!" I thought. And set off to find which trunk they belonged to.

'My tree' is the one on the right - with its branches muddling with the one on its left.

To cut a long story short, I never exactly found it. Back to dejection. Evening was coming on. Light fading. But . . . do you find that some trees, some plants - some people for that matter - simply call to you? You see them (not necessarily across a crowded room) and think 'That's the one!'. It wasn't the right one, the one I'd tried to track down. Instead it was the one.

I don't think it's specially interesting. It has cars parked by it which means I can only take its picture from odd angles. and houses within view - I want neither in my pictures. Never mind.

There it is - in the picture at the top of the post. ( Taken the next day - I went back to check the 'the-ness'.)

But on that evening - 4th February 2015 . . . I took photos on my way back down to the water. I'll show you. It will give you a context for my March to March tree.

Near 'my' tree are some steps going down to the harbour. Across the way is the port where people embark to travel to the Channel Islands. It used to be possible to go to France too. But no longer.
And soon you won't even be able to go to the Channel Islands from Weymouth. It's something to do with a dispute between the company which runs the route and the council and money and the stability of the pier. But, for the moment - there's one of the cats seen through the trees from the steps.

You can see the Weymouth esplanade from here too - and the town clock and the Ridgeway beyond. (A long hill which comes between Weymouth and Dorchester. If you go between the two on a train you go through a tunnel.)

At the foot of the steps - another tree. I was a bit tempted to follow this one but so much of it is swathed with ivy it has lost its shape.

And along by the harbour . . .

This picture has nothing to do with trees but I liked the steps people would use to go down to boats and the reflections in the water so I've flung it irrelevantly in.

Actually, everything is irrelevant from here on. It's simply an account of my walk along the harbour so you can see where I went - more context.

And the context is, I reckon, pretty interesting. In summer the place is crowded with visitors. The beach is crammed with people building sandcastles and eating ice-creams. The first smell you smell when you get off the bus is not the sea but sun-cream. On a cold February evening it's different. It's peaceful, not frantic. Quiet, not filled with the noise of bands and festivals and people on holiday. But the work of a fishing port goes on. Across the water men were . . . either taking sacks of something out of a big white lorry or putting them in. (Remarkably informative post, this!)

Along a bit, beyond the Life Boat Station (which you would more easily see from the other side of the harbour) . . . a little street leads off to the left.

The street lights are coming on now.

Down this street you can see 'Brewer's Quay' (the big red brick building with the tall chimney). First it was a Brewery. Then it was a pleasant, touristy shopping centre where you could buy fudge and see an exhibition about the history of Weymouth. (About how the Black Death of 1348 landed here and how stone from quarries on nearby Portland was taken to rebuild London after the Great Fire of 1666.) Then it closed for ages. Now it's an 'Emporium' - second hand shops, imported crafts, a sort of indoors tea-shop with the atmosphere of being outdoors . . . ).

Looking back we see the Pavilion Theatre. This too is in trouble. (Hard times in Weymouth. It may be scenic but lots of shops have shut. Others come and go. Employment tends to be seasonal.) The funny white tower is 'The Weymouth Eye'. What a swizz! Other towns get big wheels. Weymouth gets something that looks like a crematorium chimney.

And round a bit  more so we can look back to where we have come from. 'My' tree, though not visible among the others, is up there on the hill on the right. You can see the big catamaran straight ahead. You can see the 'Eye' and the theatre to the left of it. Come this way a bit but staying on the left (because we have been looking across from the pavement and road that's now on our right) you can make out the white lorry. I have a bit further to walk, then over a bridge to my chosen tea-shop. (Except it's closed.)

* * *

I hope you've enjoyed this evening walk. I hope the page didn't take too long to load. The pictures are generally reduced in quality so the page loads quickly but this time . . . what with it being evening . . . and with some of the pictures being specially worth enlarging . . . I've loaded them full size. Google reduces them somewhat but, hopefully, they are more detailed this way.

If you'd like to know more about Tree Following - even better to join in - there's lots of info. on the Loose and Leafy Tree Following Page.

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FIRST OF THE 'ABOUT's - WEYMOUTH

In the last post on Loose and Leafy, I said I would sometimes give you an idea of what South Dorset is like; what people do here, what the shops and houses are like - as well as a better idea of the wider habitat of the plants. It's nice to have a context, I think.

It's really Barbee who, inadvertently, gave me the idea. I've been reading her blog almost from when it started and have seen her beautiful and interesting garden as it goes through its seasons, hearing of how she works and what her garden helpers do to keep it changing and in good order. Occasionally, she has mentioned neighbours but . . . I have begun to wonder what is over her garden wall.

Weymouth Horses live on roundabouts
- and race in circles.

Barbee lives in Kentucky. I know Kentucky is in the U.S.A. but I need a map to show me where. I have a vague idea there are horses in Kentucky but . . . well . . . that's it. I don't know whether there are mountains or forests or a sea line . . . I'd better look at that map! I don't know what its economy is like, its politics, anything.

Of course, those matters are beyond the normal scope of a gardening blog (which hers is) but, nevertheless,  . . . I find myself intrigued.

Therefore, as part of the 'context' for the plants here, I will, from time to time, show you more of what it is like to live this part of England - and I will begin with Weymouth because it is the biggest town in South Dorset. (And 'big', I assure you, is not very large at all!)

* * *

Most people who visit the area in which I take most of the photos for Loose and Leafy would be amazed that plants and trees are its centre of interest. Of those who swell the population of Weymouth from a population of 67,000 to 200,000 during the summer months, very few will be looking dor dandelions.

Dorset is predominantly rural with woods and hills and fields and farms and its coastline is one of the most dramatic in England - but Weymouth itself (the biggest town in the county apart from the conurbations and retirement areas on the Hampshire border to the East) is the kind of stereotype of an English seaside resort one might not expect still to exist - sea and sand and donkey rides and stripey huts on the beach where tourists and holiday makers can buy ice-cream and candyfloss; roundabouts for children and grown-ups alike and small-scale scary rides for the brave.

There are areas of poverty, of course, and, in winter especially (because holiday flats fall empty) people are  drawn here too when they are rootless or troubled, recently released from prison and wondering where to go or with lives wrecked by addiction.- but that is not its most obvious face from outside.

I find crowds difficult and avoid town when the Kite Festival or Carnival or Christmas 'Show Night' (newly named 'Sparkle') fill the streets almost to crammed-up-full point. None the less, Weymouth is an important part of South Dorset - its atmosphere, its reputation and contribution to the regional economy so here, as a 'starter post' is a glimpse of its harbour. (I'm letting you in gently!)

This is the view as you would see it if you were arriving from the English Channel. On the very left, the rowing boat is a ferry for crossing the harbour. (There's a bridge further along.) Straight ahead is the Lifeboat (with the orange top) and the big boat with masts is The Pelican - a training ship.

This is a working harbour. Fishing boats moor further along.

Weymouth has a small commercial port. You can also take a Condor Lines catermaran from here to Jersey and Guernsey in the Channel Islands and to St Malo in France.

Although, as you can see by comparing its size with the terminal, this is a large boat, it is not the largest on this line.

These are the backs of some of the bed and breakfast hotels, facing out onto the harbour. People staying in them are immediately by the scenes in the photos so far but, in a couple of minutes, they can walk to restaurants and pubs beside the harbour and watch the town bridge go up and down so yachts with tall masts can make their way into the inner harbour (or 'marina'). (It lifts just like Tower Bridge in London - only this bridge is VERY much smaller!).

As an anti-social person, I try to avoid the harbour when it is like this; the beach too (which I will introduce in another post, some other time). I like it when cold has driven people away and left sandcastles to the birds

and while most people are watching boats and kites and carnivals and eating ice-creams, I prefer to look at dandelions on the way home.

(Don't worry, the next post will be back to normal - but I thought you might like a glimpse of the 'other side'.)

P.S. - When I went to collect the URL for Barbee's blog, I discovered that, by an extraordinary co-incidence, Barbee has posted about farming in her temperate zone!