STUCK FOOT POST

What is a Stuck Foot Post?

A stuck foot post is where you plant your foot firmly in a roughly random place and see what you can see without moving. Best is when you plant both feet but sometimes, as in this post, where you are on a slope or some other kind of difficult ground you may need to move the other around for the sake of balance. But you mustn't move the 'stuck' foot. You can bend your body this way and that. You can lean forward and twist at the waist - but you mustn't swivel that stuck-foot.

For Loose and Leafy I tend to look at plants and insects but the idea works anywhere. Perhaps I should do a non-plant stuck-foot-post for my other blog sometime. ('Message in a Milk Bottle')

There's a Path I Know

marked by a Sycamore tree, or maybe a Maple. Either way, it produces pretty key-seeds. The base of its trunk is below the level of the path so its seeds and leaves are close over-head. I used to go there often but the cliff below is sliding towards the sea so it's no longer safe to walk there. It's tantalising.

That's where I stood. And while I stood there, a hoverfly arrived and flew between brambles (blackberry bushes) and wild clematis.

Wild clematis (Clematis vitalba) flowers are small and pretty and round and spiky. Pale yellow. Or maybe rich cream. Borderline colours are hard to describe. They are called 'Traveller's Joy'. Remember them. We'll re-visit in autumn and see their seeds.

The hoverfly went. Then it came back. Well, I can't guarantee it was exactly the same one. I'm not sure what it's doing in the picture - but it's fun to see insects getting on with their everyday lives instead of posing scenically on the flowers.

When I put a photo of it on iSpot, Wildlife Ranger commented that we can tell it's a Myathropa florea because it has a Batman sign behind its head and a hairy fringe along its abdomen. See them?

And while I stood there, taking pictures of the hoverfly, a tiny green spider came down on a thread from the sycamore, landed on my camera, hung on, then dangled below it. Gently, I lifted it by its web and put it on a bramble bush. I don't know whether it wanted to be on a bramble bush but if it didn't I expect it would have liked me to take it home even less.

I would call this a Cucumber Spider - but that's because I'm not very specific. You'd only be able to tell the difference between it and similar spiders at a micro-level. Going for the Latin - it's some kind of Araniella. BUT if I see another, I'm going to call it a Cucumber Spider regardless. It's only about 4mm long and it's bright green.

Twisting down to my left, right under the bushes, was a little chicory flower (Cichorium intybus). Chicory grows tall. On other plants the flowers are my-head-high. It was a surprise to find it at ankle level.

Swinging up and round to the right - there was this blue bit of something caught on a thorn. I don't know what it is. I didn't touch it. I left it there. It was 2 - 3 millimeters across. I doubt it has anything to do with plants. But it was there.

That's the point. It was there.

Have you written a 'Stuck Foot Post'? I'd be happy to put a link on Loose and Leafy.

All photos were taken on 26th July 2014.

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LEAVES, SEEDS AND FLOWERS

Just as human seeds contain within them the imprint and hope of a being yet to form, the seeds of seasons are mirrored and grown in every month of the year. Spring holds the beginning of autumn and autumn is torn between memories of summer past and spring to come. It's a mixture of natural cycle and muddle.

I'd say a blackberry flower is muddled when it turns up just as the cold is kicking in.

That chicory flowers are like enthusiastic teenagers, determined to enjoy the party right to the very last minute.

That buddleia bushes and trees show a wonderful confidence in producing new starts of leaves just as their flowers are turning from lilac and purple to dingy dark brown.

That the seeds of wild clematis - Old Man's Beard - flamboyantly flaunt beauty in the face of their own aging and knowingly turn their faces from the inevitable. Their glorious champagne fizz and froth will soon sink into grey, Miss Havishamesk, dusty decrepitude. Fresh snow is lovely when it falls but when it has been trampled and fouled it's . . . well it's not as nice as when it was new. Ditto Old Man's Beard.

THE BLACK, ELUSIVE BUTTERFLY

We've come to an everything moment in the year. Flowers and berries and seeds all mixed up in the hedgerows. Always, always, I like to see Alexander seeds; their black glossyness, their shapes.

Blackberry flowers are pretty. More important (to me!) - their fruits are forming. Buds, flowers, fruits all on the same plant, all there in the fuzzy background.

Down the path, towards the sea. Stop. Let's stand still.

Wild Clematis - Traveler's Joy - Old Man's Bear - the same plant.

It stretches out.

It produces flowers - small, pretty, about half an inch across. The seed heads will be massive and hairy - beards!

And under the blackberry bushes - Herb Robert.

Something was striking me. No butterflies. Lots of buddleia but no butterflies. I walked down towards the sea and, just as the path opened out - black butterflies. I've not seen black butterflies before. I chased them around, camera in hand. It was sunny. Surely, one would stop in the sun and spread its wings. Isn't that what butterflies do? I trampled the grass. Had my way stopped by reeds. The butterflies stayed in the air, alighting for fractions of seconds - then off again. Then I saw a white butterfly with black dots - a sort of marble effect. That wouldn't stop still either. None on the buddleia. New (to me) ones in the open. Odd year!

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