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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OF RESIN AND CONES

I've been waiting for a pine cone to fall from the tree I'm following and at last one has. The first, no doubt, of many. Compared with others I've seen in previous years, it's not large. How large? I don't know. I didn't have a ruler - oh . . . except I had my foot.

Here you see them; fallen cone, fallen needles and a foot to measure them by. (I always knew my foot would come in handy one day!)

There are many yet to fall. If my blog goes dead. If suddenly there are posts no more - it's probably because I've been struck on the head by a cone. Be warned!

Meanwhile, the trunk still captivates me; the trunk, its bark and its oozings.

Here comes a drip.

Some drips form planes.

Some . . . I don't know how to describe this shape.

Some grow . . . toadstools?

I'm still not clear whether this is a real fungus or a resin shape. I'll keep looking.

At the foot of the tree - a bramble has sprung up. It won't last here long. The grass is often mown.

And thinking of mown . . . the wind was roaring away up there in its high branches. (They are all high!) I recorded the sound - and discovered something . . . 

For a while, the wind waved the branches and the noise was pleasant and loud but at ground level all was still. Then the noise from the branches died away and the camera picked up on the breeze which had sprung up at head level. Two winds. Hadn't expected that.

I'm Following a Tree
Click Here to Find Out More

If you too are following a tree - the link box for June is now open and won't close till 7pm (UK time) on the 14th.

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AN EVENING AMBLE

Setting out for walk just as the mist rolls in may be pleasant - it is - but it's not the most practical time for taking photographs for a blog. Trees I like were in shade; plants in the dullness below bushes. Streaks of sunlight landing on this but not necessarily on that.

It didn't matter. I didn't know what I was looking for. I was out on an evening amble - not a ramble, note; a little stroll nowhere in particular to see what I could see.

Spring, as I note every year, has a lot in common with autumn. Chills and warmth waltz arm in arm. There is death - last year's leaves which have clung on through winter give up and fall. It becomes clear which bushes have died and which merely dormant.

Some Alexanders (Smyrnium olusatrum) are beginning to produce early flowers. Some of the gorse is flowering. We haven't had frosts. The weather has become unpredictable. Most years, you can go out in the morning and find the young Alexanders all flopped over, frost zapped. That hasn't happened (yet?) but their own special rust (Puccinia smyrnii) seems to have got a head start, bringing their leaves and stems out in bright yellow wart type growths.

I'm trying to remember who it was recently who said they didn't like the smell of Alexanders' flowers. (Was it you?) I was surprised. The accumulation of scent when the weather warms up is fantastic - delicate, ethereal yet unmissable. I am not the only one to like them They are pale yellow, large and rather clumpy and not necessarily noticeable except against a blue sky. But flies like them. Ants too.

And then I went to visit the Holm Oak (Quercus ilex).
Do you remember? I nearly chose it as 'my' tree-following tree. We've had a wet and wild winter. Over one night, this tree had to endure nigh on a hurricane force, salt laden wind. It's leaves are supposed to be ever green. Look at it now.

The light of evening was patchy. The lowering sun was tinging the Alexanders and dead gorse with a warmer glow than they'd shown in the morning. But these leaves . . . these leaves are not just being caught in a golden light. They are beautiful. But they are dying.

* * * * *

When looking for the spelling for Puccinia smyrnii I came across APHOTOFUNGI - photographs of fungi found in South West England, especially Devon and Cornwall. Devon is the next county along going west from Dorset (where I live) but even if the collection on APHOTOFUNGI had been photographs from another continent I would have enjoyed browsing the site. You might too so I've added it to the Loose and Leafy page of internet places you might go for help with identification. The list is random; sites I come across by chance and like - and remember to put there!

And a note about Tree Following - it's never too late to join the growing list of participants. (72 to date.)

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THE TROUBLE WITH NETTLES - URTICA DIOICA

Stinging nettles (Urtica Dioica) aren't specially famous for their flowers. This is not surprising for they dangle uninterestingly and herald tattiness. No-one would ever dream of bringing them into the house to look pretty in the middle of a dining table. If the wind hadn't been waggling them about I would have taken their portraits so you could see what I mean. Instead, my memory card has filled with green blur after green blur after green blur and the blurs are are so dreadfully blurry they couldn't even be considered artistic.

New leaves are arriving. New plants. And the wind has played on. But if it were to leave them alone it wouldn't be blowing pollen between male and female flowers and any seeds which managed to form would drop in a pile at their feet instead of being thrown around. The reproductive life of the nettle family would be arrested. Banning the wind in October might, therefore, be a tempting option for those with omnipotence up their sleeves. On the other hand . . . there are those tough, long, yellow roots from which more nettles spring without its help . . . .

But I've managed, at last, to catch a glimpse of seeds on a few standing-still nettles. But just a glimpse. Another time I think I'll chop a few down and take them home and lay them out and photograph them that way . . . but it wouldn't be the same. 

If you'd like to know more about nettles, the University of Wisconsin has dedicated nettle pages for its students.

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