Great Huntley Oak

We visited the Great Huntley Oak this morning, it's always a pleasure to spend time with him. As ever, whatever troubles I bring to him, he's seen them all before, and covid's no different. At over 500 years old or more he's seen it all, he was about for the many plagues of the 16th and 17th centuries and he remembers the Spanish Flu too. Plagues aren't new, they're as old as the hills, we used to think them sent by maleficent Gods and malignant spirits, although it appears in this case, and in one way or another, we've become the maleficent Gods. In the past all we had was superstition and prayer to defend us, though today science gives us the ability to prepare for and mitigate such epidemic and pandemic plagues. I wondered why we hadn't. Even with his hundreds of years of experience the Great Huntley Oak couldn't answer that one.

Highland Water

The streams in the forest rise and fall swiftly in wet weather, quiet now, though you'd be amazed at what the forest streams can move when roused, hefty chunks of trunk and bough can be carried some distance.

Spring greens

This morning we took our first walk in the forest for weeks, the weather wizards had predicted rain and I thought, if Geoff's going to get wet on our walk he might as well get really wet...he does love a swim. That and it's becoming increasingly busy walking from home, it's okay once we've reached the edge of town and opportunity, though getting there is becoming increasingly fraught, and I feel some folk are becoming less observant or blasé maybe. Out here we saw no other human, it was just us and the forest. The forest appeared so different, in those weeks apart the forest had changed. Well, it would have wouldn't it, the wheel never stops. It was lovely to be back.

The Neighbourhood Strange, Oddcuts & Rarities

Oddcuts and Rarities is the latest release from Salisbury's sons of psychedelia The Neighbourhood Strange, and it's flipping great. With three fabulous 7'' vinyl singles under their belts The Neighbourhood Strange have yet to release an album; having seen them perform live several times, and knowing they definitely have the material, that's a crime if you ask me. The release of Oddcuts and Rarities goes some ways to putting that right, consummate musicians skilled at their craft, what you have here are eight tracks of top quality modernist psychedelia with a garage aesthetic, all performed with the Strange's trade mark energy and panache. I can't recommend this album or the band highly enough. If this is what they describe as 'a collection of out takes and demos' just imagine how good a The Neighbourhood Strange Album would be. Vinyl release of course, no pressure.

Bure Brook

The headwater of Bure Brook, which enters Christchurch Harbour near Mudeford Quay, runs through one of the remaining pockets of Chewton Common, a narrow though still substantial band of wet and wild woodland running through Walkford. The fact that it's predominantly wet (with few paths), means that we don't often walk here, though the recent dry weather has now made it more accessible. Amongst this ostensibly wild wood there are signs of human activity, we walked along the raised bank of a long neglected old enclosure (shown on a 1888 map) to where it's cut by the Bure, still less than a meter wide.  Beyond on a drier slope are the scars of the levelled and filled dirt ramps built by local cyclists, they saw use for well over a decade, though soon they'll completely disappear out of sight and then memory. The archaeologist in me enjoys deciphering the layers which overlay our landscape, watching how features connect, how they weather or how the more ephemeral ones can appear only to completely disappear within a few years. It amazes me how, if left undisturbed in a stablish environment, simple earthen features can endure in a landscape for thousands of years, when soil seems such a fragile medium to endure.

City of tiny oaks

City of tiny oaks, don't you wanna grow.

Bathed in pollen

Thousands of small sun like Dandelions (Taraxacum) bloom in the grassy fringes of field and woodland, and in them hundreds of deftly moving bees stop to bathe in copious pollen.

Bluebells

Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) carpet the open stands and overgrown coppice of Walkford Moor Copse and the wooded environs of the Walkford Brook. Maybe it's the reduction in pollution since the lockdown or maybe it's just a good year, but you can really smell the Bluebell flowers this year, their usually subtle though intoxicating scent is heavy in the air. Breathing in amongst them is a meditation.

Yellow sea

Seas of yellow Rapeseed lap the woodland fringes that contain them, the wheel's turning through it's yellow period as the land reflects the brightness of Bel's ascendancy. 

The Comma

Spring returned this morning and with it the warming sun. Not bothered by my attention, a Comma butterfly (Polygonia c-album) suns itself on a trunk in the sunlit tranquillity of White's plantation. It's said that the ancient Celts saw butterflies as the souls of the dead, with the ability to travel between this and the otherworld. A beautifully romantic image for a people we usually see as quite macho and fighty.

Walking through time

Green Lanes are a loose network of unmetelled grass tracks which criss cross the countryside and have their origins in the routes travelled hundreds, if not thousands of years in the past. The countryside and land usage around them may have changed, though you know their well trodden route's have not altered for centuries, if ever. If you allow your imagination to wander, you can walk through time along them.

Tired Geoff

It's tiring being a Geoff.

Blossom

My favourite of the Common's trees are the apples, there's a about half a dozen of them, all eaters, and all as far as I can see neglected. I love their heady scent when in blossom, their fruit's not to shabby either. Still early in the season the blossoms are yet to achieve their full potential, though had enough scent to them to stir your senses. I think I'm possibly the only one to eat or use the  fruits of these trees, tough skinned though succulent eating, they're a valuable local resource.  On resources, I collected some lovely fresh rhubarb from the lotty this afternoon, I intend to utilise everything mother nature has to offer cultivated and wild. Now's a perfect opportunity to practice your cultivating and foraging skills.

Keep on keeping on

I've often see this old guy (with his little dog) whilst out walking locally, and now with local lock down walks I see him most days. He walks with a stick over the uneven ground of the common like a poorly articulated Thunderbird marionette, he's a really old fellow mind, and walks with an admirable air of stoic determination, proper old school, he always comes across as a nice guy. I stepped well of the track, social distancing an'll, we'll often meet on these Common's paths and pass the time of day, it's a disjointed conversation though, I talk too fast and low, and he's quite deaf.  He apologized for being so slow, and I told him he was cool. Though what I really thought was, 'you're not slow, man, you're a feckin legend', I see him and I'm inspired, I reckon his daily route is at least a mile, mostly off road. I hope I've still got that determination in me to get outside.  

Happy Birthday Geoff

Happy birthday Geoffrey, man.

The May Queen wakes

The May Queen wakes.

White's plantation

We followed the green lane which leads towards Beckley and the edge of the New Forest this morning, past White's and Hobbs plantations. It's been a long while since I walked this way.  The old green lane was always sunken and prone to water logging, over the years it's condition deteriorated to the point where it was often impassible, now where necessary the lane is sited a couple of meters to one side, on higher drier ground and the ditches on the remaining low section kept well maintained. It's lovely walking, proper rural, and in the current climate near devoid of the sounds of man, a different world. I laid down, closed my eyes, breathed deeply and escaped into it...glorious. 

Greening

The canopies of the Oak are developing quickly now.

Meetinghouse Plantation

Being locked down, and unable to get out to our usual far flung roams, we've been reacquainting ourselves with some of our more off the beaten track local haunts. I enjoy wandering where we shouldn't, it keeps your senses focused, you're more observant, you're hearing becomes more acute, it's like you tap back into what it was like to human for most history, and you experience the land that little bit more intensely. We're really very lucky where we live to have easy access to a wide variety of environments.

Hail the glorious leader

It would be fair to say that I have little time for Johnson, nevertheless I want him to recover as much as anyone else, it's a horrible illness, and I'm not a monster...that's his role. What I really don't get is this cult of the glorious leader thing that's emerging around him. All over social media you've got...ooh he saved us, ooh he's a hero, ooh he's sacrificed so much for us, what utter delusionally nonsense. The idea that Johnson is any kind of hero, let alone one who's gone above and beyond to protect the nation is ludicrous, and is certainly not born out by any of the evidence. Remember, this is the same Prime Minister who watched the Covid-19 pandemic developing around the world and did nothing, failed to prepare, failed to procure the necessary equipment and medicines, just failed to act. Johnson watched with complacency, puffed up with the hubris of his recent victories, as Italy fell hard to the disease, though still allowed people to return without from there and other infected communities without any screening or any monitoring. This is the man who insists his government follows the medical and scientific evidence and advice, though whose best strategy for facing the epidemic was to ''take it on the chin'', ''let it run through the country'' in order to develop herd immunity (herd immunity being a consequence of an epidemic to be mitigated, it's an outcome rather than a strategy), until the modelled predictions of that course of inaction suggested a worse case scenario of 250,000 to 500,000 dead. The same Prime Minister who chortled enthusiastically about shaking the hands of people suffering from Covid-19 whilst on a hospital visit. And then when he finally realised the gravity of the looming national disaster, far too late, he acted indecisively, bluster-mumbling lacklustre confused messages and half measures which lacked authority or cogency. Right up to him falling to the illness, he still had no screening at entry points into the country, still slow to roll out testing, still failing to procure and supply the front line with the necessary equipment and medicines. Johnson and the government left every one of us vulnerable, they left NHS staff and all key workers particularly vulnerable, woefully ill equipped, desperately overstretched and under staffed. Look, I understand why the government and their media allies are keen to promote the 'hero leader' of dedication and sacrifice narrative, it works to their advantage, you can't knock heroes. It distracts people from the truth, and helps mould the narrative that Johnson and his government did their damnedest for the country... always only following the medical and scientific evidence and advice.  What I really don't understand though, is why people would be so eager to believe such utter nonsense entirely at odds with the evidence. Ah, just another day cognitively dissonant Britain.

Urban Islands

Throughout the expanse of one storey dwellings, which sprawl between Christchurch and Highcliffe, known as Bungalow Land, are numerous small natural oases and corridors. Remnants of a previous landscape or landscapes, consumed by modernity's creeping conurbation. Though if you look, these urban island still exhibit clues to their past, acting as windows through time. Take this small island, with it's numerous trees, it could easily just be estate landscaping, though take a closer look, a few of trees are easily in excess of 100 years old, there's a low bank and shallow filled ditch running through the middle of it too. The bank is recorded on an old 1885 map, and was still there on the 1969 map, you can clearly see the bank running across Chewton Common and through open woodland. In 1885, beyond the small main village Highcliffe was predominantly open woodland, pockets of open heath and farmland, with a few scatter of houses, and several big houses with grounds. This remained the story of the area until the post war period, when suburbanization got it's claws in, though it wasn't until the 60's and 70's that the area was finally consumed, the bank would have truncated and isolated in those latter tranche of developments.

Field Maple

I've long thought the Field Maple (Acer campestre) is an overlooked hedgerow legend, it's an unassuming tree that just blends in, and maybe that's why it's not recognised...though in autumn it's yellowy hued leaves stand out spectacularly, particularly out in the forest. The I discovered something that may explain why it's overlooked...it's categorised on OPALS (Ogren Plant Allergy Scale) as a 7, which is quite a high rating, ''high potential to cause allergic reactions''. Who knew? Not me, I was really quite surprised. Lovely looking tree though.

Ramson flowers

The Ransom flowers are beginning to bloom under the Hazels in the garden, they're not at all common in this part of the county, so I've established communities of them where ever we've lived (and around where ever we've lived) over the last 40 years. Only a few weeks ago I remember remarking on here how I'd missed the show of Ramson flowers in Norden Wood last year (which always a Ramson wonderland unsurpassed), and was determined not to miss them this year. The fates have other plans, well, the fates, a heinous disease and the authorities that is. Still, it's lovely to have a good sized spread of them in the garden to enjoy...I'm very lucky. 

Blast from the past

Modern archaeology is just the same as ancient archaeology, just we don't veiw it through rose tinted glasses. As the Time Team presenters Prof. Aston and Baldrick aptly described it in their 2002 book...''Archaeology is Rubbish''. Not all of it, though a huge proportion of it, particularly the mundane domestic variety.  That's the stuff I love, the stuff that illuminates real peoples lives. People ask what's the best thing you've found, expecting tales of shiny trinkets, and are surprised when I say it was a locally produced rip off version of a high status Roman Samian Ware bowl, I found in a rubbish deposit in a terminal end of a ditch...than and every piece of worked flint I've found.  The shiny trinkets, pretty as they are, only shed lives on the 1% of that period, and they've always had it good...some things never change. Today I discovered a item of modern archaeology, a returnable Corona fizzy pop bottle, one of the later for sure, with it's returnable value of 10 pence it has to be near 40 years old. Bearing in mind I'm presuming it's laid exposed on the surface since then, it's remarkably well preserved, of course the label has long disappeared. It speaks of a different age, quite enlightened really from the recycling perspective, where as kids we'd collect these bottles to supplement any money for sweets we'd have, and as we got a bit older money towards cigarettes...which as kids you could buy singularly from the corner shop, even in your school uniform.