Samhain

As the last harvest's almost gathered in and the light of the day grows ever shorter, the veil thins. It's a time to take stock, to look back, to count our blessings and to remember those who've gone before. It's a time to be grateful, to give thanks. I hope the fates have been gentle to you this difficult year, that your harvests are what you'd desired and your metaphorical barn (and physical one, for that) is full to the rafters. As darkness's reign begins we'll dream our dreams of spring. Samhain blessings y'all. x

Camouflage

I asked around, and they call her camouflage.

Stag Brake

Change is everywhere in the forest at the moment. Of course, the forest's always changing as the wheel turns, although it's really the beginnings of Autumn and Spring when those changes are most manifest. You know, it can be quite the dramatic landscape in it's own laid back way.

Poor paw Geoff

Poor Geoff. A visit to the vets this morning confirmed what I'd thought after yesterdays walk, that a broken claw means Geoff's on short walks on the lead for the next week. I know a dog who wont be happy with that, he's used to 3 to 5 miles a day and a longer walk on a Sunday.  Yesterday, he came bounding through the undergrowth of Red Rise Shade, blood all over his front leg, on inspection, clearly a claw...and not one I could deal with. It didn't appear to bother him muchly, though it was still a fraught walk back as we were still over a mile out. He's still doesn’t appear bothered by it, nor his bandage, which is cool.

Zoom

Zoom, just one bite and then my mind went boom. They reckon animals eat psychedelic fungi and plants on purpose, apparently actively seeking them out. Makes you wonder.

Autumn light

Autumn light.

Still

 

If one word described the forest this morning, it was... still. I've noticed it before, with it's work almost done the autumn forest takes opportunities to pause as if to savour it's myriad accomplishments. It was doing that today. There's a serenity amongst the stands, little stirred and what did did so with muted grace, there was hardly a sound to be heard. There seemed to be an absence of  birds song too and the breeze, as it was, was so slight that even the canopy remained motionless. And to cap it all I wasn't wearing wellies, which meant no rhythmic shlap. The forest was quiet, and Geoff and I moved through the quiet forest in deft silence. It was lovely, quite the meditative roam, and roam we did. Just over 10 miles, from Clay Hill to Mark Ash Wood and back; Geoff's longest walk and every step a joy. 

Parasol

There are quite a few young Parasol mushrooms (Macrolepiota procera) developing amongst the heather on Spy Holms. Though beyond these and Hedgehogs (Hydnum repandum), there's little going on in the forest mushroom wise, edible or otherwise.

Bratley view

 

Autumn in the New Forest; really, what's not to love.

Lineage in the landscape

Landscape tells the story of our collective journey through the ages via a myriad of individual stories played out and memorialised on it's surface. And it's everywhere. This morning birds flocked fresh furrows as a farmer tilled his field to a fine tilth; the crest of the field is crowned by two fine large Bronze Age round barrows, even after 4000 years of weathering remaining striking features in the terrain. As we passed below the field the fresh furrows channelled my view directly towards a barrow, highlighting a direct linage in the landscape. These barrows were put here by successful farming communities; settled farming communities that even by the Bronze Age had worked these fertile soils for 2000 years (older Neolithic long barrows are commonplace in these parts). That's 6000 years of uninterrupted farming so far....and counting. I thought, if you could raise one of these ancient farmers, once you'd stopped them freaking out, they'd understand exactly what was going on, they'd recognise farming as the fundamentals have changed little. Cool, eh. 

Separately, as we returned home listening to the radio, blah blah climate crisis, financial crisis, corona crisis, death doom blah blah and so on, just for a moment I was in the opening sequence of one of those epic apocalyptic disaster movies. Strange days.

Burley Old old timer

Enjoying the autumn sun one of Burley Old's many old timer trees. Gnarly and stripped of bark this wizened veteran oak still retains his place and presence amongst the stands.

Creech Hill

Purbeck again this morning, and what a wonderful day for walking, the light on the landscape was stunning, the vistas had an ultra real quality to them. We parked at Corfe and made our way along the base of Knoll Hill, our now familiar route easing us into the hills, where after a couple of miles or so we rose up Ridge Hill with it's fabulous 360 degree views. I know I'm repeating myself, but Purbeck is something special, a landscape unique. After taking our fill of sites, we walked on following the high ridge past Grange Arch, an 18th century folly, and eventually reaching Creech Hill where we sat looking along the Tyneham Valley with the sea and Portland beyond. Man, what a breathtaking rural scene, a patchwork of fields, hedgerows and copses, nestled in the folds of hills and cliffs, I breathed it all in. Later as we descended Ridgeway Hill we met a chatty elderly local lady on her way up and we got chatting; I try not to miss any opportunity to indulge my passion for local aural histories. The lady told of being born in the Corfe Valley, having lived here all her life and of all the changes she'd seen. Of how the nature of the population had changed, how when her children were young there used to be 40 children on the school bus from Kimmerage to Corfe. Of how the land has altered, how there used to be lots more small fields, more hedgerows and how the valley bottom fringing the Corfe River used to be all flower meadow. I could endlessly listen to people telling the story of a land they're intimately connected to; I love it. My mind wandered as Geoff and I continued on our way, imaging the valley as the lady described; so, a timeless landscape more changed than I'd imagined. 

Fruit of fruits

 

These wild/feral-escapee apples over the common may be small, but they're perfectly formed and full of flavour, in fact they're as tasty as any commercial variety and better than many.  And there's loads of them!

Forest magic

 

There's old magic out here in our enchanted forest, it stalks the open heath and shaded stands, it whispers on the breeze and it flows in abundance through the forest's meandering streams. This morning the Red Rise Brook babbled as I passed by, it sounded like a muffled voice from a small radio just out of clarity's range. As the peat stained water swept over the brooks pebble bed I listened intensely, though could make nothing out. As I stood there transfixed on the bank, in a woodland scene dappled in gorgeous autumn light, it's was easy to see why for thousands of years streams and wooded places have been the focus of so much mystery, folklore and ritual.

A resumption of transmission

Thanks to the kindness of an dear friend with a spare monitor, transmission has been resumed.