The beach

Back at the coast again this morning. The tide was out exposing a 30m beach and a further 20m's of shin deep shallows, allowing for easy distancing. I've been reluctant to brave the beach fearing herds of walkers (Walking Dead reference intended) and even at 0800 the sands were dotted with day trippers, though still easily manageable. The sea's so good for Geoff, it's good for his skin, he gets to cool down in the sea, he enjoys a swim, and he sees other dogs, he loves it here, that said, he loves it everywhere. We walked from Chewton Bunny towards Barton, past the eroding cliffs which are returning the landlocked inhabitants of a vast 40 million year old lagoon back to the sea. It was lovely, the further along we walked the less folk there were, until it wasn't long before our beach walk was undertaken in solitude. Looking back though, towards the Bunny, I could see a herd had formed at the Highcliffe end of the bay and so decided to take an alternative route home. Too many people don't appear to understand and are dropping their guard. We're still shielding my wife and so the shit's still real for us, whereas the actions of many folk would suggest that everything was all right now, the 'Rona' a thing of the past, that lockdown was a memory and normality had returned. I wish it had, and I wish I had their confidence....but it hasn't and I haven't. 

Ay up chuck

The yellow orange hues of fresh Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus) clumps are noticeable in themselves, shine a light on them and, man, they fluoresce. You could spot this clump from way off amongst the stands of Brinken this morning. It's been an average year for Chicken of the Woods, plenty about, though not noticeably abundant. Something I have observed though is the amount of it that's been foraged. You'll always see the stumps of harvested clumps, although they're far more widespread and often clear cut this season, and from some awkward to get to spots too. To me that could highlight the reach of the media; during the 'panic buying' prelude to the covid lockdown I'd seen a marked increase in the number of articles relating to foraging...and here we are, a visible increase in foraging. It's unwise to underestimate the influence of the media.

Schnauser

Over lockdown, when I've had a couple of quid spare, I've tried to buy something from bandcamp, musicians are having a hard time of it and hey, I love music, two birds and all that. Recently I bought a Schnauser cassette single. I've long liked schnauser, they have a original psychedelic sound, warm, theatrical, very British, it's both thoroughly engaging and absorbing, Alan Strawbridge has a fabulous voice too. If you're interested, there are two related bands The Lucky Bishops and Gothic Chicken, different, though all sharing DNA. Love one, I guarantee you'll love them all. Though I digress. Today my cassette arrived, and to my surprise was accompanied by a signed copy of the bands 2010 album 'The Sound of Meat', far out! I'd seen that you got a free signed copy when you bought a t-shirt, never imagined I'd get one with my paltry purchase. I was made up, man, how cool is that, so generous, made my day. Both cassette and CD are fabulous. Also, the band recently posted that there'll be a new album on the horizon. The cool just keeps piling up.

First harvest

One aspect of our localized lockdown walks is getting insights into the agricultural year of our locale. Since March we've seen fields ploughed and seeded, their crops sprout, sheep grazing amongst the solar panels, black lambs born elsewhere, and now what must be one of the years earliest harvests. Yesterday these fields were expansive seas of shimming shin high vibrant green grass, today nought remains. Harvested for silage, a flurry of huge tractor drawn trailers raced back and forth transporting this important resource used to feed cattle through the winter to the storage silos where it'll be left to ferment until required. 

The wheel keeps turning

Lockdown's really locked down, no more walks abroad beyond my home roam. I'm aware that living on the edge of the conurbation, where farmland and woodland border the forest and with the coast just 10 minutes walk away, that we're luckier than many, blessed to still be able to get into nature on our walks. Today we wandered around the fields and the edge of Walkford Moor Copse, through which the Walkford Brook flows. Walkford Brook meets the sea through Chewton Bunny, historically it was one of the streams which smugglers used to make their way up into the forest's heart with their valuable contraband, today though it's quiet but for the pheasants. I noticed as we walked, that the wheel keeps turning, even if the world of man has temporarily stopped. Some of the eagerer oaks are already pushing out this years growth, with a yellowy green hue creeping across parts of the canopy.

Lockdown

I laid on the ground in the middle of Burley Old this morning, the leaf litter on the floor of wood is dry and crunchy. I settled in and just gazed up at the still bare canopy as its constituent parts gently swayed around each other, it was hypnotic, mesmerising, my mind wandered. I pondered our present trajectory into dark territory, into lockdown and the heart of the storm, although there's a strange unreal-ness to our current reality, this shit's getting real, I thought.