Thrift, or Sea Pink, Red Valerian, Bell Heather,Foxglove and Red Campion, all flowering in North Devon the day I walked some of the costal footpath at Mortehoe.
The Valerian was everywhere, tumbling out of walls and gardens and seemed less likely to favour the cliffs, which were a delightful riot of shades of pink against the rocky background of grass, sea and blue sky.
Things are fair bursting out on our patch right now. The pond has active newts and there are damsel flies about, hovering over the water.
What’s especially pleasing is that there are plenty of bees around in the flowers that are out, and the baby blue tits in the nest box have fledged. Still looking a bit dusty as their full colours haven’t quite come through yet, they’ve been joined by baby great tits, all of them tucking into the sunflower seeds in the feeder.
Meanwhile, a young pigeon has been sitting on the fence, looking a bit miserable on its own in the rain, but nearby one of the parents has been keeping an eye on it, sitting a discreet distance away on another fence.
There’s a bit of tabloid headline poetic licence in the title as there was some human intervention here. Mine.
We have a young Norfolk Terrier, a hairy beast, not unlike a teddy bear in appearance and very friendly and cuddly with it. His coat has to be hand stripped, and I’m gradually learning how to do this. My L-plates are still on but I’m slowly getting the hang of it and I regularly “roll” his coat to keep it tidy and in good shape.
Clearing up the tufts and clumps of loose hair I’d removed I wedged them into the bird feeder in the garden. There is a pair Blue Tits in a nesting box and there’s currently a lot of coming and going through the entrance – a bird arrives with moss and loose foliage in its beak, pops inside, disappears for a bit them emerges to search for more nesting material.
It didn’t take long for them to find the recently removed dog hair and flit off back to the nesting box with it. Grabbing my camera I managed to get a couple of shots of the tits at work.
Now that’s what I call recycling – from dog to birds to nest in a matter of minutes!
Ubiquitous: present everywhere or in several places simultaneously
Plastic: any of a number of synthetic polymeric substances that can be given any required shape
(The Concise Oxford Dictionary)
This lone plastic water bottle floating in a sea of green gunge in Brazos Bend State Park in Texas caught my eye. The park is pristine, tidy and well-kept. Staff and volunteers do a great job keeping it clean so visitors can enjoy the wildlife. So this lone bottle jarred.
It definitely should not have been there and I wondered which unthinking clown had thrown it into the lake rather then into one of the bins (there are plenty of them).
It jarred especially because of the context it was in. I was watching a Great Egret at the time. It was still and peering into the water at the edge of the green and gunky lake. Here it is peering – it let me get quite close but not too close. What a beauty.
And here it is in context with the discarded plastic bottle
It just doesn’t go. It shouldn’t be there and it’s a reminder of the vast amounts of discarded plastic we humans are allowing to overtake our planet. Recycling helps of course, but do we need SO MUCH plastic I have to ask.
You’re probably already aware of the plastic problem so I won’t bang on about it. While I was in the US I refused plastic straws given with any drinks ordered in cafes and restaurants. One place didn’t offer them – a small start but it was encouraging to see it nonetheless.
This 650 year old tree is in Attingham Park, Shrewsbury. It was looking pretty good in a gnarled, bumpy and ancient way, standing proud and solid amongst the younger whipper snappers of trees hanging around nearby.
The park has a lot of ancient trees. This one is called the Repton Oak, named after Humphry Repton, a garden designer who worked on the grounds at Attingham in the late 1700s.
The bare branches rising above the broad trunk remind me of long hair wildly standing on end.
The textures of the old lumpy trunk, with the smooth, younger bare branch set against them make a pleasing contrast.
There were more razor shells than I’ve ever seen together in one place on the beach at Rhyl in North Wales. This is a small sample of the banks and piles of them created by the tides.
If they weren’t en masse like these, they were spread out more thinly, with the firm sand showing through. The walk on the beach was at times quite a noisy one, my feet making satisfying sounds as I crunched on them.
There were plenty of other shells mixed in – mostly cockle shells and the odd mussel shell. Just think – living creatures once inhabited every single one of them. There were countless thousands.