Imbolc

Today is Imbolc the ancient Celtic festival marking the transition from Winter to Spring. The Celts measured their days from sunset to sunset so Imbolc is already with us if we use their way of measuring time.
The beautiful image above is another example of the work of Angela Jayne Barnett.The poem is one I used last year in a post about snowdrops,it's a lovely poem so to save you straining your eyes trying to read the words on the image here it is:)

One month is past, another is begun,
Since merry bells rung out the dying year,
And buds of rarest green began to peer,
As if impatient for a warmer sun;
And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,
The virgin snowdrop like a lambent fire,
Pierces the cold earth with its green-streaked spire
And in dark woods, the wandering little one
May find a primrose.

Hartley Coleridge

The Snowdrop

Yes, punctual to the time, thou 'rt here again,
As still thou art:—though frost or rain may vary,
And icicles blockade the rockbirds' aery,
Or sluggish snow lie heavy on the plain,
Yet thou, sweet child of hoary January,
Art here to harbinger the haggard train
Of vernal flowers, a duteous missionary.
Nor cold can blight, nor fog thy pureness stain.
Beneath the dripping eaves, or on the slope
Of cottage garden, whether mark'd or no,
Thy meek head bends in undistinguish'd row.
Blessings upon thee, gentle bud of hope !
And Nature bless the spot where thou dost grow—
Young life emerging from thy kindred snow!

Hartley Coleridge(1796-1849)

It's true as Coleridge says that there are snowdrops to be found in January but really they are the iconic flower of February. They are the harbingers of Spring and their gentle presence assures us that soon the warmth of the sun will soon strengthen and new life will be blossoming forth wherever we look. The weather in February can be cold, wet and frequently snowy too but it's a short month and soon the full beauty of Spring will be with us.

Autumn

"Come said the wind to the leaves one day,

Come o'er the meadows and we will play.

Put on your dresses of scarlet and gold,

for summer is gone and the days grow cold."

The photograph was taken about this time last year at Canterbury Shaker Village in New Hampshire. It's always a wonderful place to visit but on this beautiful golden autumn day it was perfect.

The Shepherd's Calendar - September

Neath the old oaks mossed and grey
Whose shadows seem as old as they
Where time hath many seasons won
Since aught beneath them saw the sun



Within these bramble solitudes
The ragged noisy boy intrudes
To gather nuts that ripe and brown
As soon as shook will patter down



Thus harvest ends its busy reign
And leaves the fields their peace again



Where autumns shadows idly muse
And tinge the trees with many hues
Amid whose scenes I'm feign to dwell
And sing of what I love so well



But hollow winds and tumbling floods
And humming showers and moaning woods
All startle into sudden strife
And wake a mighty lay to life
Making amid their strains divine
All songs in vain as mean as mine.

A quick post to get September's excerpt from The Shepherd's Calendar in before it's too late. For those of you who are keen naturalists I do realise that the venerable tree at the start of the poem is a beech and not an oak but it's such a wonderful old tree that I decided to use a little poetic licence:)

The Shepherd's Calendar - August

Here are more excerpts from John Clare's poem, it is wonderfully descriptive of the heat and backbreaking toil of the harvest which involved all the village - young and old, male and female.


Harvest approaches with its bustling day
The wheat tans brown and barley bleaches grey
In yellow garb the oat land intervenes
And tawney glooms the valley thronged with beans
Silent the village grows, wood wandering dreams
Seem not so lovely as its quiet seems
Doors are shut up as on a winters day
And not a child about them lies at play
The dust that winnows neath the breezes feet
Is all that stirs about the silent street
Fancy might think that desert spreading fear
Had whisperd terrors into quiets ear
Or plundering armys past the place had come
And drove the lost inhabitants from home
The fields now claim them where a motley crew
Of old and young their daily tasks pursue



When the sun stoops to meet the western sky
And noons hot hours have wanderd weary bye
They seek an awthorn bush or willow tree
Or stouk or shock where coolest shadows be
Where baskets heapd and unbroachd bottles lye
Which dogs in absence watchd with wary eye
To catch their breath awhile and share the boon
Which beavering time alows their toil at noon
All gathering sit on stubbs or sheaves the hour
Where scarlet poppys linger still in flower
Stript in his shirt the hot swain drops adown
And close beside him in her unpind gown

Next to her favoured swain the maiden steals
Blushing at kindness which her love reveals
Who makes a seat for her of things around
And drops beside her on the naked ground
Wearied wi brambles catching at her gown
And pulling nutts from branches pulld adown
By friendly swain the maid Wi heaving breast
Upon her lovers shoulder leans at rest
Then from its cool retreat the beer they bring
And hand the stout hooped bottle round the ring




The ruddy child nursed in the lap of care
In toils rude ways to do its little share
Beside its mother poddles oer the land
Sun burnt and stooping with a weary hand
Picking its tiney glean of corn or wheat
While crackling stubbles wound its legs and feet
Full glad it often is to sit awhile
Upon a smooth green baulk to ease its toil
And feign would spend an idle hour to play
With insects strangers to the moiling day
Creeping about each rush and grassy stem
And often wishes it was one of them
In weariness of heart that it might lye
Hid in the grass from the days burning eye
That raises tender blisters on his skin
Thro holes or openings that have lost a pin
Free from the crackling stubs to toil and glean
And smiles to think how happy it had been
Whilst its expecting mother stops to tye
Her handful up and waiting his supply
Misses the resting younker from her side
And shouts of rods and morts of threats beside
Pointing to the grey willows while she tells
His fears shall fetch one if he still rebells
Picturing harsh truths in its unpracticed eye
How they who idle in the harvest lye
Shall well deserving in the winter pine
Or hunt the hedges with the birds and swine


The paintings are
1.Harvest Time, Lambourne, Berks by Henry H Parker
2.Harvest Rest by George Cole
3.Harvest by Robert Gavin

Seen On A Lammas Walk

Today is August 1st known as Lughnasagh or Lammas. It's also my 38th wedding anniversary as it happens:) The wheel is turning yet again and this is the beginning of the harvest season. It is the midpoint between Beltaine and Samhain and although people think of August as being summer it is actually the first month of autumn. A walk in the country will produce many signs of this as I found when B Baggins and I went out this morning. Above are rose hips beginning to ripen, the hedgerows are going to look wonderful in a few weeks time as the wild fruit harvest is going to be prolific once again - a sign of another hard winter ahead?



The acorns are beginning to form on the oak trees. These too are going to be abundant which is good news for squirrels,mice,voles, deer and several kinds of birds especially jays.Like squirrels the jays collect and store the nuts ready for the winter. Several of these photographs will look better if you click and enlarge them - especially one near the end with a sort of brown blob in the centre!


This barn was built from bricks left over from the building of Totley Tunnel in the 1890s. The tunnel runs under the moors from Totley to Grindleford and at 3.5miles it is the longest under land tunnel in the UK - at least it was until the very recently opened tunnel near London was built. The bricks used to line the Tunnel were nearly all made locally at Totley brickworks and it was built by men using explosives and shovels to tunnel through the earth. However I digress!



Rowan berries - always the first to ripen. There are a lot of them around here as they are one of the few trees that can survive the harsh moorland environment.


Holly berries - still green as yet and regrettably in a privately owned field so unavailable for use at Yule! I must check the place where I usually get my holly.....


This sheep is one of two pet sheep and she always comes to say 'hello' as we pass. She'd like to get closer to B Baggins and he'd like to get closer to her too! Regrettably he's a sheep chaser so I have to be very careful where I let him off the lead round here.



These are alder cones and they will eventually turn a dark brown. The alder tree is native to the British Isles and grows near rivers and lakes and in boggy ground. Its wood doesn't rot in wet conditions and indeed becomes as hard as stone when left immersed in water and because of this it was used in the construction of bridges, particularly the long heavy piles driven into the ground or sometimes under water to support it. This quality for long endurance under water also made it valuable for pumps, troughs and sluices.



The soft colours and lush growth are typical of this time of the year. The woods and hedgerows are quiet during late July and August as this is the period when the exhausted bedraggled adult birds rest after the hard work of raising their young. They are moulting now and will eventually reappear with strong, pristine new feathers which will help to see them through the cold winter months.



These are the seeds of Sweet Cicely which grows wild in a good many places round here. The whole plant smells of aniseed and I love to bruise the leaves as I pass to release the scent. The leaves can be stewed with rhubarb or gooseberries and if you do this you can reduce the amount of sugar that you use. The seeds can be used in cookery too, in fact the entire plant can be used for various purposes. I have it growing in my garden and it's one of my favourite herbs partly because I love the name. Its Latin name is Myrrhis odorata.


A rather beautiful hoverfly on a pale lavender thistle flower.



All the many varieties of grasses are ripening now, this graceful, ethereal plant has the rather unromantic name of hairy brome, not a name guranteed to set the pulses racing!



Bindweed is a name to put fear into the hearts of all gardeners but its flowers are really very beautiful.


This is a real favourite of mine - the delicate purple flowers of Woody Nightshade along with the green berries that by September will be a spectacular transluscent scarlet. With the sun on them the berries positively glow and are one of the real beauties of autumn for me. It's a very poisonous plant though so never be tempted to try one of the berries!


You'll need to enlarge this photo to see someone showing considerable joie de vivre!


Who, me? Rolling about on the grass? Certainly not!


Remember the brick built barn? This is the stone built farmhouse that you can see just behind the barn in the earlier photo. Lower Bents farm dates back to at least the early 1600s and possibly a bit more than that, the earliest reference to it is 1621. These days it has a lovely cottage garden which I always enjoy seeing as I pass. I consider myself very fortunate to have so many beautiful and interesting places within walking distance of my house.

The Shepherd's Calendar - July

How sweet the village evening comes
To weary hinds from toil released
And panting sheep and torturd beast



The shepherd long wi heat opprest
Betakes him to his cottage rest
And his tired dog that plods along
Wi panting breath and lolling tongue
Runs eager as the brook appears
And dashes in head over ears
Startling reed sparrow broods to flye
That in the reed woods slumbered nigh
And water voles in haste to hide
Nibbling the sedges close beside


Lapping while he floats about
To quench his thirst then drabbles out
And shakes his coat and like the swain
Is happy night is come again.

One day I will finish putting in excerpts from all the months of John Clare's poem! The two paintings are 'Cattle Watering' by George Cole at the top and 'A Summer Evening on the Coln' by Walter Wallor Caffyn. The photo illustrating the shepherd's dog is less atmospheric but I couldn't find a painting to illustrate these lines. Hence the final picture is entitled 'Bilbo Baggins in the River Kent'! It was taken last year when we were in the Lake District.

Fair Maids of February

One month is past, another is begun,
Since merry bells rung out the dying year,
And buds of rarest green began to peer,
As if impatient for a warmer sun;
And though the distant hills are bleak and dun,
The virgin snowdrop like a lambent fire,
Pierces the cold earth with its green-streaked spire
And in dark woods, the wandering little one
May find a primrose.

Hartley Coleridge

I took the photograph of the snow drops in my garden this morning and thought that the words of this poem were perfect for it. One of their country names is 'Fair Maids of February' and they are also known as 'Candlemas Bells'. February 2nd is Imbolc/ Candlemas Day and it marks the halfway point between Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. The old saying about this day is:

If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,
winter will have another flight,
If on Candlemas day it be shower and rain,
winter is gone and will not come again.

There has been a little sunshine but mostly we have had cloud and rain so it looks as though the worst is behind us:) Certainly the days will begin to get noticeably longer now as the Great Wheel slowly turns and we move towards the Spring.



The last line of the poem made me wonder whether there were any primroses visible and to my surprise a search produced the double white flowers of Primula 'Marie Crousse' in a sheltered corner. Not the lovely wild primroses that Coleridge was speaking of but a cheering sight nevertheless.



Close by I caught sight of the first deep pink flower of this Lenten Rose - Helleborus orientalis. It's time I cut back last year's leaf stems so that the flowers can be seen properly, I wasn't expecting to see flowers this early after such a long,cold snowy period.



I took my little camera with me when B Baggins and I went to the woods this morning, I wondered whether there were any signs of Spring visible yet. You have to look carefully but they are certainly there, these are the male hazel catkins still tightly closed. You can really see why they get the country name of lamb's tails.



A few tiny buds of pussy willow sparkling with raindrops.




These are the tiny new leaves of the wild honeysuckle, the woods are full of it and in the early summer when it flowers the scent is wonderful.




Amazingly the bluebells are already pushing through the brown carpet of dead leaves, the more you look the more you can see. Ecclehall Woods are anciant woodland and in late April/early May the woodland floor is a carpet of blue.




I caught sight of these new leaves of the hart's tongue fern as we crossed the river on our way out of the woods, it isn't the greatest photo but I was peering over the top of a high muddy bank and trying not to fall head first into the river. If it hadn't been so muddy and slippery I could have got nearer and got a better shot but there you go - sometimes you just have to do the best you can!



And lastly, came cold February, sitting
In an old wagon, for he could not ride;
Drawne of two fishes for the season fitting,
Which through the flood before did softly slyde
And swim away: yet had he by his side
His plough and harnesse fit to till the ground,
And tooles to prune the trees, before the pride
Of hasting Prime did make them burgein round:
So past the twelue Months forth, and their dew places found.
from The Faerie Queene by Edmund Spenser (1552-1559)

Autumn's Riches

Autumn seems to have arrived very early this year,the woods have that lovely early morning earthy smell and the equinoxial gales are certainly with us at the moment. The woodland floor already has a scattering of fallen leaves and there is a slight chill in the air as I take B Baggins for his walk first thing. Most of the photographs in this post were taken in Lancashire towards the end of August as I walked Mr Dog along the Wyre estuary. Above are rowan berries, rich and opulent in the sunlight. Mixed with crab apples they make an attractive but tart jelly which can be served with game or lamb.



I was struck by the sheer abundance of all the berries this year, these blackberries have still to ripen but they look more like bunches of grapes than brambles - it will be a wonderful harvest for all the birds and small creatures who rely on the hedgerow fruits to see them through the winter.



The size and quantity of the sloes was encouraging - you may be seeing some purple berries, I am seeing several bottles of sloe gin! The sloes need a frost on them really before they are used but if my source here at home isn't as generously covered as the ones by the river then I shall be going over in October to pick some of these.



These beautiful, glowing red berries are quite definitely for admiring only - the berries of the woody nightshade are poisonous but nevertheless it's my favourite of all the autumn berries.


These are the pretty flowers and unripe berries of woody nightshade which scrambles about using other hedgerow plants for support.



Elderberries beginning to ripen, these can be turned into elderberry rob which is wonderful for winter coughs and colds. This is on my to do list before I go off to the USA at the end of this month.





Hips and haws both beginning to ripen and just as prolific as all the other autumn fruits. The haws are the berries of the hawthorn and can be used to make wine, rosehips are a rich source of vitamin C and rose hip syrup was doled out regularly in winter when I was a child to help keep colds at bay. During WW2 children were paid to gather the rosehips so that they could be made into a syrup by a company called Delrosa. This was then supplied to the mothers of young children through the local baby clinics.



All these were growing within the space of less than a mile along the river estuary, the path has the salt marsh,mud flats and river on one side and the hedgerows and fields on the other. It's not only rich in wild fruits and flowers but in birds of all kinds especially waders and wildfowl. As the tide is going out or coming in it is an absolute paradise for birdwatchers. I see hundreds and hundreds of birds sometimes, I only wish I had more idea what I was looking at. It's a walk that is always full of interest for Bilbo Baggins as well as me, he meets lots of other dogs and loves racing about and playing on the salt marsh. I like walking on the salt marsh too when it's dry enough, it's covered in all kinds of specialized plants including sea lavender, sea asters and glasswort which was used in glassmaking at one time. It also keeps you fit as there are a lot of little creeks and gullies that have to be jumped over and one or two that are wide enough to encourage one to make a detour. Discretion is definitely the better part of valour at these points as I have no wish to suffer the embarrasment of having to scramble out of a deepish and very muddy crater and totter home looking like a drowned rat! Always assuming that I wasn't a drowned rat of course, the creeks fill up when the tide is in and frequently stay full too!

Lughnasadh

August 1st is the first of the three Celtic Harvest festivals and is known as Lughnasadh or Lammas. The first fruits of the harvest are ripening now and the weather becomes a crucial factor in the farmer's life as on it depends whether the grain crops can be harvested at their peak.
Lughnasadh is named for Lugh and according to Celtic legend, he decreed that a commemorative feast be held each year at the beginning of the harvest season to honor his foster mother, Tailtiu. Tailtiu was the royal Lady of the Fir Bolg. After the defeat of her people by the Tuatha De Dannan, she was obliged by them to clear a vast forest for the purpose of planting grain. She died of exhaustion in the attempt. The legend states that she was buried beneath a great mound named for her, at the spot where the first feast of Lughnasadh was held in Ireland, the hill of Tailte. At this gathering were held games and contests of skill as well as a great feast made up of the first fruits of the summer harvest.


Rowan berries (at the top) are always the first to ripen and this year they are prolific. Bilberries also are ripe now but the photo is from last year as so far it has been too wet to go picking so I don't know what this year's crop is like. Good I hope as bilberry pie is one of my favourites.



This is a very ancient English folksong usually sung to the tune of 'We plough the fields and scatter'. John Barleycorn is the personification of the cereal crop barley which was very important in the days when beer was drunk by everyone including children. Barley was one of the grains commonly used to make bread and its history goes back to the Stone Age.

There was three men came out of the west,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn should die.
They ploughed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Throwed clods upon his head,
And these three man made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn was dead.

Then they let him lie for a very long time
Till the rain from heaven did fall,
Then little Sir John sprung up his head,
And soon amazed them all.
They let him stand till midsummer
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John he growed a long beard
And so became a man.

They hired men with the scythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee,
They rolled him and tied him by the waist,
And served him most barbarously.
They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
Who pricked him to the heart,
And the loader he served him worse than that,
For he bound him to the cart.

They wheeled him round and round the field
Till they came unto a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
of poor John Barleycorn.
They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To cut him skin from bone,
And the miller he served him worse than that,
For he ground him between two stones.

Here's little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl,
And brandy in a glass;
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last.
And the huntsman he can't hunt the fox,
Nor so loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker he can't mend kettles or pots
Without a little of Barleycorn.

Let us hope that the rain disappears and the sun shines and that this year's harvest is a successful one.