A Home for Serf & Slave

Following on from last weeks post, I found myself back on the edge of my local woodland gazing upon another wonderfully simple building. With walls built from straw bales finished with a breathable render. The roof was adorned with timber shingles which moved with the irregular forms made by working with what is naturally near by. The little cabin was unfinished and still very much in a raw state, but it took little imagination to see the qualities it would hold as a finished gem set against the backdrop of the woodland.

I have built from straw bales myself and found them to be easy to work with, it was not long before I had a shelter working on my own with only occasional help from a willing friend or two. Yet again I draw the parallels to the modern world, it has become a strangely accepted norm to become a financial slave to buy a house built by developers and their army of semi skilled tradesmen. From planners, regulatory bodies through to insurers, rules and regularity all take their cut. The building process follows its path of least regulatory resistance with finances being stripped away like a stealth tax. In the end we are left with an expensive house Noddy would be most proud of.

I suspect many who have these homes are not entirely happy with them, a shelter with warmth is a welcome thing, but the costs in the modern world are a terrible price to pay.

Regulatory bodies seem to have the tables rigged in their favour. To deviate from the worn path of building a home becomes difficult. Construction groups have the taxation laws as they would wish and they lobby politicians to keep them in place with discussion of construction sector jobs and profit. A glance sideways would reveal a million empty homes which could be brought back into life by a skilled builder or tradesman, but the cost is rigged to be against the renovator.

For those seeking a life closer to nature they can find the planners and building inspectors are not always so accommodating. Last week I read of the difficulties an eco-village in Wales had with their council controlled building inspector who struggled to understand the concept of reed bed drainage due to limited experience and seemed to be trying to steer the group to a design which was against their concept and principles.

If we accept a degree of modesty it should not be difficult to build a home, a little understanding and empathy would allow us to work these homes into the natural environment. Perhaps then we can truly build in a way which would help both us, our surroundings and the creatures around us. Perhaps then we can take a place within the cycles of life where we are of benefit and where our responsibility is deserved and justified, or perhaps I expect too much of people and financial slavery is all most deserve.

A Simple Symbol

Some structures have a beautiful simplicity to them, an arrangement of poles harvested from the surroundings and fabric stretched across them is almost as simple as it can get. I came across this tipi a while ago while taking my first walk through Hill Holt Wood, I finally managed to get around to sketching it last week. A traditional gypsy traveller who has a camp a mile or two away from my hovel also makes good use of a very similar structure when he has friends staying with him.

The prospect of a safe shelter from the wind and rain together with the provision for a warming fire to sit around seems a primitive way to be, but equally it holds a wonderful allure together with an ancient whispered reminder of the nomadic life. To travel, to walk the paths and read the land. To understand the seasons together with the flow of sunlight, wind and water.

While it is obvious the millions who cram into the isles cannot all live in the humble tipi, perhaps it can be a symbol showing we should live lighter, travel slowly and experience a little more. Perhaps the paths to the homes of our friends have become a little overgrown while the way to the office is paved and clear. Some of the finest evenings I have ever spent have been with good company while sharing a bottle by the fireside.

I think it is time I sought many more of these evenings and took a few more walks to give the fireside tale a depth earned only through long miles.

Signs & Winter Colours

The difficulties of a frozen landscape brought about a frenzy of activity from the woodland birds. With snow and ice adorning the trees and with the ground buried beneath a blanket of snow, food was hard to come by for our little feathered friends. The woodland owners had put out feeders from the branches near to the tables. Songbirds flocked to them, Blue tits, great tits, chaffinch and woodpeckers were but a few to assault the food supply and show their colours to those of us who would take a moment to sit and watch.

I am not really a fan of flooding a garden with seeds and peanuts, instead I prefer to try and ensure there are native plants capable of supplying food or attracting insects to help with the cycles of nature and life. It seems a better solution than buying and importing food to make up for the green deserts of the urban landscape, however in the depths of winter a scattering of seeds and scraps can bring reward to both people and the birds. Some of the creatures living within the woods are brought into plain view, giving an indication of the health of the land. When combining this with the tracks left by the hidden creatures in the blank canvas of a new snow fall, the indications deepen and knowledge becomes full and enriching.

For those who take the time to learn and perceive the ways of the land, a simple walk can become a rich tapestry of messages and signs from the land. To those who focus only on themselves, winter will bring only a sensation of cold and alienation. But with regard to the last sentiment, I too enjoy the warmth of the fire and the shelter of home. I take some pleasure in knowing that my fire is fueled by ash logs from my local woodland and the coin I have handed over to the woodsman is staying with the rural community and lands I hold dear.

Machines

Hidden beneath a green tarpaulin and sitting quietly between two buildings crafted from the woodland,  a small tractor waits silently in Sunday repose. Other trailers are dotted around but sit empty in the quiet grey winter light. These little machines and components seem capable of remarkable feats of hard work when in the hands of the woodland staff. They also are simple enough for a mechanic to repair and service as needed.

Simplicity and a little hard work are values I appreciate but sadly seem to fall by the wayside in the promotion of big business where apparent efficiency is king. Within the evening world of television it often does not take long until you can happen upon a channel sensationalising the work of American logging companies (or their counterparts in other countries), vast machines costing hundreds of thousands tear into the hillside trees on a strict timetable based on matching repayments. Breakdowns cost big money both in specialists mechanical engineers bills and time lost. Once working again the environment becomes battered and scarred under the assault, the operator has lost time to catch up and the over ambitious company owner no doubt looks at their spreadsheets of profit against loss. But there are likely winners to the situation, these as always are the financiers.

For me, I prefer the simple approach. Time for people to work within nature with a little mechanical assistance to make the job easier seems a far superior way for someone to enjoy a working day and learn a little more about the world around them.

Perhaps simple is not only underrated, but is also not understood by those who seek only money, unless of course it relates to a scheme of returns on money loaned.

The Woodcutter's Clearing

Huddled back into the shelter of a timber porch I found a hiding place from the cold breeze. Around me I could hear the hum of a chainsaw some way off, this was the only sound to break the silence and stillness of the view before me. As the sun set mist still hung around the bare branches of skeletal trees cloaking the remains of the day in a grey shroud. Beneath the shroud the woodcutter's clearing stood unused. Neatly stacked logs lay across the ground and the sleek red metal chute of a machine projected from the tarp hiding the more delicate components from the weather.

I enjoyed the serenity immensely, the clatter of day to day life with its crowds and interruptions faded away in the silence for a while. The sounds of a family passing by were no distraction, they too were enjoying the last of the afternoon. In a bustle of excitement the two young children scampered across to a muddy puddle and splashed down sending a cascade of brown water across the surrounding soil. Their parents laughed off the inconvenience of cleaning the mud spatters, it would appear they had long since realised the appeal of the humble puddle to a child. I focused back onto my sketch and by the time I had composed my next few lines and returned my gaze to the woodland beyond by focus and peripheral vision, the puddle stood still and the immediate quiet around me gave the impression the passing family had never been there.

With the twilight upon me and the mist descending into a winters gloom I stood up stretched and walked away along the woodland tracks for a while. Before me lay more scenes for sketching but these would have to wait for another time. I bid farewell to my surroundings and took refuge beneath my hood as I too left, leaving only a memory in ink.

The Crafts & Understanding of the Woodlands

It is fair to say this years festivities did not go to plan. I was only able to spend a brief time with the winter solstice sunrise before being called off to work, also a number of other factors seemed to conspire to ensure I was kept busy over the Christmas and New Year break. These are not really festivals for me but the chance to relax for a while is appreciated, however this was sadly nothing but a distant dream (I will save these experiences for another post).

I did manage to make a woodland trip on New Years Day to blow away the cobwebs and refresh the spirit. A small woodland near me is run as a social enterprise. As well as providing training for children who have had difficulties fitting into the mainstream education system, they also work on their own craft and architecture projects using the natural resources of the wood. The woodland is also open to the public and is also populated by the rangers during daylight hours ensuring it is a welcoming place for families and children. The gates are closed at night to prevent the social problems I occasionally encounter when walking other public woodlands (I should point out that the closed gate at night is something I respect even though it excludes harmless nocturnal ramblers such as myself).

Even a short wander can take you through organic gardens, over bridges and through paths winding among the trunks of native trees and undergrowth. Dotted along the way are small shelters to provide a break from the winter weather and encourage a relaxed stopping point for a moment to enjoy the sounds of wind and rain within the branches.

From my perspective it offers a possible glimpse of the integration of people, ecology and landscape. A better way to be and an encouragement of empathy. I took the time to put together a few sketches and enjoy a coffee within a cafe they run there to promote the place and pay a few costs. We are starting to use the services and products of this place ourselves. It seems sensible to encourage such ventures as well as enjoy the craft and skill a local woodsman can bring to those of us who live nearby.

www.hillholtwood.com

Realms of Craftsmen & Thieves

An old english town can hold many treasures for the senses hidden among the footpaths and back lanes around the old market. I regularly stop at this point while wandering the urban environment. Towering above the pavement are the second point gothic arches of the towns church. A palisade of black painted railings march along the boundary and the calls of ravens can be heard from the stone spire thrusting high above.

Centuries of weather have taken their toll upon the stonework and many of the decorative figures standing within the alcoves are worn beyond recognition. However the efforts of the old craftsmen who built this place have become somewhat tarnished from my perspective. The lead hopper above the rain pipe bears a distortion where perhaps it failed to fully hold the weight of someone climbing onto the lower roof. The railings are often a lure of false security for cyclists to the town. Bikes are often chained to them, however some are stolen. The local thieves have realised this place is a blind spot to the towns cctv and a swift lop from bolt cutters can soon release cycles from their moorings and they are spirited away down the old lanes to be cashed in for scrap or sold on as second hand.

As time has passed it seems this place has gone from the realm of the craftsman to the realm of the thief. It seems wherever there is a chance of finery, corruption is never far away.

(I thought I would show one of my ink paintings rather than my usual sketch style for this post - I hope it goes some way to capture the scene)

Turbulent Pools

Standing in a doorway I looked out into the night sky. The stars and moon were obscured by heavy cloud and a torrent rain drops shone for the shortest moment as they hurtled past a street light and smashed into the growing pool of water on the car park floor. The autumn rain strayed slightly on a gust of wind and my hands and face became dappled with its cool touch as I stood motionless in the door. While the tactile experience was pleasant for the briefest moment, the coldness it carried served as a reminder of the falling temperatures and vulnerable nature of the human form against the elements and the turning of the seasons.

My eyes were drawn to the shifting patterns of light and water at the base of the street light. In my travels that evening I had seen the same forms in many locations. Pedestrians scurried around the pools before passing vehicles sent the water erupting into the air and crashing onto the pavements. Within the woodlands and wilder areas the rain would be battering onto the fallen leaves and low grasses before seeping into the ground to sustain the flora & fauna, but in the urban realm it builds, waiting for overloaded drains and sewers to carry it to the low lands to pass on the flooding problem or filtering to a soft verge where the ground quickly becomes waterlogged and the vegetation sits stranded keeping its leaves and blades held aloft as its roots become drenched.

The turbulent pools serve me a reminder of the overcrowding we are subject to in these lands. Swathes of nature are replaced by tarmac and roof. The run off swamps the soft grounds (or a part Sustainable Urban Drainage System as developers like to call them) and fill the rivers. The power and wealth of these lands is its rainfall, but the only way to manage and harness it is to understand nature, landscape, geology and ecology. Still, we grow and we build in the hope of economic revival. It seems overcrowding is like an elephant in the room, an unwanted and unpopular word while politically minded people talk about growing the economy, building more roads and houses.

I wonder how long before we are drowning in our own wealth.

Past Grace

A creeping sense of inevitability found its way into my mind as I walked my way down a country lane within the early darkening hours. Ahead of me I could see approaching headlights flickering a white light through the roadside hedgerows. I had with me a small lantern and I brought it to life in the hope of the cars occupants recognising another traveller in the quiet lands. The car sped around the corner in front of me and did me little more courtesy than remain on their side of the road. The driver made no attempt to slow down or take their headlights from the full beam. Blinded by the light I was forced to stop before I stumbled on the verge or tripped within one of the potholes festooning the poorly maintained roads.

As the car raced by me I was left muttering a few curses. It would appear I will be needing to remember to bring with me a lantern I refer to as a light cannon. The beam is extremely powerful and is often used to serve a reminder to the cocooned motorist to at least dip their lights for those of us who are more vulnerable on the roads.

Once I had regained something of my night vision I carried on with the little lantern spilling a gentle pool of light around my feet. I brought to my thoughts a sight I enjoyed a few weeks ago to add a little reason and peace of mind. For a time I stood within the early autumn sunshine and cast my eyes on an old MG sports car. The car seemed to resonate with both the care of the craftsman who made it and the care of the owner who clearly spent time and effort looking after the machine. Even to a layman such as I, it was obvious the MG allowed a sense of connection on a number of levels. It did not cocoon the driver from the elements or the road. It also held a beauty beyond many of its modern counterparts. It would struggle to match even a modest modern car with its performance and statistics. I imagined it would not be the best vehicle to sit in the traffic or travel at night in, but for those times when its owner took it for a spin on a warm afternoon it would probably be a true pleasure.

It seems to fill in many of the blanks many modern designers miss as they strive to hit enforced targets and economies. Sitting humans within a safe little bubble is understandable, but to encourage a connection, an empathy and a sense of joy is something of a far greater achievement. Perhaps if people could begin to feel that connection again, the value of things can be measured in more than facts and figures, but with emotions.

Wonders of the Elemental World

With senses awakened to the night, the power and subtlety of the elements can reveal themselves to the perceptions. I have always enjoyed the old chinese tales and methods of understanding the elements. Each element having a yin and a yang aspect, there are also 5 elements to their understanding rather than the 4 we are used to in western culture.

Within the moonlight the woods can be a gentle sway of saplings, quiet standing of deadwood through to the towering spreading oak and the ferocious bending of branches of trees within a storm.

With regard to fire, it can be the gentle, contained warmth of the camp fire through to a raging uncontrolled menace lighting the horizon. I could continue all night to relate tales of beauty and extremes but such memories and connections are best left to everyones own experiences where they will shine through the years of conscious thought.

As humans evolve and absorb ourselves in our own cleverness and invention. Living within our cocoons I feel it is so easy to loose our empathy not only with nature but with the interconnected aspects of the elements. When we need light or warmth we reach for a switch to draw on distant electricity sources to illuminate the bulb or warm the heater. All so easy, all so remote. The flick of the switch disconnects us from our true world and ties us to the charges and finances of distant investors and stakeholders.

To reconnect with our more primal aspects and experiences can be like an absurd bolt from the darkness for us civilised westerners used to being so pampered and paying so dearly for the privilege we perceive as a right. To reclaim knowledge and understanding from the realms of earth, fire, water and air, or for others the realms of metal, wood, earth, fire and water is truly empowering and can awaken older knowledges and understandings. When we have such aspects, the world becomes more a remarkable place. Casting pleasure and warnings from the visions before us, always speaking truths beyond language.

A Threat to Badgers

When people find out about my wanderings I am often asked questions or provided with advice. I am usually happy to chat with people, it is surprising what can be learned. However as I have mentioned in a few blog posts what I learn is not always what people wish to teach me.

On a few occasions I have been told I should be careful of badgers. I have been told they are aggressive and are likely to injure my dogs or possibly even myself. Those who tell me such things have often heard tales from friends of friends and relate them to me with the best of intentions. I have walked at night for over two decades now and I have encountered badgers on a few occasions. As with all wildlife I try to give them space and not disturb them but there has been a couple of occasions where I have literally bumped into them on a narrow track. The dogs are of course fascinated with the sturdy creature standing before them and do wander up to investigate, much to the badgers annoyance. In such circumstances I call the dogs back to me and create an opportunity for the badger to wander off or bypass me (on one occasion the dogs were behind the badger so I stepped from the path to allow the badger to run past me). By giving the badgers what space I can, I have never once had a dog or a badger injured.

A couple of weeks ago I got the news of the governments plans to begin culling badgers to prevent the spread of bovine TB. After doing some reading around I was surprised to find this was being proposed despite evidence showing it is highly unlikely to have any effect. It took only a few moments to check the twitter streams of others who I have found to be people well worth listening too. Ginny @ginbat and Si Jakes @Shyman33 amongst others were equally concerned about the cull, something I regard as a reckless action against uk wildlife and biodiversity.

I find myself wondering at the forces behind this cull and the politicians who support it. I can understand a farmer who has suffered from the loss of cattle because of bovine TB will be trying to do what they can to protect their business. But there are far wider implications, removing an animal from a local ecosystem is foolish, it should also be a priority to work with the natural balance of the lands. While the media pump out tale after tale of financial hardship it seems the lands and nature have become a poor second place to the economy. From my perspective the economy is similar in many ways to nature and indeed is linked to it. It cannot continually grow, it must find a balance. To try and force an economy or growth at the expense of nature and resource is a dangerous path indeed. The badger cull is certainly one of those actions I consider to be of this ilk.

If you have not done so already and are a UK resident, please consider signing the e-petition against the cull

http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/38257

With thanks

Owl

Strolling Part 2

Over the last couple of weekends I have been helping my good lady out by taking her to a few places she wanted to go. I took my sketchbook along to capture a few thoughts and scenes. 

Just about everywhere we went I was greeted by a similar view of curved bodywork, glass and graphics. Parked in on roadsides, fields, villages and suburbs, the car was prolific. From pride and joy to the humble family workhorse, I found them sitting in the foreground or scattered across a distant landscape.

I grabbed a coffee and sat outside a cafe for a while. Before me was a pedestrian crossing, I watched as vehicles stopped to allow people to cross, drivers muttered as they suffered a short wait and seemed displeased when they were not acknowledged by those walking the white lined tarmac.

I turned my gaze to my left and looked upon a simple street scene. Within my mind I removed the lines of cars and the graphics of the shops and businesses. I then drew down what I saw. Beyond the modern mayhem was a simple village home set against a backdrop of trees and a small church. Something quite serene.

Some look at what is in front of them, some look to future possibilities. Perhaps it is worth seeing the quietness beneath and the hard work, craft, experiences and understanding within the distant past still living before our eyes.

A Summer Requiem

The blessings of the early autumn twilight fill my eyes and a gentle cooling breath sighs across my skin. It has been a while since I walked the dark depths of the Nottinghamshire woodlands in the quiet of night. In the latter days of summer many issues have sought to distract me and hold me from my wanders. Moonlight has been replaced by the glow of the computer screen and the electric light as I have made my way through planning documents, policies and statements as I have looked into the ways and reasoning of developers to lay claim to the diminishing green lands of the county. I have seen disregard for issues of wildlife and biodiversity. I have seen the District Council lend their support to ill considered proposals and statements of deception from a planning consultant intent on claiming reward from a game they play with land they do not care about. Standing beneath the clear night sky I listened to the lone hoots of a Tawny Owl calling across the still woodland clearing. I am reminded of why I make the effort to do what I can to try and get people to see sense and see what is of real value within these isles.

I place my mind away from the paperwork and into the snatched moments of my summer wanders. One country lane has provided particular inspiration amongst the warm summer breezes and clouds of insects. One evening brought a charge of hares, racing down the lane in play and rivalry they tore headlong towards me and the pack. For a few seconds we stood in amazement at the folly of their actions, my german shepherds leapt into a counter charge to meet the hares head on. It was almost to late for the hares as they realised their predicament, in an instant they scattered off the lane towards ditch, hedgerow and the uncut fields of wheat. Jaws snapped and claws scrabbled upon the worn tarmac, fortunately the hares made the narrowest of escapes. Another evening brought the whisper of wing beats from the barn owl, soaring from the hedge and passing close to me in the evening light. The owl swept up into the sturdy lower branches of an old roadside tree and settled for a moment. I stood still and looked up into the branches, a white face peered around the branch to return my gaze for a precious few seconds before taking to the air again and skimming across the wheat field to find a more remote vantage point to catch a glimpse of the small mammals hiding within the crops.

This is the sceptered isle and there are wonders to behold, but it saddens me to know that many have ceased to look and denied themselves the understanding of balance and nature. On my return to my hovel it only took a moment to gaze within the realm of modern media to flood the mind with tales of decapitated soap stars, the announcements of economy obsessed ministers willing to sacrifice everything they can to give false promises of kick starting a failing financial system and the constant flag waving and parading of sports people to try and give a feel good factor to a gullible modern world I can only think of as self obsessed and insane.

My stroll into the dark depths of the woodland brought me peace, but also a moment of sadness. A woodland area where I had once had the fortune to follow a Tawny Owl through a dense woodland trail had been cleared. All that remains are the memories and thoughts I have written down in the post Master of the May Wood. However at least the woodland will have chance to re grow and new life will breathe into the cleared area even if it takes many years.

Evading the Lampers

The events of the last couple of weeks had taken their toll upon me. Days of dealing with two faced contractors & their political games followed by nights of reading planning documentation, checking policies, finding unsaid truths and unravelling statements designed to mislead had left me physically tired and mentally stretched. In the early evening I sat on the back step of the hovel and watched the full moon over the fields and crops. Gentle hints of colour seemed to shift in the bright white light and I could find a moment to relax. I stepped inside as I felt a heaviness creep over my limbs and sat within the folds of a comfortable chair. It was not long before sleep took hold and hours slipped by with the tumbling images of dreams providing my mind with a show real of the surreal.

The mind show seemed to halt all of a sudden in the early hours of the morning. My eyes flicked open and my conscious mind seemed to be making sense of something barely perceived during my slumber. I stepped out of the back door to look over the darkened countryside, I was aware of an engine ticking over somewhere close by, after a few more moments a light mounted high on a pick up truck flicked into life and scanned the fields before switching off. I wondered if the lampers were after rabbits until I heard the artificial sound of a rabbit distress call. It would appear that they were after shooting foxes out here in the arable fields. The lamp clicked on again and began another sweep of the field, it crept around closer to the hovel and I stepped onto the back step to ensure I would be visible to them. The light passed over me and promptly switched off. I stepped back inside for a moment to inform my good lady of my observations and also to grab a flash light. By the time I stepped onto the road I could hear their truck reverse and head off in the opposite direction. I padded after them for some ten minutes or so to see if they were up to no good but they had driven off into the night.

Quietly I returned to the spot where I had seen the truck and stood in silence. The breeze rustled the crops and leaves of the hedgerow, a sharp bark of a fox cut the night air. The fox was close, perhaps within 20 yards. As I stood in the darkness I broke into a smile and laughed. This fox certainly deserved its reputation of a creature of cunning and guile after evading the lampers. Suitably impressed and with the lane echoing to the sound of my amusement I returned home feeling lighter in my heart, perhaps my dreams and mood will also be lighter for a while too.

Sorrow, Desire & a Cry of Understanding

When I first began blogging I sent time reading sites to pick up hints. One site mentioned a blogger should not apologise for not posting for a while and simply carry on with new posts. I am going to happily break that rule now and make that apology. I often have difficulty with internet connections here and when I am heavily taxed with work it becomes difficult to get time to combine my thoughts with the ability to get online. However, I always carry on with my observations and store them safely until I get chance to put them here for those who may take the time to read.

For those who visit and persevere with reading The Quiet of Night you have my thanks.

Since my last post I have witnessed many beautiful things and also seen the darker side of life too. I was looking forward to putting down words and a sketch to paint a scene but a simple notice has drawn my attention and my anger.

A village close to me has always been prone to the attention of developers, the prospect of changing land from rural use to the built environment has always drawn them. Yet again they are attempting to change the quiet English lands to a fattened bank balance and the chance to run away with a hefty profit. The usual games are being played where the developer appoints local "business people" to promote their cause or as I would prefer to think of it "30 pieces of silver". I have seen the games played many times before and many times the outcome shows the developer or owner heading for new homes well away from the development and ruined lands to enjoy their ill gotten gains. The investors recruited by their agents will be similarly disassociated, success will be measured by a figure within a bank balance and the prospect of pointing to a name within a brochure as an area of safe investment and standing. The natural history and importance of the rural lands can so often take second place.

Once again I find myself looking into the planning policies and guidance to put together a reasoned argument to stand in the way of such greed. As always I will do my best, there are many creatures and existences unable to stand up and make themselves heard in such an arena so I will do what I can to let them speak through me. I only wish more people would see such things and have such considerations.

No doubt I will take the time to update things here as time passes. I hope you find a quiet peace and stability where you are and are away from such matters.

Fond regards

Owl

Enraptured in the Solstice

The long evenings around the time of the summer solstice have brought with them a curious mix of weather, one evening brings with it the drumming of constant heavy rain and another the lightest of floating clouds high above a setting sun. Dark greens of the landscape grow taller with the changing weather and I find I am often lifting my arms clear of the nettles as I find my way down sodden paths. Rivers are full with water coursing its way to the coast and the low light is reflected from the pools within the ruts of the field.

It only takes a few hours of observation to watch how the birds adapt to the patterns within the season. For a moment I stood on rickety timber bridge watching a male sparrowhawk making his way down the line of a hedge as he set up a raid on the village back gardens near by. Blackbirds calling a warning cry as he took to the air staying low and tight to the ground before hurtling over the timber fence towards his prey. A gentle stroll later and I reached the edge of the grasslands, two barn owls were patrolling the skies keeping watch over the fields and the ditches for voles as the cruised silently on soft wings. They took full advantage of the clear spell of weather to hunt, there is a good chance one of the open barns tucked away in the rural network could hold owlets awaiting a meal.

Within a half a mile I watched the kestrel hovering by the side of the country road. Sandy wings beating a furious pace in the gentle warming sunlight to hold the falcons position motionless as the keenest eyes moved their gaze among the hedgerow and verge. A further half mile along the byway and I pass beneath the tall elder & oak trees, a buzzard takes to the air to move to a quieter perch away from the byway and the risk of being disturbed. Slow wing beats make best use of the last of the heat rising from the land and the gentlest of landings barely moved the lighter branches of the tree hiding the size and power of the bird.

As light passes beyond the horizon I find myself in the early darkness of night and blessed by the cool fresh breath of the night air. On such nights I realise I am witness to wonders beyond "better men", wrapped in realms of power and money they cease to look, listen and are afraid to walk where they may find themselves vulnerable. They miss so much and I find them to be greater fools for it.

On returning back to the hovel I sit and chat with my good lady, she excitedly tells me of watching the kestrels and of seeing their young brood. I delight in the conversation and the shared experience. I hope the second half of the solar year bring more sights, good fortune and understanding. Not just for us, but for all.

Moonlight Chords

The sounds of the summer rural night can be the gentlest of things. One such melody is the rustling of the hedgerow leaves with the undertones of my own footsteps on the byway, as we move forward we often pass by a traditional gypsy caravan tucked into the undergrowth where the byway meets a little used footpath. Earlier in the week I was drifting by as the gypsy lad practiced his guitar work, normally only his dog and the night itself set against the aroma of the caravans woodsmoke would be there to listen to the moonlight chords, but for a few moments we were there too. I had no desire to alert him to our presence or disrupt his playing with an announcement so we slowed for only a few heartbeats to appreciate the harmonies before vanishing to the depth of the darkness.

Unfortunately with the world of people there are contrasts to these sounds. Last evenings wander took me the same way but the air pulsed to an irregular and distant bass line. I followed the sounds and found myself on the outskirts of the local village. A Jubilee event was accompanied by a band who seemed largely ignored by the crowds gathered there. The area was draped in red white and blue bunting as people socialised and drank toasts to their queen. I travelled into the village with my companion and looked upon the curious mix of bare homes and those bearing the colours of the UK or St George flag, a few of the flags also carried the logos of corporate sponsorship. For a while I felt like a stranger in a strange land, I resolved that feeling by traveling back into landscape and away from the noise and clutter. Once I neared my hovel I could stand and watch the last of the greens fade with the setting sun. Beneath the moonlight I was returned to a realm of grey and silver with the sublime gentle rustle of the breeze through the leaves.

Here is a realm I understand, these are the colours of the land I love and it has its own anthem, both subtle and powerful. The celebrations and thoughts of leaders or those in opposition mean little. There is the land and the harmony of empathy & understanding or there is only the intrusion of noise of one form or another.

Strolling

A grey dawn pushed away the darkness and quiet of the night, with the passing hours the sun gained force and transformed the gloomy start to a bright and sunny day. After running errands for the morning I found myself strolling in a nottinghamshire suburban park with my oldest dog. I had an hour or so to pass while I waited for my good lady and had brought along my sketchbook to scribble down aspects that may catch my attention and my thoughts. The sketches from my nocturnal wanders are drawn from impression or memory once I get back to the hovel, my daylight excursion gave me chance to sketch with the subject before me.

The park was pleasant enough with young families taking full advantage of the warm morning to spend some time together. Children on brightly coloured bikes sped by closely followed by adults doing their best to keep pace and a careful eye on the excitable and enthusiastic little souls. The cacophony seemed to exist on another level from my thoughts. My senses took in the quieter corners of the park and I soon found myself finding places to sit and draw as my old dog meandered around. Stone steps stood alone next to an uneven pathway. Their worn and aged look gave the impression they were perhaps steps for past horse riders to mount and dismount with ease. Looking about it was easy to see no horses had been in the area for a great many years, but the steps remained like a curious forgotten token.

I finished my sketch and moved on passed neatly cut grass and planted boarders until I happened upon what appeared to be the remains of a haha. These ditches were often used on county estates to stop the livestock from finding their way onto the lawns and garden areas without the inconvenience of building a wall to spoil the view. Again it was obvious as I sat and sketched that no livestock had been here for considerable time, but as with the steps the haha remained.

With my observations and thoughts awakened to the park I began to find it a strange place. It was clearly enjoyed and appreciated by many, but for me it remained a highly diluted form of nature. The finely cut grass lacked the flora and fauna of the wilder areas I enjoy wandering. The trees were well manicured and placed, but they lacked the blossoms, residents and undergrowth of their rural kin. I was left wondering of the past and of previous civilisations attempts to show their control and dominance over nature by landscape and garden. I walked through the park gate and left the scene feeling fine but a little disjointed. I guess I will always tend towards the rural and the wild. It is there I find connection with the wider world and not the sanitised view preferred by others. I glanced across the road to a coffee shop, sitting patiently outside was a quiet and loyal dog waiting for his master to reappear. I doubt any of mine would be so restrained, they would surely voice their desire to be away and enjoying the migration of a pack. Perhaps this little dog would wish the same and I hope he and his owner would find such desires and instincts fulfilled.

The Qualities of Leadership (part 2)

With the chores of a working day done I took to familiar trails to clear my mind of lingering thoughts and set my thinking patterns to the wider world. Within an hour or so I returned back to the hovel ready to relax and contemplate. The small TV was a convenient way of looking upon the comings and goings of the world, albeit through the eyes and perceptions of the journalists who are granted air time.

It seems nothing changes, more news of debt crisis, politicians arguing, votes, ballots, strikes and protests. All of these was diffused by the usual sports round ups and celebrity gossip. The off button was a relief as was the chance to stand outside and feel the cool night air. One of the main issues I see while observing people is the factors surrounding leadership and the attitudes of those who follow. The movement of people to and from politicians and leaders is like a tide. It comes and goes but never really gets anywhere in the grand scheme of things. I have had the opportunity to vote for many years but I have never once cast it. I would hasten to add that this is not through apathy, I have simply never had the opportunity to vote for someone who I feel represents my views. I look upon the usual candidates and see either creatures from privilege backgrounds or those from the working classes looking to provide more for their own kind. For the voters it simply becomes a choice of who will provide them with the most or for the disillusioned it becomes a case of voting for an alternative to the currently elected as a form of protest. Either way it is of little matter, the tide moves and it will eventually return as we go no where.

Within the natural world leadership is a more interesting and balanced affair. Working within the environment and the balance of nature. Strength has meaning and failure has far greater consequence than a vote of no confidence. The natural world has its leaders, those creatures are also masters at working within and being part of their environment. Those who exceed their resource find nature will redress the balance quickly. Perhaps the difference between humans and the natural world is that humans have learned to cheat the system for a while, but for me it is obvious that nature will surely catch up in the long run. Debts run far deeper than a credit rating or a minus figure in the books and they will be collected. Perhaps I should give an example of my thinking.

I once worked within an office of a local authority, it was there I met a grossly overweight manager in charge of ensuring energy efficiency in buildings. He was a man proud of his position, his large Audi, big home and his many holidays. When one of the other managers challenged him over his personal environmental bad attitude (especially given his role within the authority)  he simply replied "I don't care, I will live how I want to and if the environment is a problem in future it will be my kids who have to sort it out,". In many ways I see this man as a tiny example of those who are sometimes given far greater positions of power. One of sadnesses I find in the self centered nature of such people is the lack of questioning and mindless head nodding of those who help grant them such positions.

From my own perspective the main quality of leadership is to accept responsibility for my own actions and to only put my trust into those who I believe have the same principles as I do. I have little time for those who float on the tides of opinion and short term personal gain. It seems to me that we are not encouraged to question too deeply on many issues, but it is the inquisitive mind backed by the knowledge and understanding of both the human environment and the natural world that allows for a discerning and balanced view.

I can only encourage you to think deeply my friends. It is the only way to see through the masks and deceptions to the core of the matter.

The Rabbits Leap

The last week had proven itself to be a difficult one. It seemed at every turn good sense and good intentions had been thwarted, resulting in me feeling somewhat punch drunk. As twilight began to set in after a long day, I decided to set myself and my wandering dog (from the post Searching in Circles) on the roads, fields, bridleway & footpaths close to the near by village. With the paths and roads riddled with puddles and heavily waterlogged we were soon weaving around and treading carefully to avoid wet feet and missed footings. I was thankful for the careful nature of the drivers who passed us by on the country lanes, most were gracious enough to dip their headlights and avoid ploughing through the standing water. Over the years I have become fairly adept at predicting the inconsiderate who spare no thought (or perhaps a malicious thought) as they leave you dazzled and drenched. As is often the case with people, when they cocoon themselves from nature, reality and the elements , their perspective and connection with the real world becomes skewed.

Once we were onto the quieter dirt track lanes I had to resist the temptation to unleash the dog as I would my others. It would appear this canine giant has a powerful hunting technique and had proven himself more than adept at catching rabbits. Unfortunately his hunting instinct can make him very single minded and difficult to recall once he has caught a scent and the onset of darkness on a damp night is not the time to test my dog handling abilities with a jet black dog capable of running for miles. As we walked I could see his attention snap onto a little figure huddled by the side of the track. The rabbit sensed eyes and perception upon him, powerful legs propelled the little creature towards the warren. I was dragged forward a few feet as my dog tried to follow until I could dig my heels in and halt the charge. I suspect the rabbit was expecting a chase as he accelerated before realising he was on the wrong side of a flooded ditch to reach the warren. In a gentle turn he kept up the furious pace and ran headlong towards the ditch, as the land turned to the black water he jumped and leapt the better part of seven feet to the undergrowth on the opposite bank. The landing was not elegant but the sight of a rabbit reflected in mid air over the flooded ditch was impressive. Later this year athletes will be long jumping for corporate sponsored medals in London, I can safely say I will not be watching. The leap this little creature took and the risks of failing make a mockery of the attention such athletes seek.

With the rabbit safely back to the burrow, we carried on enjoying the sights, sounds and smells of the late evening. There was just enough light left to gaze upon the emerging bluebells in the long grass beneath the trees and the stark contrast of white blossom standing proud against the darkening canopy. What had started off as a wander to take my mind off the failings of a week had become inspiration itself, together with more fond memories and lessons learned.