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.