Here Comes the Snow

Steady snowfall from early evening meant by 10 pm the scene was quite changed.
How long will it linger tomorrow?

Post Script. Next morning

The daytime scene doesn't hold the same appeal but five inches of snow didn't stop determined shoppers. Seems the white blanket will be hanging around overnight again.

One Brave Soul

As the temperatures have dropped to some of the lowest of the winter, I have observed this one brave daff during the past few days.

Clearly of Newcastle root stock, it has emerged well ahead of all its bed-fellows.

Doesn't it just put a cheer in your heart?

Post Script five days later following a snowfall

The white blanket has taken its toll on this one brave soul, having been found face down in the gutter.

The Rot Has Set In

During walks out with mutt at this time of the year, it's not uncommon to still come across the odd countryside crab apple tree with the last few rotting fruits scattered on the floor beneath its bare branches. Yesterday, however, when out on a new walk, I was stopped short by the pervading fruity smell of apples. Apples, yes, but not the lovley fresh fruit bowl aroma we all enjoy. This was the aroma more often encountered when the left-over core has been sitting around for a little too long. To be truthful, this was the smell of rotting apples.

It was quite easy for me to literally, follow my nose to the edge of a garden, where an enormous heap of the fruits lay wasting away under the branches of a surrogate tree. They ranged from recognisable red, through shades of yellow to rotten russet. For the person who tended this otherwise immaculate plot, they probably didn't realise the impact of the statement they had made by this action.

Looking at the incredible heap of smelly colour made me feel very sad. Sad that such a valuable crop had been rejected, when all about us, there is a move for consciousness regards our resources. I still remember, and not that long ago, when such bumper crops would have been willingly shared around friends, with choice fruits being carefully wrapped and stored for gradual consumption during the coming seasons, thus making welcome savings in the household budget. Perhaps this image should serve as encouragement for all of us to consider our actions regards current fixations for the perfect and expensive alternative.

Holocaust Memorial Day

Just Isn't Cricket

Over the past 25 months, I have been on an alphabet quest with my old mum. I can hear you asking, what? Well, since moving to the region nearly four years ago, she has been keen to get to know the area better and one way was month by month, to find then visit a local place for each letter of the alphabet. It has been an interesting pastime as well as a bit of fun. Trying to find places with interesting names was always the challenge. Sometimes a bit of artisic licence was required to fulfil the quest (such as X and, next month, Z, although we were dandy for Q!) However, we are fortunate, even due to the lack of Y's nationally, to have a rather interesting Y in our region.

The custom has been to find a village sign to stand in front of and take a 'photo for the record'. These have ranged from authoritarian, "name" + please drive carefully / reduce your speed / please observe the speed limit signs, to community notice boards and, as today, beautifully carved village green signs. So, after sitting my old mum on the bench, conveniently positioned in front of our penultimate sign, I decided to take a closer look at the scene of rural idyll portrayed upon it.

"Howzat?"!

It appears the man of the match at silly mid-on has a dolly. The cherry being something to do with the maiden over with the night watchman then getting a googly...


I'm sure the ladybird is having a rather nice winter rest!

Watching You...

Ever had the feeling you are being watched?

Winter Weather and Deer Drama

Approaching our chosen walk location this morning, the blackening sky made a dramatic backdrop to the old pheasant cover strip running down the side of the field, just as the last blast of sun lit up the few remains of maize stalks. No longer much use to conceal the ambling birds, the maize now serves only to provide the odd choice seed and a convenient location for game feeders. Drawn by this dramatic contrast, I stopped the car to catch a few shots, whilst in the back, mutt squeaked in anticipation of a dash through this strip for the forbidden quarry.

As expected, the rain quickly moved across and the sun dramatically disappeared, forcing us to be imprisoned in the car for as long as the deluge gave sentence. After a snug 20 minutes for me and an exceedingly patient wait for mutt, it was clear the rain wasn't going to allow a weather parole. Feeling defeated, I decided to move the car to a stopping place at the other end of the walk offering a footpath with a modicum of cover, so as to at least get the daily exercise under way.

Poor mutt, she was going to have to be patient for some while longer. For as we made our way back down the lane,
I was presented with a dirt flinging deer derby as a herd of fallow deer raced away over the crest of the hill.
With no apparent antlered leader or matriarch, I watched for twenty minutes or so, as this herd of young deer ran aimlessly from one end of the field to the other, twice contemplating the dare of a mass lane crossing. Thinking better of it, the herd, ranging from melanisitc to menil, appeared to gather around the single white deer as if by some form of magnetic attraction.

After catching their breath for one more moment, the secret nudge was given and, with the now familiar sight of flashing rumps, off they shot again - all thirty-eight of them.