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Its been a quiet week, not much to write about.  The birds in the garden have young fledglings which need protection from the cats around here; the blackbird anxious tutting as a youngster lands on the ground can often be heard, starlings and sparrows fly food away for their young; and a bold young magpie, no tail as yet comes down to eat the soaked bread I put out two or three times a day.

We had visitors over the weekend, one of my partner's oldest friends, a saki merchant from Haiwai, and still in touch with Gary Snyder, one of my heroes, so that has probably shut me up! My mind roving over the plains of America and his poetry,  but reading Roger Deakin's 'Wildwood', which I am at the moment, would send any mind wandering over the vast marvellous natural world we live in.  He had made a visit to Kazakhstan to the apple forests, where the original wild apple came into being.  Russia is a vast country, with smaller satellites in it, and when reading about it you realise how beautiful it must be in some places.

I had read the book about Chernobyl, an oral history of the disaster; some of it is terrible to think about but what also came out was the beautiful landscape and the self-sufficiency of the people who lived there.  The old who went back to their houses to live out the rest of their lives in the place they loved best.  The wild life that thrived and increased, living in the abandoned houses and villages. Nature always succeeds where man does'nt.

So what of these apple/fruit forests,  and also walnut forests, of course they are disappearing because of human expansion.  In the walnut forests people leave their valley homes taking  all their livestock up to the mountain forest, and camp out in old dacha's maybe, or tents, taking with them their beautiful quilts, cushions and the household utilities to live out in the open for a couple of months. 

Roger Deakin great favourite was green walnuts soaked in honey which he had for breakfast, along with yoghurt, bread, chai and fruit.  It seems people ate well, though we would see their lives as poverty-stricken, but who on earth wants what we have in our western culture, noise, bustle, a great rushing around to 'economically' improve our wealth all the time, so ok we have some advantages in good health care but what have we lost along the way?

The original wild apple was called malus sieversii,and must have travelled by that old trackway called the 'silk road'. We have in England a great diversity of apples, but unfortunately we don't eat them, so they also wither away into extinction, and we dine on tasteless African apples instead, grown for the supermarkets
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http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/8305211.stm

Two photos that caught the eye this week; the chair is an elegant 'nursing' chair I bought to celebrate my son's birth, the hat is Chinese, made out of paper, it provides shade for when we drink morning coffee outside.  The heart a xmas present from my daughter, bought at Tom's gallery in Whitby.

The second photo is part of a screen, a pleasing triptych, of mother hen, proud cock, and a rose, underneath all are scattered little yellow chicks..

chick fleeing father's bad temper

Fairstead Church, Terling

the entrance looking out to more yellow

that crop is as tall as me

Hens doing what they do best in an orchard scratching around

I have written about Fairstead church before, tucked away along a small country lane, this church, like so many is slowly dying over time.  The graveyard was neglected, with patches of cowslips already turning to seed.  We had come for a picnic lunch behind the church, and small bumble bees flew in and out of the masonry of the church, maybe they were masonry bees.
After lunch we took the public footpath at the side of the church, heading down into an oil rape seed field.  This crop is everywhere, the countryside a blanket yellow with trailing woods and lanes breaking up the colour.  It is dry, very dry, we haven't had rain for weeks, the ground in the fields have that parched cracked appearance, the land and crops are desperate for water.  It has brought on the wild flowers, but they are soon over.
We met a man on the path, he will, when the crop is off, look for traces of the Roman villa that must be around here somewhere.  The church has roman tile in its fabric of brick and flint.  It must obviously be an age old settlement here, there is a large farm next to the church, which would probably be the manor for round here, the villa could even be underneath it.

Photos

mock up blacksmith shop

similar

A miscellany of all the other photos I took on the Open Day at Sandford Mill.  Chelmsford is of course the home of the Marconi works, the first discovery of the radio signal, and then all the technology that has led to our televisions, aeroplanes etc today.  The town is very proud of him, but to wander around valves, transistors and crystal sets is not very interesting.  In the large steel barn were two very large waggons, built around the end of the nineteenth century.  There great iron wheels would have played havoc with the ground.  The one thing you notice is how much energy must have been needed to pull the wagon, and how many people, and horses of course, would have been needed to run the farm.
The other thing I noted was the blacksmith mock-up, today the farrier comes to the horse, but I remember riding down to the blacksmith for my pony to be shod, the strange smell as the shoe was burnt on to the foot (it did'nt hurt) and the blacksmith with his apron on, holding the leg of a horse between his legs trying to control a temperamental beast.

This is a rather elegant wagon

Old tv and radiogram

Susan

Susan is not a person but a boat.  I suspect she was built at the beginning of the 20th century, a large,  wide bellied uncompromising boat, ugly even, but built for the Chelmer and Blackwater Navigation river.  A river that I've fallen in love with, mostly for its sleepy, curving round the fields in the  countryside making a slow journey down to the estuary we had visited last week.   This river is an extraordinary peaceful place, dark sluggish waters meandering by, swirling small different currents chasing each other - floating lily pads, ducks and waterbirds.

 

Back end of the boat

front end

But the river's character lies in the fact that it was a navigational water road taking goods to and fro from the coast up to Chelmsford.  A work horse in more senses than one for it serviced the corn mills along its bank. As ponds, leats and bridges were built, each thing became beautiful in its own right as nature softened and claimed the sharp edges of the built environment.  We 'industrialise' our countryside, though it may looks beautiful and wild, every inch is laid down in service for us humans -  forests, woods, fields and rivers.

The boat resides at Sandford Mill, now an offshoot of Chelmsford Museum, 30 acres approximately (now derelict)  belonging to  an industrial time of the early 1950's, it now houses part of the Marconi collection, and that delight of all museums a miscellaneous bundle of Victoriana, bikes, waggons, blacksmith tools and much more kept hidden in a old steel barn.

Susan would have brought  wood up from the coast into the centre of the town to the old warehouses that once stood along its banks.  In a later semi-retired life, the boat would have been filled with rows of chairs, and the upstanding citizens of Chelmsford would be drawn up the river by a barge horse as in the photograph at the top of this blog, perhaps to picnic somewhere, or to meet and have an annual ceremony at one of the bridges.

She was restored a couple of years ago, had her bottom scraped of worms and gribbles.  This fascinated me at the time when I read it, did'nt quite believe it but Deakin in his book Wildwood also talks of this phenomena and to quote him from the chapter on Driftwood...

"much of the sediment in the estuaries of great rivers is actually the remains of wood.  Deconstructed by gribbles and shipworms, it is a major source of food for marine animals and plants.  Tuna and other fish regularly congregate round floating driftwood and logwood at sea...to go on "there are several theories to explain this. There may be the way cattle use rubbing posts, to remove external parasites.  But it is likely that a food web grows up with small fish following the driftwood"

The boat wasn't the centre of the 'Open Day' yesterday, it lay in the water slightly forlorn and neglected before the great rush of the weir as the river tumbled down round the buildings, a small island of green, with a sleeping swan on the nest nestled close to the bank, another swan patrolled the calmer pool.

The female swan curled up asleep on the nest

Bluebells

Blakes Wood; This old wood is like a treasure trove of wild flowers, tumbled trees, the chainsaw has already been at work in another part of the wood, great piles of logs stacked up, the brushwood also piled high. Again we hear a cuckoo, twice in one week, are they making a comeback? There is also the noise, the branches rubbing together as the wind takes hold of them, creaking sometimes like an old sprung mattress. Dogs bark excitedly somewhere else, a labrador trots past his lower half wet where he has been in the stream.

starwort as well

pyramidal bugle amongst the bluebells

clearing

shaded areas giving a deeper blue

yellow rattle

Catching up

Keeping up with the world, all the excitement of yesterday has gone, the horses, carriages and soldiers, it went with a marvellous precision.  To be honest the horses were what I wanted to see the whole paraphenalia of jangling harnesses and tossing heads.  Their gleaming dark coats as they stood patiently (some not so patiently) waiting for the show to begin.  The couple happy, everything relaxed and informal.

I do not like London, in all the time I lived in Bath I never ventured there, except perhaps when there was an exhibition at the British Museum.  The horses funnily enough jogged a memory, I had been to see the carriages and horses with an old friend many years ago.  I never quite fathomed whether the stables were open to the public, or that she knew someone.

Of course we took the grandchildren to 'see' London last year, walking everywhere all day.  The British Museum was so crowded, jostling round the mummies, with a hundred languages drifting in and out of your ear.  Lillie posing by a naked goddess, much to the amusement of the onlookers.  Matilda dancing around, we ended up at Horse Guard Parade, and she posed with the sentry on duty.  But when they changed over, with the gruff voice of the sergeant barking out orders, Lillie fled terrified and threw herself into my arms.  The abiding memory is seeing her on someone's shoulders, making her 'loser' sign to her brothers with a great grin, as she was carried above the crowd.

This week I have been mulling over making a miniature Japanese teahouse, they are fairly empty inside, but to be truthful it is the marvellous rock gardens that have taken my fancy. I shall start with the inner 'sacred' space.

We walked by the river yesterday, cow parsley in all its glory lined the banks, a thick sweet smelling carpet following the curves of the river.  There was even the sound of the cuckoo a couple of days back, and of course the hawthorn is out, a glorious show of white along all the hedgerows.  Pale purple wistaria's tumble off houses, and we still have'nt been out to see the bluebells.  But the tiny meadow cranesbill are to be seen in the fields, and the trailing purple of the pea vetches as well.

St.Peter on the Wall 2

Yesterday we went to St.Peter on the Wall Chapel and as I have already written about it here, there is not much to add, except.............. well for a start we went on Good Friday, that most holy of days if you are a catholic (and I'm not, agnosticism is more my line), but it is the atmospheric austere Celtic chapel which pulls you back into spiritual contemplation. Historically it  probably represents an early tumultuous religious time, the time when the Roman church won the battle over the  British Celtic church and the Pelagius Heresy, a split that had profound implications in the underwriting of religion in this country.  But again this is not why we should feel awe at this modest church, it also lies on the line of the Roman forts that traversed this part of the coast, it is built from Roman materials of the old redundant fort of Othona. Again a milestone in history, when Britain was devastated by the Romans and their legions slaughtered the natives till they gave way to subjection and slavery.  Rome may have encapsulated  a great empire, but like all empires, it sought only gain and economic wealth, and Britain was ripe for the picking.

The three stones that are shown on the altar, come from the North, two of the stones come from the  Lindisfarne and Iona islands, both islands ravaged by the savage raids of the Vikings. To be a monk a this time was to court sainthood by horrendous barbaric death.

There was nothing gentle and calm in these ages, only blood and death and when you look at the high windows  of the church, you must remember that it is a defensive building as well as a place of spiritual contemplation. Also like Britain the building has suffered many changes, for centuries it was used as a barn, and you can still see the outline of the great arched doorways that would have been needed to bring in the wagons and their horses.

But now the land around is peaceful, flat is the word that comes to mind, a place where the sea tips over the edge of the world into a vast space below.  The Dengie marshes that is the watery barrier between land and sea, have the pale colours of grey and brown, this palette enlivened by the sea-green colour of plants.  Water squelches under foot should you walk into it, salty to the tongue, this is a place of mournful birds, I would say the peewit, but don't know its cry! 

To the right, below the great bank that protects the land from the sea, is a little wooden cottage, set high on a grassy knoll, it must belong to the Othona Community that lies behind the wooded copse to the north of the church.

 

Spiritual contemplation is what we go for today, for it welcomes all from any denominations and non-believers too, the myth of Jesus on the cross is there to see, but also this is a place you can ask many questions as to why religion sits  uneasily in so many souls. For me it is nature that holds the sacred key, oblivious to our need to make war and cultivate the soil, it goes on season after season, creating beauty without even questioning the nature of beauty.  The strong force of nature bringing forth new life, the male blackbird in the garden tamed by the need for food for his young to beg; the plants reaching out to the sun;  the pale green of new leaf on old trees; the little lane its hedge bank toppling over with the creamy foam of cow parsley underscored by the white starwort.  Bluebells are showing in the woods, their translucence difficult to define, perhaps it is the play of shadow and sunlight. Spring has no equal for a short while.

Bradwell on Sea village, one mile from the St.Peter's church, and about two miles from the decommissioned nuclear plant!

Part of the estuary, Oyster Spit I think; bungalows and boats are the main things to be found here

The first cowslips I've seen in Essex, and sadly on the water meadows where development will at some time take place

Rape flower, so dazzlingly bright it hurts the eye

Life is seemingly quiet at the moment, must be all that glorious weather we are having. The world seems full of nature, our squirrel comes down and eats all the sunflower seeds from the bread thrown down for the birds, a little robin's nest was spied at the garden nursery centre the other day.  Tucked away behind the ferns on sale, 6 small eggs, apparently the robin does it every spring.

Yesterday we went for a meal at the pub in celebration of getting a new bookcase finally settled at home.  In the field where the gypsy horses are kept is a new young foal, the first of the season.  He was still finding his rather long legs awkward, copying his mother drinking, he had to splay his legs like a giraffe, the mares are still bickering amongst themselves though.

The bookcase was bought from T.K.Max, that shop where everything is supposed to be cheaper.  It is  large and has glass panels, so we decided we could'nt fit it in the car, but the shop did'nt deliver, so what to do...  Well the Yellow Pages turned up someone in Gt.Dunmow who moved stuff and he came yesterday with a big white van and the deed was successfully done.  My books have been in crates for about 6 months so it was good to unpack them.

He kept bantams so we reminscienced about how friendly the little creatures are, how they would sit on the back of your bench and chatter in your ears.  Mine were the same, always joining you for tea and coffee and muttering away to themselves as they busily cleaned their feathers..there is a lot to be said for bantams! Anyway I now have his address should I require bantams in the future..

Easter approaches, and I signed up to Jacquie Lawson, that purveyor of musical cards, so loved by my granddaughters. Lillie, aged 4 is learning to write emails, she is at that moment in time when letters and words are suddenly coming to focus in her mind, and plays endless word games on cbbc. 

And if you haven't seen it the T.Mobile Advert

Back view with his 'aunt' he gets told off at some stage

soft beigy coat and quite a pretty face

As he is a male not sure of his fate, after seeing the dartmoor ponies on Countryfile this weekend that are culled annually.

Blog Awards

For which I am very grateful, but not quite sure what to do with them - be quiet at the back!

My first always pops up on links  to various blogs and is from misswhistle in America, who writes on so many subjects that I am  overawed, but if it comes to nominations then she must be on my list as a nominee....
http://misswhistle.blogspot.com/2009/09/lovely-blog-award-warning-gushing.html.

I love dogs, horses, food and the small miscellany of life that she writes about, and the glimpses that it gives me into American life.  Also I would like to add Morning Minion who has also been a favourite read for a few months now.

My second nomination came from Bovey Belle in Wales, land of my dreams of course, we are very similar in what we write about a keen delight in history and the world around us, and I have visited her fabulous house in the middle of nowhere ;) but is a place of ghost stories and beams...

Anyhow, this is, the photo of which I can't upload...

 The Liebster Award which is designed to be awarded to ‘small’ blogs with less than 300 subscribers to spread the blog love and get them out to a wider audience.

The rules are:

1. Post displaying the award, linking back to the person who awarded you.

2. Choose your own blog picks and let them know they’re awarded.

3. Hope everyone discovers some new favourites.

4. Revel in the blog love! Here are my choices to receive the award. Enjoy!

Well to be honest I enjoy everyone's blog, so I am not choosing, there is a big list down the side of my blog and I am quite happy with that!!

The last of the dyeing

My bluefaced leicester wool for spinning is coming to an end, so the last few hanks to be dyed was  firstly, turmeric, (in wood chips rather than powder form) sappanwood (Japan) which is a very red bark, but gave orange, and redyeing some indigo with the artificial dye.

The turmeric came out a bright yellow, cream of tartar (for softening the wool) and white vinegar for fixing the colour.

Sappanwood, though giving a deep dark red dye in the pot, and turning the muslim cloth into purple; the wool actually came out as orange with the added cream of tartar and vinegar..

But the indigo was the most exciting.... I had dyed some wool last year but without any special chemical which you need to fix it, it had turned blue but the dye came off the wool on your hands.

Tracking down some washing soda, (its all cillit bang out there, the cleaner that must take the skin off your hands looking at the adverts!) which I needed, though you can use some form of wood ash, I also got Spectralite, which does some magic as well in the dyepot - well beyond my means of understanding - and I was ready to experiment.

Indigo is a fascinating natural dye, in this country we used woad, first year plants have the strongest dye colouring but they have to be soaked (in the olden days in urine) to release the colour.

So this is what happened in the dyepot... both agents Spectralite and washing soda was added to the water, and foamed away quite happily, the dark blue wool already wet was added, then the colour started to disappear so that eventually it went back to its original cream. The water had turned a pale green,  when it came to the simmering point I took the saucepan outside and hung the hanks of wool on the washing line.  Slowly from the pale creamy-green they turned blue, due to the oxidisation that was taking place. Magic.

Books on the move

Y

Yesterday whilst walking down to our retail centre over the green, happened to spy a book on a bench. So went over and picked it up. It was a Margaret Atwood book, deliberately left to be picked up it had gone 'wild'. The name of the person was inside alongside the number of the book, with email address....http://www.bookcrossing.com/.

So I logged on added that I picked this book up, I think part of the campaign (there are I believe a million books out there) is to see how far they travel.

Well as there are 600 odd pages to read my temporary loan will be quite long, mulling over where to leave it, maybe York Station or even Whitby one can see dangers for releasing books into the wild, but it is an engaging challenge...

I found a book on a bench outside Tockmarton church a couple of years ago, but left it as the title was not very interesting and it seemed better to leave the book in the village.

The Blind Assassin is pretty good, 200 pages so far!

Blakes Wood

Coppice and wood anemones

violet, wood anemone and celandine making a pretty vaseful

wood spurge

not sure, but pretty tiny flower

incredible blue sky

primroses in a cleared patch

this may look unexciting, but the unopened stalks are bugle.

Colour shocks and spring

Quintessential Essex, water, mill and a beautiful red chestnut tree!
Coggeshall Abbey Mill

The weather is glorious, a time for sowing seeds and gardening, pots to be filled, tomato plants to be brought.  Saw the first swift fly overhead yesterday(think it was a swift it was longtailed) which was a great thrill they are always somewhat later on the Lansdown. Birds bicker and sing their songs loudly in the garden, the doves chasing the thieving magpies.  The cherry blossom is at its most beautiful with large bumble bees bumbling around  and the Bowles Purple wallflower is full of the little pulmonaria bees with their long probiscis's.

So apart from gardening yesterday also dyed wool, which I have been spinning the last few weeks.  I used my acid dyes, with cream of tartar and white vinegar to set the colour, and produced some rather vivid colours, the chartreuse hits you in the eye every time.  Different colours are useful for fair isle work.

The dollhouse is also undergoing renovation after 30 years, yesterday I made a small photo album of its restoration for my youngest granddaughter who is full of chicken-pox at the moment, poor little mite and very miserable. Its a sort of joke in the family that there are three houses being renovated - the dollshouse being the simplest.