Showing posts with label Exmoor ponies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exmoor ponies. Show all posts

15 January 2023

California Dreamin'

Cold Weather Blues




It's a commonplace that January is the Bluest month, and this year perhaps more than usual.  The feasting is over, the King made a speech without a stutter, and the Duke is raking in the profits of his unhappiness.  For us, poor mortals, without the blue in our blood, things don't got no better:

Whoa, times don't get no better
Peoples, I'm gonna have to go
Times don't get no better
Peoples, I'm gonna have to go
Well, you know I'm going back down south
People, where the weather suits my clothes

Muddy Waters
Cold Weather Blues




Yes, it's time to dream, as Dreamin's all we got. O for a beaker full of the warm South, sang Johnny Keats, while the Mamas and the Papas were California Dreamin:

All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown)
And the sky is gray (and the sky is gray)
I've been for a walk (I've been for a walk)
On a winter's day (on a winter's day)
I'd be safe and warm (I'd be safe and warm)
If I was in L.A. (if I was in L.A.)

Here the sun may shine, but it is low in the sky, backlighting locked gates:






It's a cold wind that shakes the reeds:






And whips The Wash to muddy frenzy:






Or blows the bins to the wrong addresses:






Up on Lodge Hill, skittish Ponies are nickering as they shelter among the trees:






If I were a goose I would skein away to where the skies aren't grey - or is that blue sky thinking?







In the meanwhile, I have to wrap up and make the best of my weary shanks:








California dreamin' (California dreamin')
On such a winter's day
Stopped into a church
I passed along the way
Well, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)
And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)







You know the preacher like the cold (preacher like the cold)
He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)






I've been for a walk (I've been for a walk)
On a winter's day (on a winter's day)
If I didn't tell her (if I didn't tell her)
I could leave today (I could leave today)



Outside, the world is shut down:






You can't even buy an ice cream:





Let alone a Sub or a Snack:


 


And the beach is not for the living:





So I head inland for the path to sweetness:







Oh, so cold up north that the birds can't hardly fly
So cold up north that the birds can't hardly fly
I'm going back south
And let this winter pass on by
And let this winter pass on by
And let this winter pass on by
Let this winter pass on by, yeah







Time to tuck up nice and warm:





And await the new dawn:








What have I become
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down


Hurt

Bill Rice, Jerry Foster











With thanks to:

McKinley Morganfield (Muddy Waters)

John Edmund Andrew Phillips / Michelle Gilliam Phillips (The Mamas & The Papas)

Bill Rice & Jerry Foster





18 September 2021

If you can read my mind Why must I speak?

Do I need your permission
To turn the other cheek?



Forgive the pun, but I am a little horse......





My sunflowers are dry, which doesn't suit the admiral, here in Nelson Country.....




There's a tangle of knots on the horizon.  The days are shrinking; unlike my cares.....  I don't have priority on this but my knots are tangling more and more every passing day.  And here comes the darkness, as sure as the rising tide.





Nearer the shore there is a mix of sanderling and little ringed plover - how good they can share their burdens.



Sweet mouthfuls.  Is there anything more lovely?  Nature au naturel?




Not far away the North Sea (the German Sea?) reaches out across the wastes to a curving horizon beyond my grasp.....




It is blessedly quiet - in my opinion - after the drifts of holiday makers in the school recess, though this beach had the space (it was the approach roads that suffered). Today it is sparsely populated......




Maybe because the airways are reopening?




I am tried by paradoxes.  I love the simplicity of solitude.  But I am never alone.  And then I wish I was.  But then again I yearn company.  Except that too much is more than enough.




Give me space....




But don't desert me, Bird Friday with your dinosaur tracks.....




Well, God is in His heaven
And we all want what’s His
But power and greed and corruptible seed 
Seem to be all that there is







I'm listening to Bob Dylan's latest release: Springtime in New York - The Bootleg Series Vol.16 1980-1985.

Not everyone's preference - understood.  Times have moved on and it is my bad that I am rutted in this particular past.  

But then we all have our tender fragrancies,

And I can tell you one thing
Nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell

Bob Dylan

I still have a wonderful vinyl LP by Blind Willie McTell that I bought in Lancaster with my friend Ray Steele in 1969, on which there is the unforgettable song, Dying Crapshooter's Blues:

I want nine men going to the graveyard, bubba
And eight men comin back.....


I walked with Amanda by the high tide flooded road at Brancaster and saw the swallows amassing ready for their flights south.  Each and every one of us: swallow, man, woman, insect, fish....  has to live as best we can.  

Nine men may go to my funeral, and eight men may come back.  But then, in due course, those eight will be seven, and so it goes.....




I want a gang of gamblers gathered 'round my coffin-side
Crooked card printed on my hearse
Don't say the crapshooters'll never grieve over me
My life been a doggone curse


Blind Willie McTell
1898 - 1959





17 April 2021

A Night on Wild Ken Hill

Lessons in rewilding



We have only been in Norfolk for a few weeks, but it's growing on me....  No offence, but it's like ivy is creeping up my legs, and mistletoe may have taken root in my armpits....  Although we are in a substantial village, our new home is only a 45 minute walk to the beach on the eastern shore of The Wash.  And the walk takes us through the forest of Wild Ken Hill, a romantic name if ever there was none....


The Wild Ken Hill estate is, to quote its website (https://wildkenhill.co.uk): 
returning land to nature and farming sustainably in coastal west Norfolk. We use rewilding, regenerative farming, and traditional conservation practices side-by-side in a unique, innovative approach.....

I hope they won't mind me quoting like this from their website, but the statements are clear, and there is no point in me trying to paraphrase them.  They say that: 
At Wild Ken Hill, our motivation is to deliver benefits for those around us. From providing free visits for our local schools to helping the UK Government meet its biodiversity and climate change goals, Wild Ken Hill seeks to show land management can work for everyone.

And they express the following details of their approach:


Regenerative Farming

We’re experts at regenerative farming, growing healthy food while fostering amazing farmland biodiversity and storing carbon in our soils


Rewilding

We’re letting nature take over on 25% of our site, with ponies, cattle, pigs and beavers managing the rich landscape for us


Traditional Conservation

We actively manage freshwater marshes, river valleys and woodlands, spending time and effort to create great habitat for rare species


My daughter and I sign up for a guided tour, specifically entitled Nature by Night.  This is just one of a number of scheduled tours, led by members of the team, now possible since our partial release from lockdown. 

Despite the title, we start in daylight. We are led by Lloyd, Conservation Leader and Ecologist.  Although Lloyd has only been in post since October, his knowledge of the site is impressive, as is his clear grasp of ecology and knowledge of the natural world.  Rather nicely, too, the group is only six, including him, so it is easy to hear explanations and to engage in conversation with him, and with others in the group.

Lloyd has with him a thermal imaging camera, a bat detector, and, though we don't need them yet, a set of torches.

As we start the tour, we are told of the changes the team have been making in agricultural techniques, much of which is explained in their Land Use Model publication which was published last year.  Among the points I learned on the tour were that that are using cover crops, and variable depth seed drilling; they have introduced various grazing animals (Tamworth pigs,  Red Poll cattle and Exmoor ponies) all of which have, like the native deer and other wildlife, free range across the site; there is also an enclosed area where four beavers are working on controlling the natural flow of floodwater; the team have stopped cultivating unproductive areas, and leave extensive margins around the fields that they are still actively cultivating.  They are not using insecticides and are aiming to be free of fertilisers in a year or two.




The statistics are impressive: Wild Ken Hill is a four thousand acre family owned estate and it stretches from the sea through coastal scrub, freshwater marshes, heathland, wood pasture to nature-rich farmland.  So far, 2,500 species have been recorded on the estate.




The first creatures we see are brown Hares, of which there are too many to count, but then overhead a Sparrow-hawk flap, flap, glides into the dusk.  




We see two pigs sauntering along the edge of a field.




The Red Poll cattle are lurking in the gathering gloom. 




The sun begins to slip through the hedge, while a Grey Heron slides across the clouds like some stealth bomber.




In the shallows before the flood defence a myriad of Curlew religiously stand toward the north.  




Around a scarecrow tree I see three Marsh Harriers unsure as to who should have the high perch.




Back toward the forest two young female fallow deer ignore the hares that career pass them.




The moon, a sliver of its sometime self, poses with Venus, and the darkness falls.  




We stumble into a field, discovering what Lloyd deems the highlight of the night, a Woodcock roding, circling above our heads in a display flight that seems to take five or ten minutes - so must be something like a mile in circumference.  It is now too dark to catch a photo, but its quiet, rapid wingbeats brush the air like the insistent beat of a fan.  




Then it is dark.  Our last stop is a powerful moth trap.  On the way, Lloyd picks up a pipistrelle on his monitor, but we don't see its radar.  We hear a Tawny Owl parodying itself, but don't see its shadow.  Woodpigeons clatter off their roosts as we plunder through the brush, but the rest, as they say, is silence.....




The moth trap has a number of hapless Hebrew Characters and other moths, huddled in egg boxes, and Lloyd effortlessly identifies each.  

By now I am flagging.  It is a wonderful world, but my batteries are low and we need to curl up in a nest somewhere.  

It has been a stimulating walk into the night, and I very much look forward to my next encounter with the estate, which is due to be in search of the dawn chorus in a week or so's time.  

We were lucky, I guess, to have good weather and a spectacular sunset, but all in all it's not the weather that makes this a special place.  It is down to the management and the cultivation of a natural environment.  There is a paradox in that, but let's not get too exercised by it. 

It is an exciting enterprise, and I thoroughly applaud it.  Thank you for having me....

Quietly.....