Trees be company

The Dorset magician wordsmith William Barnes was right - his poem of the same title is well worth a read before you proceed.

It never ceases to amaze me how such items of ephemera survive in this modern world of instant, throw it away and want it now. I am glad it does survive - these items, mere trifles, were saved from the rubbish bin. I have a vague recollection of playing the card game as a child - the pack is dated 1975 with artwork by Althea Braithwaite. Done at a time when the National Trust actually printed good guides / ephemera (Rena Gardiner) and didn't rip you off for a pot of tea and a slice of cake like they do now. 

The Tree Card Game has the most delightful box - so imaginative, with every bit of available space illustrated with leaves, berries and birds.

The booklets are Nature Conservancy Council (1978) and Forestry Commission (1973) and are full of interesting facts and advice......from a gentler time. A time I think some of us really crave these days?

Friday Face

Green Woman - organ pipe shade detail, Lyme Regis, Dorset

Living the dream

The build up to the big day is like no other - well, maybe Christmas, for I have the same feelings and likings at both times of the year. The Glorious Sixteenth is such a day in the traditional anglers year. Plans laid down, tackle accumulated, cakes made and my dreams will hopefully become reality.

As regular readers will know, my season starts as it always has done. Same place, same friends, same old, same old - I wouldn't have it any other way. My pal Demus said many years ago on opening day "we are living the dream, enjoy it, for it may not last". I know what he meant, we were living the dream and thankfully we still are, but as always on opening day I think of those who are no longer with us and who enjoyed these days so much. Never forgotten.

Whisky toasts are made at midnight, the magnificent rocket is launched to many an ooh and aahh and we laugh like naughty school boys........living the dream.

The tools of our trade are quill floats and all home made affairs. Each one has a story and as each season passes more stories get added. Our bait is simple. Like our floats, our group grows older each year, but our love of these most special times grows ever bigger in our fisherman hearts. 

The Glorious Sixteenth

Fisherman by Maurice Bishop

The path east....

It's been a bit of a slog over the last few weeks. I was carving a really good groove with my walking and then disaster struck as I put my back out - the quack noticed my embarrassment as I was told another "person of your age" did the same picking up a sandwich and I have since heard an acquaintance did it playing chess. Life in the fast lane eh? I didn't have time to fib massively and say something manly like it was changing a tractor engine, building a garden shack or lifting sacks of cement - I meekly mentioned to the quack I was giving very important cuddles to one of my terriers. Oh dear.

No walking, drugged up to the gunwales and no alcohol for over three weeks with a recovery in six weeks meant taking it easy. This is hard when you have found something that makes you feel so alive and is physical requiring footfalls over rough terrain. 

After three weeks I just had to get out, so pain killers taken, walking pole in hand I tentatively set out for a short dawn walk east.

It was one of those mornings that makes you think it really was worth the effort creeping out into the mist and hush......I puffed like a grampus going up the slope, eventually above the mist and into glorious stillness. My favourite sunrise over Eggardon was the perfect tonic coupled with a cacophony of bird song.

The short walk turned into a six mile one just to satisfy my addiction - it worked, although a dull ache proved I had been pushing things. It was worth it. The views up top felt like I was on top of the world and other than a few roe deer there were no other stirrings - even the dawn chorus seemed quieter.

My route left a pioneering trail in the morning dew and on returning home I realised I was not the only one walking that route. The cocktail of fox, deer and badger piss on my trousers was just too much - a small price to pay I guess!       

The mighty radish

I dread to think how many posts I have done over the years about my radish obsession - apologies, here we go again!

Like the turning of the seasons, the comings and goings of birds my radish season is something I eagerly await. Succession sowing means they come thick and fast now. I'll keep going until very late in the summer and, luckily for me, I'm the only one at Straker Towers who likes them! 

No nesting here!

This tree caught me out for a while. Always a landmark on my journey heading towards Cranborne Chase, it never appeared to move in the wind - any wind. Even in the most violent of gales its branches would remain still.

I parked up by it a few years ago for a closer inspection and all was revealed - almost hoodwinked, just like a Tory Party manifesto.

SOLD STC

Worthy of three pictures to show the detail - I was both delighted and saddened to find this after the blustery winds and rain of the last few days. A work of art. Lichen, moss, sheep wool and dog fur. A wren perhaps? Looks cosy in there, wouldn't mind a snooze in there myself.......wonder where all the previous occupants are now? 

Country Fair - June

Country Fair - June 1960