Tuesday, 19 January 2016

Wooding

I've had a good hardworking day today. I drove up to Yealand Storth where I was surprised to see people clearing south-facing scrub woodland and wondered who'd convinced them that it was necessary. And why.
Anyway (<< it doesn't mean anything, but you can say it), their chainsaws were making such a racket that when I walked into "my" woodland (I wish it was), the deer must've been relaxed thinking they were safe from those noisy saw-wielding people down the hill, and I was able to get a long clear view of three dotty-spotty female fallow deer jostling along a limestone ledge like over-anxious schoolgirls in a busy corridor.
Using my own noisy chainsaw, a very well behaved, small, Chinese-Swedish Husqvarna, I felled a few thigh-thickness sycamore hoping they'd still be there in 12mths time, and cut some bigger fallen trunks of ash. Ash is wonder-wood. As usual I cut them longer and therefore heavier than I should've and carried each log, sometimes two at a time, up the awkward slope to the road. The soil in this top left hand corner of Lancashire is generally poor, thin, wet and slippery with limestone pavement bursting out wherever it damn well feels like it, so the carrying wasn't easy.
Just before I left I noticed a bird, tinier than a wren, dodge-scuttling through the saplings by the roadside. It was a goldcrest, its gold not very bright, and the species not unusual, but I think they're rather special.
Tomorrow at home I'll lift each log for the fifth time, cut it to 12" length or less, and split every one down to about 3x2". My biceps are already pumped up like those of a weirdo who goes to a gym - you'll hardly recognise me by the time it's all split and stacked.



Tuesday, 22 December 2015

Winter Solstice Waking

Hey, I've just woken up with a xmas morning sort of feeling, as if I've something to celebrate, which is a bit odd because I'm not a party animal..., Unless I am, and I just hadn't realised, and the winter solstice is a big deal, isn't it, in a mathematical, geographical, world-tipping-over sort of way, because after today it'll all be downhill, like easy going, until midsummer and beyond, won't it. Won't it?

Well, no. For a couple of months at least, it'll be increasingly grim (apart from having a little more daylight), and it would surely make more sense to celebrate having got through a winter, than having reached the start or middle of one. Wouldn't it. My own internal clock(s) tell me that here at Britain's latitudes the seasons aren't of equal length, but if each season is thirteen weeks long, then the middle of February would be a good time to start thinking that we might not starve, nor die of cold, and that we might then still have enough flour in the bin, turnips in the clamp, and dried apples in the loft, to almost ensure our survival into another summer. If the spring isn't too wet.

So saying, it's highly likely that in the bleak midwinter those ancient dudes did have a significant party involving many days of excessive consumption and for that I think we owe them considerable respect for having contrived a lifestyle which allowed them the confidence to use up a lot of their stored food and drink at a time when for weeks and weeks and weeks no more would be coming in.

Around 1st February the Celts had another party, Imbolc, pronounced Ee-molk (you want English pronunciation to make sense?), and that party again implies considerable confidence in their own survival abilities, but it's not related to a generally recognised solar event and doesn't occur at a particularly neat division of the year. And meteorologists say 1st March is the first day of spring, but only on 20 March will we reach the spring equinox, so before we introduce any more confusion, can we please agree to celebrate every single day?

And to be deep, not shallow, to be crisp, not stale, and most of all, to be even.

Sunday, 13 December 2015

After the Flood

The Lune flooded on a Saturday night. These images were collected on a short, quick bike ride on the following very warm Monday afternoon during a remarkable change in our very changeable weather.

Posted by Sum Dood on Sunday, 13 December 2015

Sunday, 15 November 2015

And They Screwed Us

And they screwed our national health service, and they screwed our schools, and they screwed our university students, and they screwed our privacy, and they screwed our rail service, and they screwed the forestry commission, and they screwed local government, and they screwed the national park service, and they screwed the environment agency, and they screwed alternative energy, and they screwed the social services, and they screwed the civil service, and they screwed the fire service, and they screwed the cops, and they screwed the armed services...
And they screwed you.
And they screwed your granny.
And they screwed your children.
All so that they, the utter bastards of the One Percent, can privatise and make money off the mess that's left.
And we let them.

Saturday, 22 August 2015

Moine House

Drive along the top edge of mainland Scotland and at 58.503333, -4.544389 you will see this abandoned house, Moine House.

You can expand the images to 1366 pixels.


























Saturday, 28 February 2015

Bla Bheinn





This is now, but once in the early 1950s when everything was black and white, or even sepia, my parents were holidaying on Skye, "And we weren't even engaged then", says my mother, adding, "Do you still have our painting of Bla Bheinn?" (I think I could find it).

"It was a Saturday", says my dad, "And we were hammering down a long hill to catch the last ferry with seven spokes broken in the back wheel", (of the tandem), "And we missed it", says my mother, "And we had to stop in an unmanned" (you could say that in the '50s) "youth hostel" (at Armadale), "And", says my mum, "We had no food, but we bought some from a mobile shop and the man had no change, but he said, 'It's alright, pay me on Monday morning'", (because back then on a Sunday everything stopped for godness sake), "And we did".