Thank you and goodbye

It had probably become apparent that I was no longer writing this blog, but I have now also left Mucknell. I had a wonderful year with the community, but like many good things it had to come to an end. Thank you to all who were also interested.

You might want to follow me at my new blog (at the time of writing no posts yet!) and on Twitter.

Weigh-in

In the red corner ...

... and in the other red corner

Home grown

On the menu today: potatoes, beans, courgettes, rhubarb, tomatoes, lettuce. Yum!

It's proving a challenge to integrate the needs of the kitchen with the availability of the veg, but it is VERY good to eat something we sowed, pricked out, potted on, planted out, weeded and watered.

Conic sections of speech

The commentary I'm using alongside the evening readings from Luke is fond of using the word 'parabolic' in the discussion whenever Jesus breaks into a parable, which got me thinking whimsically again... Jesus often responds elliptically to questions, isn't known to use circular arguments, but it is open to question whether he indulges in hyperbole.

Common Darter

Relaxing by the swales on a hot Sunday morning.

Burpees Delicious

10cm and counting. I forgot to turn the irrigation off on Sunday night, so the butt was dry come Monday and the tomatoes bulging.

Making hay

The lines of cuttings on Sunday morning, just before...

... they baled them.

Beautiful green hay for the horses next door.

Sustainability evening

On Thursday, we have a welcome event for some of the local folk involved in sustainability and conservation. I've been busy putting together some factsheets about the various sustainable aspects of Mucknell (and will have to re-read them to stir my memory before Thursday), and an overview (pdf, 153kb). One day, when I get myself together, the factsheets will all go on www.mucknellabbey.org.uk.

Preparations for Thursday also include a good tidy of the kitchen garden by Anthony, and general cosmetic weeding. We'll serve some of the elderflower champagne I made at the beginning of June, but today we thought we ought to try it out first. Verdict: a bit watery, but has a little bit of something and is refreshing.

Nature writing

From "Beechcomings" by Richard Mabey:

I'm still in a state of puzzled excitement about that odd synchrony between scientific description and picturesque sentiment. I know the cynical Gordon is closer to the truth than the romantic Rosemary [in their reactions to Burnham Beeches, in George Orwell's "Keep the Aspidistra Flying"], but I don't see that their truths are necessarily contradictory. At school, I was educated as a scientist, and enthralled by the mechanics of life. But I became uneasy about science when I started writing, fearful that in some way it might 'contaminate' my imagination. I kept it in quarantine in a kind of mental biohazard enclosure, taking it out only under the strictest security. But I'm wiser now, and increasingly believe that finding a common ground between respectful, objective views of nature and respectful views of our own visionary images is what 'nature writing' ought to be concerned with. So I dig deep into the biochemistry I once knew, and swat up on what is really happening in the rites of the fall, hoping that it may reveal something about the beauty of trees in autumn, or at least their meaning.

Kitchen garden progress

Rogation procession

We had a Rogation procession after the Eucharist today, staying close to the house rather than beating the bounds. It was almost a howling gale, with the thurible swinging every which way and the holy water blown back in our faces.

And here's the service sheet (pdf, 258kb) for any who are interested.

Estate map

Here's a map I just produced for the Guest Wing. The red and green pencil hasn't scanned terribly clearly, but hopefully you can make it out if you click to embiggen. One day perhaps I'll smarten it up.

A time for...

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven" (Eccles 3:1; NRSV):

• a time to go on holiday, and a time to return to the daily rhythm;
• a time for sunshine, and a time for rain, and hopefully a time for more rain;
• a time for sowing (onions and leaks), a time for planting out (beans and squashes) and a time for harvesting (lettuce);
• a time for building nests, and it seems, sadly, a time for throwing the eggs out of each other's nests;
• a time for being attentive to external things, and a time for being attentive to internal things;

and therefore

• a time for writing a blog, and a time for refraining from writing a blog... at least writing daily.

Mayday Mayday

Greetings for May Day, Beltane, the Feast of SS Philip and James (although this year it is transferred), Low Sunday and the 225th anniversary of the opening night of the Marriage of Figaro at the Vienna Burgtheater!!

It is the last day of the Easter Octave, so things will now be reverting to normal, whatever that is. I have been wondering how much our neighbours have got used to our bell, maybe even using it as an aide memoire. If so, they will have been very confused during the last two weeks, what with the different timetables of the Triduum and Easter Sunday and all the day-by-day variations since. I am looking forward to getting back into a rhythm. But first I am having some time away, so there will be a break of about a couple of weeks in the blog. In the meantime, I am hoping that there will be some proper rain, and that I will return to thriving fruit and veg.

Mangled

At 8am an anguished rusty mangle cried in the distance. Intrigued, I went to my window just in time to catch a couple of geese flying past, but not in time to work out which species.

Today's outing was to the Malverns, walking most of the length from Hollybush to Worcestershire Beacon, and down via St Ann's Well to Great Malvern. Worcestershire Beacon is the highest point, but at only 425m is no mountain. On the other hand, what with all the ups and downs, I reckon we probably climbed the equivalent of a mountain. So now I feel like an anguished rusty mangle! The weather was good: excellent for walking, but the visibility not quite good enough to see Mucknell. The bluebells were stunning above Hollybush, and there is also a good display above Wynds Point. And the broom is out, to rival the oil seed rape for sheer yellowosity.

Royalty

Any republican tendencies were largely buttoned up as we sat around the TV to watch the Royal Wedding. The trees in the aisle were six field maples and two hornbeams, and all the flowers were seasonal and English, a good example of sustainability! However, Landcare Research of New Zealand did some research on the carbon footprint of the wedding, as requested by the Daily Telegraph. Answer, a lot, but much much less than the horrifying figure for the World Cup 2010.

In the afternoon I potted out some Royalty dwarf french beans. I thought it ironic that there should be a Royalty dwarf french bean, but Thomas suggested that Napoleon I would have qualified.

Journeys

Another outing, this time to Alison's parish near Bath. The church has a square labyrinth in floor tiles, laid in the southwest corner in 1985, and based on the original in the Abbey of St Bertin, Saint-Omer, France. This image is of the angel rolling away the stone, one of a series of Stations of the Resurrection around the edges of the church.

We sang Vespers of Easter with Alison's congregation, and they made us very welcome with tea and large quantities of cake. The hawthorns along the M5 are laden with flowers on their southwest branches and are bare on the northeast.

Stumps

James is here to stake out the specimen trees and spray round the whips that he and the others planted this spring. (Spraying required by the Forestry Commission grant, and I hope with nothing more sinister than glyphosate.) We found him in the morning filling large tanks with water. All the trees are desperately in need of rain, but it's only viable to water the specimens. Looking into the forest of green tubes, most of this year's and last autumn's whips have put effort into some leaves and blossom, and need rain to be able to sustain it. Some have already died, either from lack of rain or the extreme winter cold, or from being gnawed by voles; Anthony has found quite a few vole nests at the base of the tubes.

In Easter week, the timetable becomes a bit fluid. A group of us went down to Oxford for a tour of the Bodleian library (150 miles of shelf space in its new book repository in Swindon, most of which will be taken up with editions of Barbara Cartland), with Exeter College (founded in the same year as Bannockburn) and other sites thrown in. I took the opportunity to go to the Ghost Forest outside the University Museum, at the other end of the spectrum from our whips. Ours are temperate broadleaf forest, as native as possible to the UK. The Ghost Forest comprises ten primary rainforest tree stumps from Ghana. Ours are thin and incipient. The Ghost Forest stumps are fallen trunkless giants. But they are/were all vulnerable, and they are highlighting sustainability.

The Ghost Forest "is intended to highlight the alarming depletion of the world's natural resources, and in particular the continued rate of deforestation. Today, a tropical forest the size of a football pitch is destroyed every four seconds, impacting on climate, biodiversity and the livelihoods of indigenous people. The trees in Ghost Forest - most of which fell naturally in storms - are intended to represent rainforest trees worldwide; the absence of their trunks is presented as a metaphor for the removal of the world's lungs caused through the loss of our forests."

Hoe down

More tomato seedlings are coming up, and it looks as though Moneymaker will be Reasonable-return-on-our-investment after all. I've pricked most of them out, most of the sweet peppers, and all the brassicas. The beans and squashes are doing brilliantly, and I've potted them on ready for hardening off and planting out when the danger of frost is over and IF AND WHEN WE EVER GET SOME RAIN!!! While the tomatoes are getting a bit bigger, I've planted out the Bughatti and Belize lettuces in the greenhouse bed. We have a marvellous irrigation system that produces slow drips every foot, so one of each lettuce has gone in either side of each drip, and they seem to be thriving. The Asparagus lettuces are waiting a bit longer to go outside.

The Great Weevil Slaughter continues, and I've also taken a hoe to the weeds around the rhubarb and fruit bushes. Anthony and Luke have been discomdockerating and discomthistleating (these may be made-up words) all week, with sterling help from our Holy Week and Easter guests. More obviously creatively, I've been sorting out my photos for potential cards, Sue (the nun formerly known as Gabriel formerly known as Sue) has been at her painting desk, and today a mysterious group of stones appeared in the courtyard. Who moved them?

The problem of weevils

I have the blood of a hundred weevils on my hands; they are chomping the plum and pear tree leaves, and must needs be squashed. The lesser of the two weevils are dark grey, and the others shine an iridescent copper. Yet who would have thought the old pests to have had so much blood in them? Green blood at that, from all the chlorophyll they've ingested. What, will these hands ne'er be clean? Here's the smell of the blood still.

I have also been trying to take some close-up photos of plants and flowers, which is not easy in a changeable wind. I took a blurry photo of a dandelion clock, then when I was setting myself again, along came a gust and away went my subject. But here is one I'm quite pleased with.

Easter eggs

I often now see a lapwing on parade near the lowest swale. A bird that in flight switches black and white, closer to reveals plumage of blues, greens and purples. We suspect that a pair is nesting and may already have young; they get very agitated when approached, but the young are well-camouflaged and well-nigh impossible to see. We are lucky to have a nest, and to see more pairs in the field beyond, as numbers have dwindled drastically in the UK in past years. Lapwings have been given 'Red status' by the RSPB, which is the highest conservation priority given to species needing urgent action.

According to Rebecca Hosking, she of Farm for the Future and based in Modbury, says there is now only one pair nesting in Devon. Farming practices and the Victorians nearly wiped it out, but ironically it has benefits to farming, ridding pastures of pests. And it has seasonal significance, possibly being the origin of the Easter egg hunt and the Easter bunny: "Lapwings classically inhabit the same territories as hares and make a scrape of a nest on the ground; in fact, quite often a lapwing will hijack a hare's form and lay eggs in it. So you can forgive country folk of old for stumbling upon a lapwing nest with hare droppings in it or accidently flushing a hare and finding a lapwing nest and coming to the conclusion that hares laid eggs." And so Hosking tells us we should salute our nesting pair, so I duly got out my binos again and did just that.

And three Easter eggs to wish you a joyful Easter:

• A six-year-old girl writes a letter to God, and the Archbishop of Canterbury answers
• Banksy-style graffiti of Jesus' life from Beulah URC in Rhiwbina, Cardiff
• The story of the 'good thief' in Anime

Waiting

Another calm and hot day, and the calm got calmer and the heat heavier. Temperatures almost reached 25 °C in Pershore yesterday and today. One of the three swallows has found the bat portal, and is defending it against all comers. The other two have been inspecting the recesses of the maintenance yard, and have taken to perching in the rafters of the main entrance where they sit and chitter, or just sit. It is a delight to watch them twisting and turning into the correct angle for approach and docking, or skimming the roofs inches from disaster, but it was almost too hot to stay out for long. Then the wind got up at about 5.30pm, northeasterly at ground level, but the clouds aloft were moving slowly from the west. Turbulence at ground level often means that the wind direction is different, but in this case it seemed to indicate wind shear, a fair amount of energy in the atmosphere, and the possibility of a thunderstorm. And sure enough, the thunder started over Malverns way at 6pm.

We have an early start tomorrow - the Easter Vigil begins at 4.40am. The forecast is for rain overnight - the garden needs it - and fine when we need it.

Good Friday

Roger Wagner, "Menorah", 1993
"When I first saw Didcot power station through the window of a train from Oxford to Paddington, the smoke belching from the central chimney reminded me more of a crematorium than a symbol of God’s presence. And yet having said that, the astonishing sky behind the towers looked like the arch of some great cathedral, while something in the scale of the cooling towers themselves, with the light moving across them and the steam slowly, elegiacally, drifting away, created the impression that they were somehow the backdrop of a great religious drama."     >>> More >>>

Burdensome

The "greenest government ever" (sic) is at it again. It's reviewing the Climate Change Act, National Parks Act, Clean Air Act and the Wildlife and Countryside Act and other regulations designed to protect wildlife, tackle pollution, protect the countryside, and reduce climate change... because they might be "burdensome" to business. And by "review", it means: "the default presumption will be that burdensome (sic) regulations will go. If Ministers want to keep them, they have to make a very good case for them to stay."

Meanwhile, the government has issued a smog alert for Easter weekend. Bah! Who needs the Clean Air Act anyway? And farmers are desperate for rain and face imminent water restrictions due to the hot and dry spell. But so what if climate change means this sort of weather becomes more frequent? And the South Downs National Park was only established on 1 April. But what's the point of a "biodiverse landscape" or an "area of outstanding beauty"? Let's build on them all.

So there's another short petition to sign. Just 2 minutes of your time. Hopefully not too burdensome. Thanks.

Generation game

The sun is shining, and here's a chart of how our solar panels have been doing since November. We can get information on the kWh of electricity generated by the photovoltaics, but we don't have any information on kWh generated by the solar thermal panels. Instead, the number of hours of pump operation acts as a proxy; the pump operates when the temperature of the circulating fluid in the panels is more than 2 °C higher than the temperature of the solar hot water cylinder.

The design documents included some figures for expected electricity generation by month. So far, the PVs have done as well as or better than expected, and we're on course to beat April as well... not particularly surprisingly.

Wise words

The potatoes are in: two brands of meat-and-two-veg potato, and pink fur apple potato for salads. After the fact, I found some advice on planting PFA on a forum: "Just make a hole, bung 'em in." Which is pretty much what I did, except that I made sure that the hole was about 5 inches deep, and the sprouts were heading roughly to the light. The bean and squash seedlings are playing grandmother's footsteps, springing up or growing an inch when your back is turned. But the tomatoes aren't being as successful as we hoped, and we are unlikely to have 1 billion seedlings by the end of April.

I have audited the mature hedge on the south side, finding a dogwood among the usual suspects of hawthorn, rose, blackthorn, bramble, hazel, field maple and elder, and two mystery trees which are still in bud. The hawthorn which came into leaf early is now also the first to blossom. So as the May is out, feel free to cast a clout... unless you subscribe to the theory that 'May' refers to the month.

And a new proverb that I'd like to coin: It only takes one crow to chase off a buzzard.

X

My postal vote has just gone in the, well... post. In the local elections I had only two candidates to choose between: Con and LibDem. In the AV referendum, I had only two choices: No and Yes. So it doesn't matter which voting system will be used to count my votes. Oh well.

In 2009, the BBC politics department did a thought experiment regarding which voting system to use in a referendum on which voting system to use. The options available were: the current First Past the Post system (FPTP), the Alternative Vote (AV), the Single Transferable Vote (STV), and Borda, a points-based system. They supposed that there were 100 voters, who 'happened' to be divided into four opinion groups, with their order of preference for the voting system as follows:

No of voters	1st	2nd	3rd	4th
28	FPTP	Borda	AV	STV
27	AV	STV	Borda	FPTP
24	STV	AV	Borda	FPTP
21	Borda	STV	FPTP	AV

So if FPTP was used to count the result of the referendum, it would win; if AV was used it would win; if STV was used it would win; and if Borda was used it would win. Overall result: an amusing and interesting story. The trouble is, the BBC rigged the opinion groups to get the result they wanted. In reality there could be up to 24 rows in the above table and any combination is possible. For example, still using their four opinion groups, but swapping the 2nd and 4th preferences of the 24 voters who put STV first, would give FPTP the victory.

Paul Vallely cited this in a recent blog post, but of much more interest is the following part of his article: "there is no simple correlation between the number of MPs and the voting power they command in practice... A small party can be as powerful as a much larger one, or utterly powerless, depending on how the coalitions fit together... The Liberal Democrats may have got fewer seats than Labour but they got more power because they joined the government. Lib Dem voters got some power; Labour voters got none."

So AV is probably a red herring. But it's important to me to exercise my hard-won right to vote freely in local, national and European elections, and then to try to influence whoever turns out to be my councillors, MP and MEPs. Yesterday was Palm Sunday, and in the reading of the Passion according to Matthew, we heard Pilate asking the crowd to vote: " 'Whom do you want me to release for you, Jesus^* Barabbas or Jesus who is called the Messiah?' " (Matt 27:17; NRSV).

The blues

When I see a bird, plant or insect, and try to identify it in a book or on the web, I generally assume that if there's a choice, it'll be the most common option. Hence, when I saw a blue butterfly, and found that there is a Common Blue, the commonest blue found in the British Isles, I thought that would probably have been the one. Until I looked at the annual cycle: "In good years, adults may be seen as early as the middle of May on more southerly sites." Probably not in the middle of April in the midlands, then. Of all the blues, the only one that is usually adult in April is the Holly Blue, which is still pretty common, but has a nice name so is more interesting. The blue of its wings reflected the cloudless spring sky. And close-up in the photos, they really are incredibly beautiful, with fine feathery outlines to their wings, and zebra-crossing legs and antenae.

In the early evening, the linnets were going a bit mental in the cut, which is probably acting fairly normally. The grass seemed serene, until I caught some movement out of the corner of my binocular lenses. And focusing, I could catch all sorts of raucous goings on: domestics, stealthy trespassing, neighbours' disputes, sudden eruptions, nipping off for a pint. I looked away for a few minutes, researching the blues, and when I looked back, I thought the three new specimen trees had grown large brown autumnal leaves. The branches were heaving with linnets, and what looked like a reed bunting hanging out with them. And then they were as suddenly off, exeunt right.

Black & white & green

In the early evening, I stood waiting for the lesser whitethroat in the hedge by the orchard. I saw something that might answer, but at a distance, and I can't be sure of its song, either. I had more success walking slowly down to cowslip corner past the pond. I thought I'd seen the last of the wheatears, but I found another (the same?) male on a pile of flagstones. And I lay on my back on the mown path by the cowslips, and listened to a blackcap singing in the hedge, a lovely melodious song, pitched somewhere between blackbird and robin. On the way back to supper, the swallows were dipping the pond again, not drinking but picking off insects near the surface. Perhaps that was what they were doing yesterday too.

Yesterday I walked the northern side edges, and audited the mature hedge: mostly hawthorn and roses, bramble, blackthorn, hazel, willow and pussy willow, punctuated by ash, elder, field maple, and the occasional wild cherry. When I've done the southern side, I'll have a good idea of where best to find raw materials for potions. Today I inspected the new hedging; I haven't looked closely for a few weeks. Along the section near the pond, it is in leaf and swelling up against its clear plastic protective cover, much like the bursting of Dr Bruce Banner into the Incredible Hulk.

Egg shells

I have found another broken egg shell near the pond. This and last week's were palest green, similar in size to a hen's egg, and almost certainly mallard. And they were almost certainly predated; today's had very clear peck marks. The normal mallard clutch is about twelve eggs. I hope the female is still incubating the other ten, and we will see duckings on the pond soon.
 
As I pondered the mallard egg, two of the swallows swept around me, drinking on the wing from the pond. They chose the privacy of the water on the other side of island from where I was standing, so I couldn't see the actual drinking. But I googled for images, and found this impressive photo. There are often three swallows on the kitchen garden wall, which bring to mind the traditional Scottish children's song "Three craws sat upon a wa'". But from what I've learnt over these past months, crows tend to go about singly or in pairs, and I would expect the third craw also wisna' there at a'.

Video diary

It seems like a good idea to take regular photos and videos from the same spot, to see how Mucknell changes over time. So far I've shot two videos, both 360° pans around the north side of the estate, from roughly the same spot on the bank above the garth.

The first I shot on 7 November 2010, shortly after we moved in. It has no commentary and was very hand-held.



The second was on 8 April, i.e. about a week ago, with some basic explanatory commentary and zoomed in slightly. I tried using a tripod this time, but unfortunately it judders very noisily, and I kicked it at one point! So no Oscars for me any time soon, but maybe there's a Razzie for worst home video.



The main changes that I can see are: the main doors had not been hung in November; there are extra green tubes of tree-planting; the autumnal colours have become spring green and blossom; the grass has grown a bit; and oil seed rape has appeared in the garth. So I'm not sure we're going to see any dramatic changes; it'll be a bit like watching trees grow. I might try a couple in the courtyard and the south side, reverting to my steady hand cam.

Music of the stars

Forget dendrochronology, there's a new compound -ology in town: astroseismology.

The new Kepler telescope is designed to measure tiny fluctuations in stars' brightness. Stars are giant balls of gas, which is continually in motion, and the massive movement of gas creates great pressure waves, effectively sound waves of very low frequency. As these sound waves resonate within a star, they slightly change both the brightness and the colour of the star's light. Kepler can detect these changes, and by working backwards, scientists can deduce information about the sound waves and the star.

Like a musical instrument, bigger stars create sound waves at lower pitches. And there are also harmonics in the signal, which indicate the depth of origin of the sound waves, and the amount of hydrogen or helium they passed through. The sounds are thousands of times lower than we can hear. They can of course be speeded up, but it doesn't sound any more like "Twinkle twinkle".

Crawtraes and Palsywort

There are flowering Agraphis nutans, Auld Man's Bell, Calverkeys, Common Bluebell, Crawtraes, Endymion non-scriptum, English Bluebell, Granfer Griggles, Hyacinthoides non-scripta, Jacinth, Ring-O'-Bells, Scilla non-scripta, Wilde Hyacint and Wood Bells down in the south-eastern hedge, next to the Artetyke, Arthritica, Bainne Bó Bleachtáin, Butter Rose, Cowslip, Crewel, Cuhacicegi, Drelip, Fairy caps, Gulden Sleutelbloem, Herba Sancti Petri, Key Flower, Key of Heaven, Mayflower, Our Lady's Keys, Paigle Peggle, Palsywort, Password, Petty Mulleins, Plumrocks, Primavera, Primula officinalis Hill and Primula veris, Seiyo-Sakura-So and Yellow Star Of Bethlehem.

Which is to say that the bluebells are out, in the corner next to the cowslips. I didn't have time to have a good look round for any others, but it's lovely to see them; a beautiful deep violet set in the deep-green shade of the hedge, contrasting with the bright yellows studding the sunlit grass. The non-scripta or non-scriptum part of the bluebell's botanical names means "unlettered" or "unmarked", but seemingly not unnamed, or unremarked by me at least.

Listen now again.

I sat in the courtyard to drink my morning cuppa and watch three swallows chittering and fighting acrobatically. I suspect three constitutes a crowd. Sadly (for them) the sewing room is more weatherproof than this time last year, and no longer available as a nidification* site. Over the past few days, they have been flying round and round the building trying to find it. Now I think they have given up, and just rest on the roof of the utility room nearby. We have plenty of other options for them. I think the car port might be suitable, which will mean finding some strategic plastic sheeting.

After a spell of glorious glorious weather, it clouded over and got windy in the afternoon. But today's frontal rain passed to the north of us. We might get a spot overnight, or on Wednesday or Friday. I thought I'd mention Seamus Heaney's "The Rain Stick" at this point, and just found it published in an American medical journal. More poetry in scientific and medical publications, please. Thank you.

* Nesting; learnt from Gilbert White. Why use a common Anglo-Saxon word when a polysyllabic Latinate alternative suffices?

Enough already!

I finally got round to planting out the gift of welsh onions that have been heeled in for weeks. We've been doing some more sowing: the dwarf french beans went mouldy so another lot of those, some runners, more squash. The poor tomato seedlings are wilting as the greenhouse is so hot, despite the super-duper auto-opening skylights. We could really do with a bit less sun and a bit more rain.

The lapwings were continuing to mark out their territory, but I haven't seen Mr & Mrs Wheatear recently. in the morning, there was a pair of canada geese down by the lower swale. A pair nested on the island in the pond last year, but this year there are ducks instead. The pond itself is crawling with common or smooth newts. Bizarre to realise that what looks like and moves like a small brown fish also has little legs.

Being observant is getting more tiring, partly because there is so much to see. I haven't mentioned the brimstone, peacock, tortoiseshell and multifarious white butterflies; the budding oaks; the blossom on the crab apples, an apple, and the wild cherry in the hedge; the stacked willow cords starting to grow; etc etc. But also, in the Myers-Briggs typology, I very strongly favour intuition over sensing as my way of gathering and interpreting information. I tend to get an impression of a room or a landscape, and don't notice the detail. Being observant is hard work. So sitting at the base of the solitary oak this afternoon, I just relaxed into the warm, sunny day, and let it all wash over me.

The sunset was pale, even though the sky overhead was deep blue; the sun was misted out enough to be seen with the naked eye. Stuart dubbed it an 'apophatic sunset'. Discuss.

Lights, no camera, action, cut

When I walk around the estate, I usually do just that, walk around. Other than cutting the occasional corner, and walking around the swales, I rarely criss-cross. So dock-slicing has led me on a rare excursion into the cut and among the newly-planted trees on the bank. In the bright summery sunshine, the cut responds with a galaxy of dandelions. I disturbed a hare on the western side, and watched it run diagonally across. Earlier, I'd found a mass of forget-me-nots by the pond. The place has changed dramatically in less than a month.

Just before Vespers, there were a couple of lapwings hunting for a nesting site in the cut. Proudly erect, they paraded a few steps, and stopped, and paraded again. They stepped closer on parallel lines, then both turned away through right-angles, proceeded a few steps, turned, tracing a stately dance, much like two of Jane Austen's grand persons wearing the latest fashion in hats to a ball.

God in the dock

There are docks everywhere, but mostly on the disturbed earth. So I spent a cathartic hour with a spade in the morning sunshine, slicing the tops off any dock that crossed my path.

When I was a child, I saw dock as the beneficial plant that grew next to nettles and provided the salve for any stings. Now it's more complicated. I partly see them as an even worse weed than nettles, being even harder for the kichen and landscape gardener to eradicate. They are even designated an "injurious weed" under the UK Weeds Act 1959*. But they also have a beneficial effect on the soil; their roots go deep down, breaking up any compacted soil and bringing minerals up to the surface. I left the leaves where I sliced, so that the minerals go back to the topsoil. In fact, on very compacted sites, permaculture books advise planting dock on purpose. I haven't got to the bit where they explain how then to get rid of it. Rumex obtusifolius indeed. But anyway, God is in the dock, and the nettles, and the cabbages, and the heartsease.

* Along with curled dock, creeping thistle, ragwort and spear thistle; but who knew there was a UK Weeds Act 1959? The things I found out writing this blog!

Sleep

Tonight sees the premiere of Eric Whitacre's Virtual Choir 2.0, singing his composition Sleep. He spoke about the project at TED in March: the "creative challenges of making music powered by YouTube"; and the community that Sleep, and the previous project Lux aurumque, seemed to generate among people from all over the world, despite having never met each other or even been in contact with each other, except that they were all following Eric's conducting video and would one day be joined into a thing of beauty.

Do watch and listen to Sleep. It's a piece of a dreamlike quality, not easy to sing because of the breath control required. I performed it many times with my choir in Exeter, and it always moved the audience.

Sleep

The evening hangs beneath the moon,

A silver thread on darkened dune.

With closing eyes and resting head;

I know that sleep is coming soon.

Upon my pillow, safe in bed,

A thousand pictures fill my head.

I cannot sleep, my mind's aflight;

And yet my limbs seem made of lead.

If there are noises in the night,

A frighting shadow, flickering light

Then I surrender unto sleep,

Where clouds of dreams give second sight.

What dreams may come, both dark and deep,

Of flying wings and soaring leap?

As I surrender unto sleep.

Sleep.

22° halo

I was going to write about Martin Rees winning the Templeton Prize, but he was trumped in interested-ness by an observed optical phenomenon.

Just before midday there was a full 22° halo around the sun. There was a lot of high cloud, which is formed of ice crystals. So the halo forms as the sunlight is refracted in what are in effect hexagonal prisms. The angle of minimum deviation is almost 22°, a bit less for the red end of the spectrum, and a bit more for the blue. I took a photo of part of the halo. It isn't brilliant as I didn't want to point the camera at the sun and risk frying it. But you can just about see that the sky is darker inside the halo, and that the inner edge is reddish and the outer edge is bluish.

Hortus conclusus

The concept for this year's Serpentine Gallery, says the designer Peter Zumthor, "is the hortus conclusus, a contemplative room, a garden within a garden".

The term hortus conclusus literally means "enclosed garden", but is also used as a symbol and title of the Virgin Mary in Mediaeval and Renaissance art. As such, it is associated with the doctrines of the immaculate conception and the perpetual virginity of Mary. Personally, I think the incarnation has greater depth without these doctrinal appendages, but the symbolism has led to some beautiful art, such as this Annunciation by Veneziano.

Here is Mucknell's own hortus conclusus, photo again from the Dedication on the Annunciation. At present it boasts some daffs, a few junipers, some baby hellebores, and some wild foxglove. We'll be putting ferns in too. Anything that we hope will cope with shade and wind.

Photo credit: Rev Andrew Spurr.

The guest is God

The guest wing has opened, and we have our first official guests. Coincidentally, we have been reading from Chapter 53 in the Rule of Benedict on the Reception of Guests: "All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ".

I've been enjoying catching up on Tobias Jones' columns in the Guardian, about his family's community for people in crisis in a 10-acre woodland in Somerset. It's based on the Pilsdon Community near Bridport in Dorset, which was based on Nicholas Ferrar's Little Gidding and on the radical monasticism of the early Christian church. In his column, he describes the triumphs and trials, the nitty gritty of setting up a community, the members and the guests, and how they are caring for and making a living from the woodland. In one article, he writes about hospitality and their open-door policy: "hospitality has always been a sacred act, a cultural obligation through which people inadvertently glimpse the holy. In India they use the phrase from the Taittiriya Upanishad, "Atithi Devo Bhavah", meaning "The guest is God"... In Hebrew scriptures, Abraham and Sarah received guests who turned out to be angels."

Although in some ways it's very different from Mucknell, in others it's very similar. Perhaps you could say they are complementary.

Flutterbies

The cowslips have flowered prolifically by the south east hedge, and there is a solitary flower south of 'Charlie's Hook'. On each wander, I see more wild flowers appearing:

• The common fumitory, a purple spike on the fence side of the bank around the garth. The plant is said to resemble smoke due to the whitish bloom on the leaves, hence fumus terrae, smoke of the earth.
• And the cuckoo flower or lady's smock, in palest mauve, in amongst the new trees on the stream edge of the planting. They are in the brassicaceae, the mustard or cabbage family, which is also known as the cruciferae, an older name meaning "cross-bearing", because the four petals of their flowers form a cross.

At the weekend I saw a couple of male orange-tip butterflies along the stream, and another white butterfly which might have been the female - they don't always come close and stay still for long enough! It might also have been a green-veined white, as both use cuckoo flower as a larval foodplant. But the orange-tip usually emerges in early April, and the white in late April, so I would go for the female orange-tip. There are a couple of peacocks and plentiful tortoiseshells. Peacock adults feed on the cuckoo flower too.

Difficult to swallow

We now have four tomato seedlings. As there were two yesterday and one the day before, I calculate that by the end of April there'll be 1,073,741,824.

I found a few patches of ground ivy near the stream. It has attractive small violet-coloured flowers, and apparently "has numerous medicinal uses, and is commonly used as a tasty salad green in many countries." There is also a lot of silverweed on the edge of the tree planting, which has edible roots. But I'm not sure the community is ready quite yet to eat ground ivy, silverweed, chickweed or nettle soup.

The light brown of a gliding kestrel brightened a dull rain-bespattered morning. The sun appeared in the afternoon, as did my first swallow of the year. "One swallow does not make a summer", said Aristotle, who wouldn't have confused March in England with summer in Greece, but who thought that swallows, storks and kites hibernated. Gilbert White also considered the possibility that swallows hibernated, but mine would have wintered in southern Africa.

Planting for the future

The lettuce, calabrese, cauliflower and cabbage seedlings are growing away merrily in their trays, and should be ready for pricking out next week. The tomatoes were of concern, but have made a small start and show two shoots - potential! Meanwhile, the potatoes are chitting in the garden shed.

Anthony and I planted a couple of birch trees, a rose 'Brother Cadfael'(!) and five yews around the front of the building and garth. You might say the yews are planting for the future. Yews are classified by age and girth: ancient yews are over 800 years old and 7m in girth; veteran yews are over 500 (and maybe upto 1,200) and 4.9m. There are 6 ancient and veteran yews in Worcester Diocese, the nearest a collapsed veteran in the churchyard at Powick.

Ashes to ashes

This is what happens when ash buds burst; they blow raspberries, which very quickly become small male flowers. I'm watching them while I still can; I'm very allergic to ash pollen, the sap, and even dust from ash keys. The wheatear is still here, and seems to have adopted the pile of stones in the cut as a base for making insectivorous forays. It is slightly less puffed out today, hopping less and flying more, to show off its eponymous white...ahem...rump. We also have a building/ parliament/ clamour/ storytelling of more than 50 rooks, mixed in with a few jackdaws.

Real Food

The new Real Food Store in Exeter opened for business at 8am! It provides shoppers with the opportunity to buy fresh, seasonal produce which is grown, reared or prepared in the surrounding countryside; and to eat it in the café. So therefore it provides local suppliers with an outlet in Exeter. And most importantly - the underlying aim - it educates people about the benefits of fresh, seasonal and local food, for their health, the local economy and the environment. It is a social enterprise, set up with capital invested by members of the community who have bought shares, like me when I was living in Exeter. It's about community ownership: it's my store!

Back at Mucknell, in the morning I watched a pair of lapwings in their courtship and territorial dance, tightly choreographed looping, sweeping and diving together, or briefly parting to left and right to fly in symmetry. After they landed and melted into the field, my imagination continued in its looping and sweeping, and I can bring it back now. But more stolidly, in the evening I watched a wheatear plop around a pile of stones. It was decidedly rotund, with no neck when at rest, but suddenly extended for action. The black stripe on its head put me in mind of a very out-of-shape Zorro.

Keeping up

I have been lulled into a false sense of security over the winter. What with there being so few birds around, I could get to know most of them. So, if there were a flock of small birds, they were probably linnets, and if of larger birds, they were probably fieldfares. But now spring is here, there are migrants passing over, and new arrivals from north and south, and I'm not going to be able to keep up with all the new birds. There are lots of new calls in the hedges, and Anthony has seen snipe, golden plover, green-something-I-forget-probably-finch, chiff chaff, house martin and swallow. The last two I'd know, but I wouldn't recognise the others if I saw or heard them. Back to school.

Malvern Priory has a prayer candlestand, with a design inspired by the astrolabe. According to the tourist leaflet, the astrolabe was introduced to Britain in the 11th century by Walcher, the second Prior of Malvern. It was in wide use in the Islamic world, and Walcher had translated information about its use from Arabic while living in Lorraine. Walcher's tombstone "records his abilities as 'an able astrologer and mathematician'... [He] was also noted for his great piety... Thus he brought together, in Malvern Priory in the 12th century, scientific skills and spirituality; an enquiring mind and faith... Our candlestand symbolises this coming together of:

• science - the astrolabe, a precursoe of modern scientific technology, and
• faith - candles, which represent, and gather up before God, our prayers and hopes, the often unspoken and deep longings of our hearts, the faith that God loves and cares about us."

Word association

The blackthorn down by the stream is now just about out, but what has struck me now is how far behind Mucknell is compared with the surrounding area. The roundabout at Junction 7 on the M5 is ablaze with blackthorn blossom, and there is cherry blossom in gardens along the Pershore road. We are no more exposed than J7, but perhaps a little higher, or maybe the exhaust fumes provide the warmth and nutrients (!) to encourage early growth.

There are patches of white dead nettles by the orchard, and one heartsease has bloomed among the new tree planting along the east side of the cut. Small tortoiseshells were out frolicking in the sunshine by the stream, and a couple of lapwings displaying and peewitting over the swales, boldly letting us approach quite near.

The House at Poo Corner has been replaced by a small brick building, so the three little pigs are safe from the blustering of the big bad wolf. And it's Virginia Woolf's birthday.

Census 2011

"In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered." (Luke 2:1-3; NRSV).

In these days, the Office for National Statistics awarded the £150m Census contract to Lockheed Martin, the US arms manufacturer (think Trident, F-16s, and cluster bombs) and consultant (contract interrogators at Guantanamo Bay, and surveillance). A coalition of protestors had set up a website at www.countmeout.me.uk, urging people to boycott the Census (up to £1,000 fine and a criminal record), but interestingly at the time of writing the website could not be displayed.

Counting, data and population statistics can be very political.

The last census in the Palestinian territories was taken in December 2007, and found that the population had risen by 30% in the previous decade to 3.74 million: "In a region where demographics are used to justify contentious claims to land, especially in the West Bank and Jerusalem, the results sparked unusual agreement between Israelis and Palestinians who attacked the headcount as inaccurate." Israel's population grew by 5% over the same period to about 7 million, almost twice as big as the Palestinian population. But in the West Bank, there are two million Palestinians and 250,000 Israelis, and the representative of the Israeli settlers in the West Bank said the Palestinian figure was "grossly exaggerated" and "politically motivated". Conversely, the number of Palestinians in East Jerusalem was lower than expected, according to some Palestinians, and too high, according to some Israelis.

Earth Hour

At 8.30pm local time, lights will switch off around the globe for Earth Hour, organised by WWF. In the past, this has been more of a symbolic gesture to highlight the issues of climate change and the environment generally. This year, WWF are asking people to commit to actions that go Beyond the Hour. What will I do? What will you do? What will we do?

Well we won't be observing Earth Hour, as I forgot all about it, and while we have said Compline by candlelight in the past, it's now too late to suggest switching all lights off for the whole hour.

But here's an example of a small action: sign Christian Aid's letter to environment secretary Caroline Spelman. According to Christian Aid, she is "weighing up whether UK companies should be required to report their carbon emissions". The Climate Change Act requires the Government to introduce mandatory reporting by 6 April 2012, or explain to Parliament why this has not happened, so there is only just over one year to go. This sort of transparency is the first step in reducing the 1/8 of global carbon emissions for which UK-listed companies are responsible (compare the Toxic Release Inventory in the US).

PS. The clocks go forward tonight.

Annunciation and Dedication

Archbishop Rowan presided and preached at the eucharist for The Annunciation, and as part of the service dedicated the Oratory to the Blessed Virgin Mary and St Benedict, and blessed the Entrance and Refectory as places of welcome and hospitality.

The weather was perfect, the daffodils were shining in the Oratory, and the skylarks sang throughout. Here are some words from Archbishop Rowan's homily:

"This new home for a community has been designed and constructed with deep attention to the kind of world we’re in; the kind of world where it won’t do to ignore considerations about ecological balance, sustainability and the health of the whole environment. And surely that’s part of the same listening: listening for the creative Word in things, in the stuff of the world; listening our way into the depths of what is around us, so that the Word comes alive in what we do with the things that are around us, the stuff we live with and live on.
...
"So, ausculta, listen, as The Rule [of Benedict] says. But also speak, be who you are, be who you say you are in this place. Let this place be what it is, and let all of that together be God’s Word to this wider environment."

Update: The full text of the homily is now available on the Mucknell website.

Photo credit: Rev Andrew Spurr.

3-2-1

Three buzzards over the Abbey in the mid-morning, wheeling and mewing, until one flew off east and the other two drifted west.

Two crab apple trees in leaf, Red Sentinel in becoming fresh green and Harry Baker in red-purple

One and only William Morris, 177 today, so "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."

...and we now have blackthorn flowers.

Budget cynicism - sorry!

A stunning March day, with temperatures well above average, even summery. The maximum recorded at Pershore at 4pm was 16.7 °C, while the average daily maximum is closer to 10 °C. We were of course doing strenuous outside work that involved getting overheated: digging holes for trees in dry clay, bricks and hardcore. We've also run out of rainwater in the rainwater tank and have nearly emptied all the water butts, so the toilets are running on mains, and we had to take the water for watering in the trees from the swales. The forecast is for a dry and bright period, but there may be some light rain on Saturday. The fire services have told us they wouldn't use the 45,000 litres rainwater tank, so it could be modified to make it available to the house, and we are awaiting a pump for the borehole, but this highlights that we also need to think about how we conserve our water resources.

Similarly, it would appear the UK is out of money, and we're not thinking about conserving but still trying to run it on oil: taxing the oil companies more, so we can reduce fuel duty, so we can run our cars more.

• Friends of the Earth don't like it: "In the face of a global oil crisis, this Budget will increase the UK's oil addiction".
• The oil and gas companies don't like it: "With more than 50% of Britain's gas now imported, it is vital for our energy security and for the economy that investment [in the North Sea] is maintained to ensure we extract all of the untapped hydrocarbons we can" and burn them... until we finally pull our heads out of the tar sands and realise too late that we don't have any hydrocarbons left.
• And Robert Peston says: "If the likes of Shell and BP don’t complain that this will undermine their efforts to squeeze the last drop of oil and gas out of the North Sea for the benefit of the UK, I will drink a litre of their finest unleaded petrol [I think he's safe]. Also, it is not clear how the government can be sure that the oil companies won’t push up the pump price to recoup the extra tax - which would defeat the point of the exercise." Quite.

The Budget also includes "a new presumption that developments should be permitted, unless the local planning authority can advance compelling reasons why they should not", and from now on, "local authorities can no longer favour brownfield sites over other more pristine sites (though the green belt will continue to be protected)."

So the "greenest government ever" has just announced policies that will encourage continued pollution of our skies (plus, running our cars more = greater burden on the NHS through pollution and RTAs), and turning over our land to concrete. Smashing!

Tragedy in 10,000 acts

The frogspawn is hatching into tadpoles, one by one at present, but soon they'll all be bursting in a frenzy like popcorn in a saucepan. I crouched down in the littoral to watch the throes of birth: the short sharp wriggle, the deflation of the sac, and the dart of the water boatman to gobble it up. After which, the water boatman returned to its station, feathered its oars and merged into its surroundings. So the predators keep the number of frogs down, but the sheer amount of spawn means that some will win through. As I waited for the next act in the tragedy, I became conscious of many other bugs in and on and above the pond: two spiders the size of ha'pennies walking on the water between grass stems; downy tinkerbells hovering and dipping; tiny black bugs scooting manically around on the surface; and more sedate water skaters and their six dimples. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a small black shape crawl out of the water and behind some reeds. It croaked once, but seemed too big for a frog. Of course, there was nothing there when I walked round, except the end of the drainage pipe. Anthony said later that moorhen had nested in the reeds last year, and it could have been hiding in the pipe, which sounded like a good explanation.

Most of the hedge roses can now definitively be said to be in leaf. The hawthorn buds have burst and the leaves are emerging, and one tree near the main gate is well ahead of itself and is already in leaf too. The neighbouring blackthorn is also well-advanced and on the verge of blossoming. The patch of violet violets down in the south east corner is extensive (not white violets - I obviously wasn't listening). Cowslips are appearing there too, just at the point of standing up and unshrugging their shoulders.

And I've dug half a house out of what will be the herb bed.

Habitat and habitus

From "The Solace of Fierce Landscapes" by Belden Lane: "Aboriginal peoples traverse the sacred landscape by following invisible songlines, singing - as they walk - the songs first sung by their ancestors in an ancient dreamtime beyond memory. They name (and 're-create') every characteristic of their hard and thirsty land - rocks, caves, desert brush, and waterholes - through the habitus, or ritualised way of perceiving reality, they bring to it. The know that to 'dwell' in a place creatively over an extended period of time is to conduct oneself according to a custom or habit that draws meaning from the particularities of the environment." In our post-Enlightment technological society, we have no connection "between habitat and habitus, where one lives, and how one practices a habit of being. Our concern is simply to move as quickly (and freely) as possible from one place to another. We are bereft of rituals of entry that allow us to participate fully in the places we inhabit."

In some small way, observing the environment and writing this blog is one ritual of entry into Mucknell, for me and I hope for the members of the community who read it. Lane quotes Ortega y Gasset: "Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are." In his guest post, Philip described another ritual, that of reciting the Divine Office several times a day. This week I am ringing the bell to summon all to Office, perhaps also the whole of the estate to join us in our offering.

Planting seeds

We have planted seeds, and the greenhouse is starting to look more like how a greenhouse should. So we have trays of five tomatoes and three lettuces; plugs of cabbage, cauliflower, calabrese and peppers; and small pots of squash and beans. Beans are easy, but sowing the trays and plugs requires immense concentration. There are only so many seeds in the packet, and each one is tiny and precious. So two seeds of brassica per plug means taking a small pinch and rolling them carefully between the finger tips until two fall into the dimple, then sieving on very light layer of compost to cover. Having only 28 pepper seeds means holding them in the palm of your hand, and placing them one by one... except that there turned out to be closer to 40 in the packet. And planting tomato or lettuce seeds involves making a very shallow drill with the finger tip, sprinkling as evenly and sparsely as possible, then pushing the compost back over. Concentrating so hard on one thing makes other concerns fade away, and taking care and time over planting, considering how things will hopefully grow and the end product, is very rewarding.

Earthing

The pathlayers have laid the tarmac paths. The treeplanters will plant the larger ornamental trees at the beginning of next week, including a lovely prunus in flower brought by Janet (a friend of the community). The landscapers will finish the landscaping ditto. Anthony and I planted most of the shrubs - elaeagnus, viburnum, hippophae rhamnoides, etc. We might even get some vegetable seeds planted soon.

Philip came out to warn us of Janet's imminent arrival, and we stood in the sun drinking tea and looking round at the view, and commiserating with each other about how awful the place was. Still, I expect we'll manage somehow.

We also constructed a staircase for Bella up to Mary Bernard's window, from some of the thicker willow cords that were about the right length. It's not a bit of the building I see much of, and there are some snaggings: missing drain covers, detached lightning earth connector, and a slate off the roof. Back down to earth a bit.

Punctuation

My legs are somewhat scratched and punctured from the last session of bramble-bashing down by the stream, before the nesting season starts. I found a nest from last year, song thrush, carefully constructed of grass and lined with clay. We uncovered yet more swan mussel shells on the bank, probably more otter feeding sites. Anthony pointed out snaking patterns in the mud at the bottom of the stream, formed by the mussels in their filter feeding.

Celandine are now coming out all along the stream, there are cuckoo pint leaves under most hedges, and Alison says she's seen a patch of white violets under the hedge down in the southeast corner of the estate. I later found another patch along the stream, sheltering under an ancient hawthorn where the brambles were cleared last year, and a comma sunning itself. I can't tell the difference between male and female, but its behaviour probably indicates male waiting for a female to pass.

Last, but not least, there is a small patch of common or garden daisies near the orchard.

Gravity wells

Another beautiful spring day, coming thick and fast now. We had a discussion on the Rule, specifically the Prologue, which over tea turned into a theological discussion about hell and whether we can really say anything about God. Things then got a bit whimsical - could be summarised as 'Jesus the gravity well' - and turned into a discussion of the size of the universe and Patrick Moore (discussion of Patrick Moore, that is, not of the size of...).

Preparations for the 'opening' by the ABC are proceeding apace. Gabriel has already made industrial quantities of marmalade cake. Lists of things to do are lengthening - signage, flowers, sweeping up gravel, notify change in start time. Hopefully the last won't unduly inconvenience the Lord Lieutenant, Chief Constable, and other alliterative guests.

Irooneasvbst

I've just returned from 72 hours in the Hermitage, cunningly scheduling a few blog posts to pop up while I was in retreat. Here are some random observations:

• The sky was very clear on Sunday evening, and the bright half moon bathed the community building in eery grey light. The bright half moon put paid to my hopes for seeing the Milky Way, but I had a good look at M42, the Pleiades and Venus, clearly showing as a disc even in my 'good value for money' binoculars, and a satellite (yet to be determined) crossing the Plough.
• The tarmac path was being laid on and off throughout. Billy followed the workmen over on Monday, and stayed with me all morning, happily giving in to gravity on the sunny verandah. He refused all food and water, so I crumbled biscuits for the birds instead.
• The frogs have well and truly spawned in the pond.

• Three pied wagtails were the only takers of the biscuit crumbs, but came regularly to partake, swooping up, plummeting sharply, and materialising in their wagtail walk. They are too black & white for their surroundings of muted green and browns, and remind me of a BBC test card.
• On Tuesday morning, I had a visit from three red-legged partridges, all got up in their ceremonial uniforms.
• Linnets are poor formation fliers; very loose and ill-disciplined compared with starlings.
• There are still very few flowers around. Apart from the pussy willow, which has broken out into yellow-tipped hairs, I have seen only dead nettles, some weeny white wild flowers (aka shepherd's-purse), weeny blue wild flowers (aka speedwell), weeny yellow thistle-y flowers and two scrawny dandelions. But the pussy willow is delicately scented and bee heaven.

Now you see it...

On first moving in, I said that if I stand to the right of my window I can see Bredon, and if I stand to the left I can see the Malverns. Now, four months later, I know that this isn't always the case. Bredon has many moods, from looming hulk to wafty Avalon, to shrouding itself entirely.

In presenting its public forecasts, the Met Office defines visibility as: very poor - less than 1 km; poor - 1 to 4 km; moderate - 4 to 10 km; good - 10 to 20 km; very good - 20 to 40 km; excellent - more than 40 km. Bredon is about 12.5 km from my window, and beyond Bredon the Cotswolds ridge is about 25 km. So it has to be good to very good visibility to see them. Because much of my view is fairly flat, Bredon takes on a greater presence and seems closer than it really is. So it feels slightly odd when it disappears, as it has done today in the mist after two days of brilliant sunshine. But meteorologically-speaking, it's a pretty mundane event.

Over in the west, the Malverns are about 14 km away. Of these there is the old saw, that if you can't see them, it is raining, and if you can see them, it is about to rain.

The Blackthorn mystery

Two of my budwatch posts seem to contradict each other: incipient blossom on the blackthorn on 7 March; and blackthorn buds just out on 5 February.

Aha! I thought as I wandered past the southwestern hedgerows. The blossoming blackthorn must be functionally male, and the budding blackthorn functionally female. And I continued to ruminate over the trend for planting male trees in urban areas because female trees, or more specifically their fruits, can make a mess. The problem is, that all that extra blossom and pollen causes more hayfever and asthma. On the other hand, cities are better than rural areas nowadays as pollen sources for bees.

But that was all a red herring as blackthorn is hermaphroditic. In which case perhaps I've confused it with cherry plum (frequently done)... but cherry plum is an ornamental, and I'd have thought not very likely to be found in our hedgerows. Or perhaps I've confused blackthorn and hawthorn, which is more likely, but I thought hawthorn had different spines.

So who knows? We'll have to wait for the leaves and the blossom and the fruit, and see what we shall see.

Fairtrade fortnight

It's the last day of Fairtrade fortnight, and I have been musing on the Fairtrade logo and how we all see things differently. I always saw it as a road, with a field on the left and the sky and sun on the right. But I recently read that others see a green leaf, or a blue parrot, or a person waving their arm.

Seeing the logo through others' eyes has changed it for me; it's gained more meaning and become richer. But on the shadow side, it has annoyed me, as I now mainly see the person and I want to keep my view as the road. It's only a small example, but illustrates a more general principle of how we get along with other people, interpret the news, and so on.

This morning's gospel was the Temptations of Jesus. Thank you to Peter for pointing me to this amazing video of illustrations by Simon Smith.

Weasel words

I found a dead weasel in amongst the raised beds. Its wee sel' was pale brown with a white underbelly, and was barely six inches long even though full-grown. It's incredible to think that it can kill and drag a rabbit. The neck and shoulder area was crushed and the fur matted, probably by one of the cats. If only they did something useful like killing the voles instead of killing the voles' predators. And how to tell the difference between a weasel and a stoat? Well, a weasel is weasily recognised, and a stoat is stoatally different! Alternatively, a stoat is twice as big, and has a dark tail tip.

Which brings me to the Word of the day:

tergiversation (ˈtɜːdʒɪvəˌseɪʃən)
Turning dishonestly from a straightforward action or statement; shifting, shuffling, equivocation.
Origin 1570, from Latin tergiversationem, from tergiversari turn one's back on, evade, from tergum the back + versare to spin, turn.

Cackles and mussels

It's now light in the east at 6am as we start Office of Readings. Geese often fly over the Oratory at this time, and the honking of a skein momentarily distracted me from reading John Chrysologus on the links between prayer, fasting and mercy. After Lauds, I watched a flock of fieldfares browsing in the field by the railway line, then retiring to one of the trees in the triangle with great commotion.

Wednesday and Friday mornings are given over to estate work during March, so this morning was spent bashing brambles and clearing tree litter down by the stream. One mighty bramble bush hid a large stash of freshwater swan mussels, probably an otter's favourite dining place that we have now ravaged. Ian and Anthony donned the waders - I definitely wish I'd had my camera at that point - to clear a mess of twigs and leaves partially blocking the stream. They disturbed an eel, which apparently was <this> big. I'm guessing it was a freshwater European eel, Anguilla anguilla, not to be confused with Natrix natrix or Lutra lutra. And Anthony stepped in a hole that was too deep and filled his right wader.

Soaring on eagles' wings

The anticyclonic frost and cold of the beginning of March has become cyclonic bluster and low cloud. I took advantage of some nice force 5-ish south-westerlies, and reached for my kite again. Kite flying is an excellent way to stand and stare, soar on eagles' wings, forget about earthly matters and ride the breeze. All very good for the soul and the spirit. Why else would the US National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences have the Mary Poppins lyrics on its website?

I have a stunt kite, and usually just do aerobatics: as many tight 360° as possible; skim the ground without crashing; try and trace out a neat square; S's and figures of eight; fly it as close to the wind as possible (I estimate about 30° either side of the wind direction); bounce it off the ground and recover (also known as crashing); and so on. But today I spent some time just letting it fly, as a tell-tale of how the wind was changing direction, or blowing harder (almost overhead) and softer (fell out of the sky). Then I stopped watching it, and just felt it through the strings and my hands instead. And I got an even clearer sense of the gradual strengthening and fading of the wind, the sudden pull with a gust, and especially the turbulence, the sudden juddering pull-pull-pull followed by relaxation. I have a new respect for how the kestrel can hover over a single spot.

And then the wind got up, and the kite pulled hard. So I ended with some more aerobatics and crashes, and one final spectacular vertical nosedive. 20/30 minutes standing and staring, 10 minutes winding up the string and tail.

Ash Wednesday

The Church of England commemorates "Woodbine Willie" on 8 March, the anniversary of his death in 1929. Before the First World War, he was the vicar at St Paul's church in Worcester, and is buried at St John's cemetery in the city.

It's also Ash Wednesday, so we start our Lenten observances. One of the Community's corporate observances is to get some fresh air, and find time to stand and stare: "to take 20/30 minutes in the day, weather permitting, to get outside the building (not for work!); for some fresh air, some sunshine, look at the progress being made around the grounds and listen to the birds, etc!" I'm all in favour of Lenten observances that license the things I enjoy doing! Today I wandered south, but the only thing worth reporting was one small abandoned nest cradled by bramble and thorn.

Either side of lunch, I spent a bit of time meditatively cleaning secateurs. The greenhouse effect ensured that the greenhouse was lovely and warm, despite the wind and a brief spatter of rain. Just before lunch, the buzzard was just visible above the wall and garth bank, wheeling and glancing at the ground. After lunch, the trees in that area were full of chattering linnets: "Well Mavis, I think he's gone now, but that was a near miss and no mistake!" "Oooh yes Muriel, I thought that was my lot, bound for linnet heaven. My Stanley is still having palpitations. But how are your summer holiday plans coming along? Mind you don't miss the deadline for cheap flights." .........

Shrove Tuesday

It was another clear frosty morning. The sun is now shining through the east window during Lauds, golden orange on the Oratory wood. Just after we came out of chapel, there was a hare feeding by the pond, black ears and scut. Something seemed to make it wary, and it moved off south down the cut, paused slightly for a bit more browsing, before heading east over the bank and out of sight.

The native bluebells are coming through in the south eastern hedges. We have planted the soft fruit, mostly raspberries and blackberries, and done a bit more muck-spreading around them.* There were stonking pancakes for lunch, courtesy of Mary Teresa, and a 'last chance to see' glass of red wine for supper. It must be Shrove Tuesday.

* Alison would like to point out that, while we planted the raspberries, she did the muck-spreading.

Springing

There are daffodils and clumps of white violets by the lane, and still some snowdrops in the small copse by the junction with the B4084. The more ornamental trees arrived first thing, root balled in burlap. It seemed improbable that such small root balls should anchor such large trees, but they appear to be healthy, and will be planted close to the house. Alison and I did some arranging in the greenhouse of irrigation tubes and electric blankets for seedlings, and washed up some of the propagation trays.

A budwatch survey to the north of the grounds revealed:

• wild rose leaves continuing to open slowly in palest green
• the pussy willow in full splendour
• incipient blossom on the blackthorn
• an elder beside our neighbours' barn, with grey-green leaves starting to spread
• bramble ditto, producing buds and leaves already - they must like the sheltered spot, as there are still no signs in the other hedges

The great tits were giving their peep-peep grrr alarm call. But the dead grass snake, which had probably come out of hibernation a bit early (I know the feeling), had disappeared.

Familiar and unfamiliar beauty

Raymond, visiting, preached today about the theology of beauty. He was responding to a recent writing by Sara Maitland, probably from her column in the Tablet, but had an interesting starting point: that of technology. Television, and David Attenborough's programming in particular, has given us the ability to see much more of the earth in its immensity and its tiny detail. And awe-inspiring images from telescopes also bring the heavens close. So the beauty of the earth and the rest of the universe reflects God's beauty. He also spoke of the beauty of humanity, though marred, and the beauty of Jesus, even as the suffering servant on the cross. The glory of God was revealed on the mountain of Transfiguration; can beauty be the same as glory?

As I write this, I find myself reflecting instead on the strangeness of the earth and the heavens, as revealed by television and telescopes, and am reminded of Janet Morley's invocation: "O Unfamiliar God". And on the other hand, I think back to my afternoon walk with friends around the estate in glorious spring sunshine. We haven't been here long enough yet, but for example Roger Deakin's "Notes from Walnut Tree Farm" reveals the deep beauty in the familiar, the well-trodden and well-known, the expected and yet unexpected seasonal round, and in waiting for a place to grow and mature.