The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 14 || April 2016

This post won't be a long one. Because, quite frankly, the weather is far too beautiful to sit at my laptop and I have rhubarb cordial to make. As I look out the kitchen window the garden and the field is bathed in bright sunlight. Spring has made it. Despite an overnight frost which created ice on the plastic duck pond and in the chickens' drinkers.

Here on the eastern side of England the plum tree and the damson tree are out in beautiful blossom. One of my apple trees is getting ready to shine, as is the wild cherry. The blackthorn, the sloe, has been out a while and the patches of white along the roadsides and in our field are like clouds. I think there might be a lot of sloe gin being made later this year.

The fields around us in the countryside are turning from green to yellow as the rape seed begins to flower. I stopped to photograph it yesterday and the scent was heady, climbing up into my nose.

The male catkins of the goat willow have finished now, and it is the female pussy willow's, the slightly duller green catkins, time to shine. The weeping willow, with its yellow, wobbly branches, was swaying in a gentle breeze this morning. Shaking off the dew like a slow rainfall.

This is my favourite time of year. The weather is still cold so you can still get away with a cosy log fire in the evening. But during the day the skies are blue, the blossom is crying out to be looked at and photographed and the leaves are slowly and thoughtfully starting to peek out of their winter slumber.

It's all fresh. All new. Mother Nature's start of a new year.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door is a project I stared in the first week of January 2016. I'm observing and recording the changes in nature in my garden and surrounding area. A contemporary version of The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady if you like.  Week 1 can be found here.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 13 || April 2016

Once again I've created a mini-film for you to watch demonstrating the seasons outside my back door. You can see the blossom on the trees; the two featured are a plum and a damson, along with the arrival of fertilised eggs for Wincey. Thank you to my nephew, L, for holding the camera whilst I popped the eggs underneath.

The Arrival of Spring from Helen || a bookish baker on Vimeo.

Spring has very much arrived. The sycamore trees are almost out in leaf and there are signs of life on the silver birches, the horse chestnut, the wild cherry. Well, pretty much all the trees except the ash. This tree is always the last one to wake up in our garden.

I'm seeing two red kites daily; a few days ago they were fighting/courting (not sure which) and dive-bombing hen orchard. The chickens always make me laugh when this happens as they go running for cover. I've seen crows with small twigs in their beaks as they make their nests as well as male and female pheasants.

And on the film, if you listen carefully towards the end, you can hear the woodpecker laughing happily.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 12 March 2016

So spring arrived last week and the weather has been changeable.

I think, when the clocks change, when we have Easter and when we have the Spring Equinox there is an expectation that we're going to get blue skies, singing birds and buzzing bees. In reality we have storms, grey skies and rain. Especially in early spring. With glimpses of sunshine and just-washed blue skies in between. Which, quite honestly, is fine by me.

We have strong winds coming from the south and west at the moment. And they're cold winds. Very cold. Despite this we have blossom. Blossom in the hedgerows, blossom on the 'Rivers Early Prolific' plum tree and blossom on the damson tree. And it is rather glorious. Especially when it's not being battered by the winds.

We also have celandines. They open up brightly when the sun has got his hat on and are dotted along the banks of the stream and underneath a group of large sycamore trees.

The chickens and ducks are doing fine. I think I have a broody chicken. Or at least, half -hearted broody, and I'm rather hoping she is as it would be great to hatch some chicks...

This week I've also potted up the willow cuttings that I took in week 8. All, except for the goat willow, have grown roots.

Every week I'm documenting the seasons outside my back door. The changes in nature as it happens. You can find week one here.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 11 March 2016

I'm late with week 11 of The Seasons Outside My Back Door (Week 1 here if you want to read the beginning of this project). This is because I've been experimenting with video. It's my very first one as part of Xanthe Berkeley's online course and was filmed with my iphone 6. . The video, filmed yesterday, sums up the week. A bit gloomy, a bit overcast; the realisation after the flurry of excitement that spring has arrived that the weather is still the same as the week before.

But the animals know spring is here. The ducks are incredibly happy. They're playing, shaking their tail feathers, walking down the field, chasing each other when one finds a worm. And the chickens are laying so may eggs. When we do have some sun they sunbathe, out of the wind, and look very contented.

Anyway, here is my film. It's only fifteen seconds as that's all Instagram allow, but it gives you a taster of what I get up to every day.

Lunch time for the chickens from Helen || a bookish baker on Vimeo.

Music credit: "Overnight (Gonzales)" by Matt LeGroulx (http://mattlegroulx.bandcamp.com/)

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 10 March 2016

Oh my what a week of weather we've had. Frosts, fog, gorgeous sunshine. And floods. Yes, floods.

As you may recall from previous Seasons Outside My Back Door posts (Week 1 is here) we have a winter stream flowing through our garden. I call it a winter stream as it comes in the winter. Simple really. It's bone dry the rest of the year. It drains the farmer's field at the back of our house, takes it past the chickens, through a pond (not just our temporary pond, but a proper natural one at the front of the house next to the road) which then flows on its way, underneath the road and onwards.

Tuesday night we must have had torrential rain. I looked out early Wednesday morning and saw puddles of water where the chickens have been scratching. I remember thinking how strange that was. I'd never seen puddles in that area like that before.

Walking outside, down to the chickens and the ducks, I noticed the stream was running fast. Nothing unusual about that after a heavy bout of rain. I then went on the school run as normal. I drove slowly and steadily through the water that had collected on the road near the bottom of our drive.

It was 10am when I was returning home after a coffee with a friend. My route back had been tricky. I'd had to make a u-turn in the next village. The bottom of a small hill had flooded. There was no way I'd make it through. As I re-routed and continued my journey home I started getting a little anxious. What if the puddle just down from the bottom of the drive had got bigger? What if I couldn't get through to my house? This, as it turned out, turned out to be a minor worry.

I did get through although the water was now completely over the road. I should point out that the stream that cuts through our garden, and the natural pond, is down a steep slope from our house. There is no way we could flood. Unless of course, we leave the taps on.

But the tenant in next door's house. Well, she is at the bottom of this slope. She's also at the bottom of a hill on the other side and a slope opposite. She pretty much has water coming from all directions.

And she wasn't home.

So it is 10.20am. The water has crept over the road but it is still passable.

I went around the back of the house to check on the animals. They were fine but the stream was now a raging torrent. Fast flowing brown water was storming through the garden. Two railway sleepers we were using as stepping stones were no longer there. I found them forty metres away through various twists and turns of the stream. That's how forceful it was.

This is where you'll have to forgive my photography - my phone was getting soaked.

I went out the front again. It was ten minutes after I first looked. And the pond had completely burst its bank. There is normally a distance of about 50-70cms in height between the pond surface and the road. That gap was no longer there. The road is now completely impassable. Though that didn't stop some.

I whittle and worry. I don't have my neighbour's number. I don't even know her full name. In fact, I wasn't certain I'd remembered her name correctly. (She hasn't lived there that long.) We tried to contact the owner of the property (she rents it). But he wasn't answering his phone.

But I did know where she worked. And that's how we finally managed to contact her, with a bit of detective work, via her HR department, who quickly sent out an email to all staff based on our description of her and where she lived. Oh man. It was convoluted. But it worked. And soon she was back and managed to save many of her possessions. Three of the rooms though are completely trashed. I walked through the flood water in her dining room with her. The floor boards had been forced up and they bounced as we walked on them. It wasn't my house but I wanted to cry. I've never witnessed flood damage at first hand before. It truly is devastating.

By evening the waters had dropped. But the damage had been done. Cars had forced their way through the flood water on the road. And engines had packed up. An AA van was parked permanently on the other side. The council were so busy with other floods elsewhere (one flood in the county had gone over a dual carriageway causing an accident) they had nobody available to close the road.

Every time a car, van, or lorry went through the flood water it would create a tidal wave. Which then oozed through my neighbour's house causing further damage. I told one driver to slow down. The spray he was making went up to her first floor windows. He decided to answer me by gunning his engine and drenching me instead. That water had sewage in it. My response was not polite.

Honestly. Don't drive through flood water. For a start you don't know how deep it is - I found all sorts of debris when the water receded including a number plate that had been forced off. And secondly, the impact as you force your way through the water on surrounding houses is utterly damaging.

***

After the drama of Wednesday and the recovery of Thursday on Friday we woke up to dense fog and frost. Everything was quiet apart from the bird song. Distant colours were blank or muted but closer details stood out. The bright yellow catkins of the goat willow hugged tightly by the frost, the feathery bloomers of a chicken, the stillness and clarity of the water.

Unlike the raging torrents of a few days before this type of weather forces you to slow down. Both literally and figuratively. You can't drive fast in this weather (although some people try). You slow your walk, too, as you notice things you haven't seen before. The clarity of the stream. The silt that has built up behind the temporary dam. The celandines. The violets on the stream bank. The common osier willow with its tiny catkins. You can feel your shoulders lowering, your tension headache easing.

Finally on Saturday and Sunday we had sunshine. Beautiful spring sunshine. Deceptive, as it is still rather chilly out there. I learnt that to my cost as I was taking photographs. With the sun out I was able to see the goat willow from a distance. The yellow is like tiny neon sunbeams glinting against the blue sky. I saw insects on it, feeding on the pollen. I'm sure I saw a bee, too, but by then I was getting distracted by the cold.

Something else I noticed, however, was the growth on my young trees. The young branches have put on a big spurt, reaching out their branches towards the sunshine. They've obviously been enjoying the rain.

Someone else who has enjoyed the water is the ducks. And not just my ducks. Two wild ones, male and female, have been spotted a number of times on the natural pond. Along with a moorhen.

They say a week is a long time in politics. Well, let's just say, a week can also be a long time where Mother Nature is concerned.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 9 March 2016

We've had all sorts of weather this week. A cold, breath-removing northerly wind. Thunder; well, two loud rumbles during the snow storm. Hail. Frost. Rain. Low cloud. Sunshine. Freezing cold temperatures. And lovely warmth.

This is what I love about the British weather. One day is never the same as another.

The makeshift duck pond was empty of water last weekend, the frost having sucked out the last remaining drops. And then, overnight for a couple of nights, we had torrential rain. (Not that I heard it.) But in the morning the pond was full to the brim once more. Happy ducks, tails shaking, ducking their heads underwater, flicking water onto their backs, flapping their wings. Joyous.

I walked around the field and it reminded me of royal icing that hadn't quite set. Crispy on the top, then once that had cracked through it was soft and squelchy. We must have had an enormous amount of rain. Then the frost came, freezing it, in the early hours of the morning.

The goat willow is changing again. The catkins are ripening to yellow which I understand is a male tree. I'll be looking at the other trees we have (we have many goat willows) to see if we have any females. I haven't seen any bees on them as yet.

Yesterday I took the chance of just sitting and watching the animals. I've not done this for a while, not just because it was too cold, but because I've been rushing from one job to another. But yesterday, in just one cardigan rather than two, I relaxed.

Last week, one of my chickens, Polly, looked completely bedraggled as she always likes to moult when the weather is coldest. But in the space of just a few days she is looking fluffy and brand new again. It doesn't take them long to regrow their feathers.

As I sat, enjoying the bird song, I saw the younger chickens bullying the ducks. Not allowing the ducks to get to the food. So I provided the ducks with another feeder. And the same chicken followed them and pecked at them there too. Gosh, they can be real bullies.

But the ducks don't care. They just escape to their pond. And the chicken doesn't follow them into there.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 8 February 2016

A gentle frost last night sucked the remaining water out of our makeshift pond. It did that a few weeks ago too, but then we had rain and it refilled. I walked down to it this morning and looked at all the little holes the ducks had made in the side of the bank. Their little rooting holes, searching for delicious treats with their beaks. And then I saw something else. Something white shining out from the gloopy mud. I stepped gingerly onto the mud. The mud was incredibly soft, the frost hadn't hardened it, and I had visions of me being completely sucked into it. From my sinking position I could reach out and grab the object.

It was a duck egg. Honestly, ducks. They just don't care. They'll lay anywhere. I've found one on the stream bank, one in the middle of the lawn and now in the pond.

The ducks love their pond. We're thinking of building them a more permanent pond using rainwater off the stable roof. It is a project to plan.

But that is a few months into the future. Right now it is all about the willow. We have two willows that have beautiful silvery catkins on them. The Goat Willow (Salix caprea) has large, green silvery catkins. And the Cricket Bat Willow (Salix alba Caerulea) has smaller, red silvery catkins.

We bought about 12 goat willow setts when we first moved in about three years ago. They were a couple of feet long. The largest is now probably twice my height. This tree is great for bees and caterpillars.

The Cricket Bat Willow we bought as a standard tree. We wanted a tree to remember a dear departed friend who adored his cricket. Both these trees are looking stunning. Especially when the sun catches the catkins.

We also have four other willows.These four willows are still sticks at the moment with the promise of what's to come hiding behind their leaf buds.

We have a Hybrid willow which we bought for speed of growth. We had visions of coppicing it for firewood. We're hoping it is going to make significant strides this year however as at the moment other willows are growing much faster.

Which brings me to the crack willow. We have two large crack willows by the front pond. These two mature trees are certainly living up to their names and great cracks have appeared in them. When we had them pollarded a few years ago we used some of their off-cuts to create a perch for the chickens. Small but sturdy, bare branches they were. We dug a hole and secured two vertically and lay one one horizontally between them. The two vertical ones now have shoots coming off that are taller than me.

Down the bottom of the field we have the Common Osier willow (Salix viminalis), the willow traditionally used for basket weaving. Apparently this is also a vigorous willow so I'm looking forward to see how it gets on this year. At the moment they're like long, thin, yellow sticks.

And finally, the Scarlet Willow (Salix alba 'Chermesina' or ' Britzensi). A sapling we bought for their striking colours. Sadly only one took, so I'm going to try and take cuttings for new trees.

In fact, I'm constantly taking cuttings for new trees. So easy to do. And, you can't have enough willows, right?

The Seasons Outside my Back Door: Week 7

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 6

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 5

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 7 February 2016

Oh my goodness it is busy outside. So many birds rushing about. Singing joyfully. Waiting for me to feed the chickens so they can steal their breakfast. Or the birds of prey above. I don't know what they're doing but I know the crows aren't happy to see them. They fly close, attacking them, shouting loudly, defending their territory.

This robin at the top of this post is sitting in one of the sycamore trees. You can see the tree's leaf buds waiting, poised to open. All the trees in the garden are like this. The horse chestnut, the fruit trees, birch, hazel, hawthorn, Scot's Pine, poplars. And the willows. We have a variety of willows in the garden. Cricket bat willow, goat willow, crack willow and the weeping willow are just four. I love the willow at this time of the year. The emerging pussy willow catkins, looking brightly white in the dull weather, like flashes of little rabbit's tails.

It won't be long now.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 6 February 2016

This morning as I watched the ducks run around in excitement my breath was coming out in a thick fog. It has got much colder this week. Each time I've stepped out the back door I've noticed a frost. Sometimes heavy. Sometimes just a trace. And in the evenings a keen wind has blown; with it icy rain. (Alas, no snow.) And during the day it is glorious. Cold, yes. But beautiful. Bright sunshine, blue skies. Perfect winter weather. So much better than the mild, wet, dull days of the last two months.

Despite the cold every day there is more blossom bursting out. Not in our garden, but along the country roads and the busier dual-carriageways. Trees covered in white petals making you smile.

Today I noticed the green shoots of the bluebells underneath our trees as I made my early morning walk around. The snowdrops are well and truly out now in full glory. And we have the the first dash of colour in our garden. A beautiful purple crocus. Glowing brightly from its brown surroundings.

The pond we have created from the winter spring has dropped considerably. The frosts, and lack of rain, has reduced the amount of water flowing. It has left a muddy area which the ducks are delighted with. You can hear them rooting around for exciting finds, a sound like you're blowing bubbles through a straw.

The ducks know spring is on its way. They are desperate to be let out in the mornings and run up and down the stream banks, in the water, out the water, in the mud, out the mud. Never still.

The chickens are leaving feathers everywhere they go. Lots of white and ginger. Those who didn't moult during the autumn are shedding a few feathers now. Typically they always do it when it gets colder. Daft hens.

I've found a couple of nests in the stable. Underneath the lights. I'm not sure what they are except it is a small, flying thing. Maybe a wren? It was dark, I was getting wood out for the fire, and I obviously disturbed whatever it was with my torch. I was too busy hurriedly ducking for fear of it flying straight into me to notice what it was...

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 5 February 2016

I've been reading through January and February of Edith Holden's The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady. For those of you unfamiliar with this book, and quite honestly I was woefully ignorant of its existence until a friend of mine recommended it, its a facsimile reproduction of a naturalist's diary from the year 1906 in Warwickshire, England.

One hundred and ten years after she put pen to paper I'm reading Edith's words and comparing the January and February of winter 1906 that she recorded to the one we are having now. December 1905 and January 1906 were mild. Very mild. She writes on 23rd January, 'it has brought out the hazel catkins, wonderfully early'. Then a few days later, on the 29th, she reports of picking daisies in a field, seeing yew in blossom and the shooting up of young nettles.

I haven't seen any yew in blossom because we haven't got any yew trees, but I've spied daisies in the long grass of our lawn (it won't stop growing!), hazel catkins, the lime green of the young nettles and the downy white catkins of the willows that are starting to break out. Edith observes those, too, on the 12th February.

On the 3rd February she mentions bird's eggs that had been found. I love that it was written in the Chronicle that a Blackbird's nest with two eggs in had been discovered at Dover, and a robin's nest with five eggs had been discovered at Elmstead. And in the present birds have been witnessed pairing off and the sound of bird song is now evident all day on mild and bright days just like Edith observed on the 27th January.

I have to warn you that, for Edith in 1906, February was their most wintery month after their mild December and January. So for those of you despairing that we haven't had enough cold weather yet (that would be me, there are so many bugs going around at my daughter's age) and for those of you longing for spring, this could give you hope or despair respectively.

I'm finding new patches of snowdrops every time I go outside. I planted some myself last year, which are starting to come up as single flowers. There are established bunches however, underneath the hazel tree and by the pond. In next door's garden there is a tree covered in delicate white blossom. I think it's a pear tree, though I'm not certain. It is slightly sheltered from the blustery winds of the last few days, but, even so, the petals are flying and swirling around into hen orchard like snow.

In other news we lost a chicken this week. Yesterday in fact. She had become lame and there was nothing we could do for her. It's sad as Viola was one of my eight original chickens. She was a real nosy parker and if you were cleaning out the coop she'd be the first one in to see what had been done. She also liked to sing at you. Viola, you will be missed.

The rest of the chickens, fifteen now, have been squabbling. Viola was one of the top ones in the pecking order so there is now jostling for position amongst the ranks.

Catch up with the previous Seasons Outside My Back Door Project:

Week One

Week Two

Week Three

Week Four

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 4 January 2016

It was while I was eating my lunch that I looked up and saw them. A movement, the other side of the chicken enclosure. And then I heard a duck's alarm call. But instead of running outside in alarm; shouting, screaming, clapping my hands, I ran for my camera. You see, it wasn't a fox. Or foxes. It was a muntjac deer. Two of them. Funny things. They make me think of pigs. Stunted creatures. Lovely looking but in an odd way. I was delighted to see them.

They were having a munch on the grass. Cue excitement of being unable to find my zoom lens and the dog jumping around me as I ran from room to room looking for it. I found some shoes, not the right shoes, my good shoes, and quietly slipped outside the back door. Leaving the dog inside looking forlornly from the window. 

I bobbed down and ran towards the first object, a fence, blocking the line of sight between me and the deer. Click, click went my camera. But I was too far away. All I could get was a shadowy outline of a head. So I ran through the gate, ducking down low and hid behind the shed. Click, click, went my camera again. Could I get closer? I think so. But dammit, there was a stream in the way. Leaping over it, my good shoes sinking into the soft bank on the other side, I almost lost my balance and fell into a growth of early nettles (that wouldn't have been the first time) but I scrambled up the bank, pulling myself up with the green buttercup plants that were starting to grow as I did so. 

Then I was under the sycamores, once again using a tree to block their line of sight towards me. I paused. Click, click. Just in case they ran away. Then, finally, I was but five metres away hiding behind the tree house tree. They saw me, looked straight at me, but paused for a while, allowing me to take dozens of photographs. Then they'd had enough posing for the camera and ran, continuing their journey looking for lovely things to munch.

That was the highlight of my week outdoors. The buzzard is also back. Sitting down the field on the fence. There was a scrap a few days ago between him and some rather loud crows. I tell you, it's all happening here in the countryside.

The Seasons Outside My Back Door: Week 3 January 2016

My daughter went out to give the chickens their corn late yesterday afternoon. She tapped on the window to me. 'I can see the woodpecker,' she said excitedly. And indeed there it was. The green woodpecker. It has been pecking around on our grass all week. And I've heard its laugh many times, including answering laughter. Then we watched as it flew off the grass onto an adjacent ash tree; its wings a delicious vivid green. Such beauty. Last week the snow was on the ground. Today the temperature is back up to ten degrees. I don't often moan about the weather but I do wish it would be colder for longer. I like to feel it keenly against my cheeks, have painfully cold hands and to stamp my feet on the floor to get warm. You have to have proper cold during the winter; almost a sufferance. Otherwise, how can you truly appreciate the beauty, colours and change that spring brings?

I remember the first winter we had in this house. Oh my word it was cold. It was the winter of 2012/2013. I would go out the north-facing back door and the wind would cut through my triple-layered cardigans. By the time I was down in the chicken run I would be perished. The weather teased us; there was a brief mild spell, when everyone thought spring was here. So I bought some new chickens. And then the winter weather came back with a vengeance. And a few of those chickens didn't make it.

I'm not saying I want chicken deaths in order for it to properly feel like winter. But when spring came around in 2013 were we ready for it. How we appreciated it. Every little leaf bud bursting open would be an amazing event. I would examine the trees as I walked the dog around the field. Watching the chickens dust-bathe as they delighted in the sun was a particular joy.

I'll tell you what is also a joy. The ducks a few days ago, desperate for their pond, running across the frosty grass, down the slope and straight onto ice. The look of astonishment on their faces was hilarious. I know, ducks don't look astonished, but for that fleeting moment before they got further in where the pond was not frozen, you could see and sense their puzzlement. Priceless.