Happy Donegal

Six or so on a quiet morning in Donegal, the sun rising, a happy schnauzer and I are about to head up the hill behind the house onto the heath, and I stop for a moment just to listen to birdsong in the surrounding hedgerows. Here's one minute's worth. You'll hear a pheasant and a nearby cock crowing too.



Here's what the morning looked like:

The sun rises in Donegal

So Yes! we went to Donegal, far from hospitals and work and the city. We basked in warm sunshine (and being Spring, there wasn't a midge to be seen, or felt), walked the beaches, drank white wine and played scrabble outside in that amazing sunshine, ate well, visited the neighbours, and all in all, had a restorative and happy time of it. Many many thanks to our hosts who spoiled us so nicely.

Every morning, Iz and I walked up onto the heath behind the house, to tramp through the heather, and watch the sun rise from the sitting stone up on the hill (me) and investigate all that the heath had to offer (Iz), including rather of lot of this:

Donegal granite, sheep poo and a lucky grass seedling with its own stash of manure...
what caught my eye was the contrast in textures and the flash of green

Up there on the hill, the distant roar of the waves on Dooey strand forms the backdrop to an otherwise quiet morning, a constant that's replaced as we walk towards the lake by the gentle whomp whomp of the nearby windmills. On the first morning though, it was so still as the sun rose that the windmills weren't moving at all - a rare occurrence on the Atlantic coastline! After only a few minutes, first one and then another started to turn slowly slowly...

A still morning at the lake

Slowly the windmills start to turn (can you spot the moon and a passing seagull?)

The heath looks bare in this photo, and it is, although full of hidden treasures in the shape of mosses (Sphagnum mostly) and some tough little shrubs and perennials. The sheltered hill on the way up though is covered in hazel scrub, with birches and hawthorns making a stand (literally) here and there. At this time of year, the roots of trees are brightened with primroses and violets, standing out against the faded ochres and golds of last year's bracken. While the blackthorns are festooned with white blossom now, on bare dark traceries of branch, the hawthorn (or whitethorn) comes into leaf first, saving its blossom for May. Can't wait!

Spring and schnauzer (in Wicklow, not Donegal)

But the heath and granite and other rocks aren't the only offering from Donegal, the Atlantic shoreline is its secret weapon, the pull of its tide pulling at our memory and always bringing us back.

Bringing us back this year to changed shorelines: after the ferocious storms of January and February scoured the beaches and ravaged the dunes, the beaches are pristine when you look in one direction:

Dooey, scoured clean

and, so sadly, anything but when you look in the other; here are the two most 'picturesque' bits of debris, but there was an awful lot more of less-than-beautiful plastic and other rubbish at the base of the newly scoured dunes, left there by tides and waves that must have been higher and stronger than any that Dooey has seen for some time.

An old lobster pot dragged up onto the beach by winter storms; 

and some coax. cable, just what every beach needs ...

But with the blue skies, who could stay glum for long, and light like that has to caught by catchlight himself:

One man and his dog (and his Hasselblad), on the pier at Portnoo

The countryside on the way to and from Donegal was looking beautiful in the spring sunshine, and the blackthorns are frothier and whiter and more blossomy than I've ever seen them. They missed out last year as the really good blossoming happened a bit later (the hawthorn and elders), but they've more than made up for it this year. If the season continues well, there'll be a lot of sloe gin on the go this winter.

At home, the days have been filled with quiet pursuits. In the quest to learn something about coloured pencils, I've bought a copy of Ann Swan's book, and tried one of the demonstrations/exercises in it. Here's an iris of hers, re-drawn by me, step by step as she recommends. Layering is the thing with coloured pencils, and you generally start with the darker areas and work up to the light... (forgive the dodgy phone pics here):

Trying to build up an iris, starting with the darker areas ...

gradually layering up the colours

to produce the final flower

It was a great exercise and taught me a lot, including how much I have to learn about colour... very interesting!

As well as trying to draw flowers, a friend's significant birthday gave me the chance to create lovely combinations of colour and shape for her wonderful party:

Jugs of flowers ready to add to the party. Happy Birthday again lb! 

And it's that time of the year, so the gardener in me is thinking alpine thoughts:

Draba  'Buttermilk', flowering too early for the upcoming Alpine show, but I've enjoyed it in the greenhouse

Other gardeny work has included first attempts at sowing alpine seeds and some other bits and bobs:

Bulblets of lilies, some small plants for the sale at the alpine show, and some seeds sown a couple of weeks ago

A pleasing combination in the garden, wallflowers from a very generous alpine gardener, some Ophiopogon, and Molinia caerula

And in a garden on an altogether different scale, Farmleigh, we celebrated Japanese culture and enjoyed the spring flowers in abundance:

Anemones and friends at Farmleigh

Hanami and haiku under Prunus 'Mt Fuji'

Twenty one

Twenty-four hours later than usual and in a bit of rush, I took the twenty-one pics early on a misty, grey Tuesday morning:

At last , the trees at the edge of the field are greening up nicely

into the park...

The oak trees are coming into leaf

The horse chestnut has been first out of the blocks as always, but the sycamores are catching up
 (though the dead one on the left will stay bare)

At home in the garden, things are on the move too (compare this to last month's pic!)

You can just see the False Spikenard to the left - beautiful scent from this soon

And to end, let's go back to Happy Donegal... much more happiness than rhythm in this, but it's great fun:

Go well all.

Of lambs and lions

Oh, March! That old adage about lambs and lions springs to mind. March hasn't been able to decide between the two. We had days warm enough to make us set the table back up so we could sit and enjoy hot chocolate in the garden, turning our faces to the warm spring sunshine like some photosynthetic beings... Mornings where my entrance into the local park was through a pool of scent from the berberis hedge alongside the path... We had sun opening the blossoms on the street trees, and mist cloaking the park in mystery; heavy rain and winds breaking more branches off the trees, and then hail, and then frosts. Lambs and lions, mist and sunshine, rain and frost. March has been a month for thinking in pairs, in opposites.

Grey mist and bright blossom

March morning mist

Blossoming

Pencils and paper

I got very little drawing done this month. Life was busy with other things. I didn't get any entry done for my non-travelling Nature trails sketchbook, but I hope to make amends this coming month. I did have a go at re-doing my mossy old yew twig though - I've turned it around (I think, since I'm a citeog--that's a left-handed person for those of you who aren't Irish--I like things coming from right to left on the page) and will add a tiny graphite drawing of the mighty Crom yew to the page as well as some berries, for what would a yew drawing be without some berries? That's the plan anyway; we'll see what happens. I'm still working away with coloured pencils and to help myself along, I've bought a copy of Ann Swan's book which others have recommended it to me. Looking forward to learning from it!

Hmm, what else do I need for this drawing?

The turned twig

Woods and walks

We haven't been venturing out too much or too far, but local woods have provided lovely walks for us and excited runs for one small schnauzer. Spring is working its way into the woods, starting as always on the forest floor, where the wild garlic is cloaking the wood in pungent green, and showing up too in the busyness of squirrels and the industry of nest-building birds. Every morning walk I make during the week is through a wonderful raucous ruckus of wren and blackbird and mistle thrush and finch and robin ...

Safe from an excited schnauzer

Horse-chestnut buds are always the first to open

Sunshine and shadows in Knocksink wood

Spring stream in Massey wood

catchlight: Catching the sunlight on a wood anemone

In and out

Work has started in the garden! I've been cleaning the greenhouse - algae off the roof glass to let more of that precious spring sunshine in; and webs and general mess from the inside. Most, though not all, of my tiny collection of alpines have come back to life, and I'm now watching three different Drabas to see how and when the flowers will bloom (I can report that Draba 'John Saxton' is first out of the blocks and it's a tie at the moment between Draba longisiliqua and Draba 'Buttermilk' for second place). My Silene acaulis gave up the ghost completely, and an Androsace laevigata is touch and go. It's a tricky thing, this alpine growing and I'm still not sure if I'm up to it! The AGS Dublin local show was on in early March and was a chance to see how others do with growing alpines. As ever I came away with a mixed sense of inspiration and despair ("ooh I'd love to grow that/ooh I'll never be able to grow that").

Dionysia 'Monika'  - something to aspire to

Fritallaria aurea - loved this

In other parts of the garden I've been on a bit of a clearing out frenzy - and still amazed at how much waste material one very small garden can generate. In amongst that waste was a pile of Carex pendula that had outgrown its spot by the pool. A more 'refined' and much smaller sedge has gone into its place, rescued from a winter container display that now awaits re-doing into a late spring pot of some sort. In the front garden an Epimedium that has served its time (many years now) was taken out, split and shared with other gardeners, and a Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Postil' has gone in its place. I was bowled over by the scent of this daphne on recent visits to the homes of two very experienced and skilful gardeners. I decided I had to give it a go, so it was spade and out and fingers crossed, though not at the same time.

Daphne bholua 'Jacqueline Postil', getting ready for the big move

Untouched: Trillium rivale in the front garden

Twenty one

The twenty-one project is still on the go. I thought since it's equinox this month that I'd remind myself how things looked at winter solstice. The plants haven't changed too much, but the light certainly has...

The field - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox

Entering the park - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox

Oak trees in the park - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox

Sycamores (and a schnauzer) in the park - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox

Coming home to the garden - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox

The pool - Winter Solstice (top) and Spring Equinox; note the disappearance of the unwieldy Carex pendula

Go well all. 

Tread softly

A wobbly jet stream meant that winter storms queued up in disorderly fashion and rushed across the Atlantic to roar across this country and our neighbours to the east ... tearing down trees, bringing down power lines, flooding many many homes and fields, and generally causing a lot of misery. Nestled in the 'burbs, on a slope at the edge of the Leinster granite, we got away very lightly: lots of water but no flooding, a couple of trees down in the local park, but no damage any nearer than that. We were very fortunate. Today the wind picked up again, but we *did* get some spring-like sunshine over the last week or so and never was it more welcome. 

In between the storms, the sun came out

With spring sunshine come the spring flowers. Squills in the local park, and irises and snowdrops at home - the ones in the pics are those that I planted last autumn, when I cleared a lot of ivy and geraniums from underneath the birches at the front of the house. 

Squills are coming up in the local park

Up close and personal with Scilla verna

Iris reticulata (and a snowdrop!), planted under the birches in the front garden last autumn

Iris reticulata, such intricacy!

Squills in the local park and irises in my own garden, along with the wrens, blackbirds and thrushes in fine voice in the mornings -- all are such welcome signs of spring! But we decided to go a little farther afield to see spring on a slightly larger scale - the aconites and snowdrops in Burtown House were looking lovely, bringing to mind Yeats' cloths of heaven,

"...Enwrought with golden and silver light..." 

and doing what these small spring flowers do so well: appearing delicate and fragile while actually being as tough as old boots. Winter storms? No problem. Driving rain and sleet? So what. They shake it all off and keep on keeping on. My kind of flowers.

Aconites and snowdrops under a yew tree in Burtown House
(I got some berries from this tree last year for my Alphabet Yew)

Aconites, insouciant in the wintry weather

Aconites looking well settled 

As well as spring flowers in woodlands, my thoughts at this time of the year turn to alpines. Nervous trips to the greenhouse were rewarded at last when at least one (and perhaps only one) of the Drabas came back to life. It is really astonishing - one day they're all grey and dead looking, the very next day, small glaucous green buds butt their heads out of the middle of some tiny rosettes. Phew. The AGS 'season' starts soon and there'll be all sorts of amazing plants to see; I only hope I'll have something to put up on a bench that will pass muster. 

Thoughts are turning to alpines and the like too, some Sempervivums I planted in an old pot last autumn

Twenty-one

And so to the ongoing Twenty-one. On 21 February, B and I were in the hospital at the time I normally walk in the mornings, so these pics were taken later in the day. But they're all the better for it: at least there's some light there, even if not much else has changed since 21 January. Things move slowly in late winter, but March and April should ring the changes! 

Iz in the sunny field

Morning shadows in the park

You wouldn't think a storm had raged through here just over a week ago

Which path to take? 

Finally, some sunshine makes its way into the back garden

Not much to see here ... move along please

Things have been busy of late, so there hasn't been too much drawing or sketching going on. Just a rough and ready sketch of some Burtown snowdrops under a mossy beech tree and a rather pitiful sketch of a single snowdrop from my own garden, with a lovely line from another Paula Meehan poem:

"They are less a white than a bleaching out of green.
If you go down on your knees
and tilt their petals towards you
you'll look up under their petticoats
into a hoard of gold
like secret sunlight and their
three tiny striped green awnings that lend a
kind of frantic small-scale festive air."

from 'Snowdrops' by Paula Meehan

A rough, seasonal sketch 

a lone snowdrop

Tread softly.