Always look

On a January Sunday, across the tiled rooftops of my neighbours' houses, the sky to the north is filled with bruised purple, dove grey, mushroom pale, latté creamy clouds. They crowd together, jostling and shouldering each other nonchalantly with hardly a breath of wind to liven them up. A wintry sun in the southern sky to the front of the house has just enough height to reach the end of the back garden, warming slightly the winter tangle of Clematis montana, brown and beige, that has wrestled its way into and through the ivy (mine) and Cotoneaster and Griselinia (my neighbour's) that form the back boundary of the garden. Every year I look at the boundary in winter and think I really ought to do something about it, but this year, once again, I reckon I won't. Anyway, once the Golden Hop gets going in May, I forget all about the winter boundary blues and enjoy the mad yellow-green brightness (and yes, even the clash and clang with the blooming C. montana!) of early summer. And a bit of tangle that includes some deep ivy, complete with berries, is good news for the wrens and other small birds.

But at least, at last, I have taken on the right-hand wall, shamed into it by a collapsing rotting trellis, weighed down by inherited honeysuckle that never really bloomed. So on a cold dry January day--a respite between winter storms--out I went and wielded a secateurs and a lovely Japanese saw to cut back a fairly hopeless mess of Cotoneaster horizontalis and honeysuckle. An intricate passion flower used to run through it but one of our bad winters recently put paid to it. There's also a jumble of Japanese Quince, which I may (no, will) trim back, but it'll remain where it is: it was the first gift for my garden when I moved into it almost twenty years ago, a present from my father; very precious. Also uncovered in the cull were self-seeded trees of holly (male) and I think ash? I've cut them back a good deal, but the rest will have to go too and so I think a fork, a spade, a crowbar and some hard graft may feature in my son's future...

After all that's done, I'll face the dilemma of what to put on that wall (all suggestions gratefully received). I'd love to grow some espaliered apples or pears but don't know if I'd have the skill or the patience. But I love fruit in the garden and find it much more appealing to grow than vegetables, especially when I'm stuck for both time and space... How lucky then that some good friends gave me a fruit-growing book for Christmas (thanks CE!). Watch this space.

It hasn't all been destruction in the garden though (and I always feel bad when I pull out something like that tangle, which is so hospitable for the small beasts I share the garden with...). In the front garden the area I cleared under the birch trees is now showing lots of green spears of snowdrops, irises and daffodils. Can't wait! I uncovered some pots down behind the greenhouse that I planted up with bulbs a couple of seasons ago and they're still bravely putting forth shoots so I've moved them out into the winter sunshine near the bench and have my fingers crossed.

The year really feels like it's on the turn now. Finally on the 13th of January, we moved into the significant eight hours between sunrise and sunset , phew! (Interestingly, if we were still using the Julian calendar, the 13/14th would actually be the start of the new year). In the mornings, there have been thrushes singing high in the trees in the park, and wrens and robins giving it their all. There's light in the sky in the evenings at five pm. Everything's moving in the right direction. Gardeners get impatient at this time of the year and already some are planting seeds indoors and/or in propagators... I'm not that organised, but this year I hope to flex some of the gardening muscle by helping out with an AGS project to create a postcard garden for Bloom in June. I'm a bit excited ...

Down it came - clearing part of the side wall of the back garden

Spring's on the way

Much of the last month has been spent indoors, but Izzy and I did get out for the daily walks ... And as B recovered he joined in, much to the delight of all of us. Woodland, park and shoreline were delightful in the winter sunshine - a tonic to help with healing. Here's B's take on one of his own walks locally. The same trees show up from a different angle and in a very different dull morning light in the 21 January bit below.

B took this photo in our local park ... great to have a real photographer in the house

Winter sky and branches in the same park at midday ...

... and in the early morning ...

... the park's grey squirrels have been busy stripping the cones of their seeds ...

... and in some places, the winter storms have left damage in their wake

Bray Head in wintry sunshine

Time indoors allowed for a little messing about with pencils. I'd been invited to take part in a travelling sketchbook project - a lovely idea where a set number of people all buy the same sketchbook, each person does one double-page sketch each month and then passes on that month's book to the next person on the list. At the end of the project, you get your own sketchbook back, filled with the work of different artists. Having bought the sketchbook, I decided--regretfully--to pull out as I'm not certain how well I'd be able to concentrate on the work over the next few months. But I'll try to keep to the discipline of doing at least one piece in my own book per month, and the artists (they're a lovely bunch) have been very kind about the whole thing... You can read about their progress here. Some of the artists have chosen themes for their sketchbooks, others are happy with whatever turns up. I thought I'd like to combine words and drawings in mine and so January is based on a quote from a favourite poet, Paula Meehan. The line is "Her song is the wind in the branches" and here's the sketch--based on winter branches in my local park--that I popped into my book:

Her song is the wind in the branches a sketch based on a line from  'Her Void: A Cemetery Poem' by the wonderful poet Paula Meehan

21 January

Okay, so I can't forget the Twenty-one project. This month they're not great photos: a dull and breezy morning combined with a bit of a rush on the walk ... There's not much change from last month, of course, just the addition of the witch hazel blossoms in the back garden, as well as a kayak that came down off the back wall in one of the winter storms.

And to end this month's post, a reminder to myself and you dear readers, to always look ... even when we can't get out and about too much, there's beauty to be found in the glow of witch hazel in the back garden, in the grace of ferns whether ourdoors or in.

Witch hazel ('Pallida') in our garden, photo by B. 

Ferns outdoors grace a winter woodland

Shadows cast by low winter sunshine multiply one of my indoor ferns

And speaking of always look...

Go well all.

Darkness gives way

In a gap between winter storms, the waning moon topped the trees in a sky that was clear for a precious hour or so this morning. It's winter solstice and at last the year will turn!

A waning moon suspended over the trees in the park on solstice morning

Not a moment too soon.

Winter-dark moon, earlier in the month

I've never found the winter-dark easy, and now each year my late brother's anniversary on the 19th adds to the sadness. He's always in our thoughts but never more so than on that day. And these last two weeks B has been through the wars ... but he is resting and recovering now... Iz lies beside him on the couch and provides dog therapy, and with the stove burning brightly, the christmas tree lights on, being plied with food, and with such amazing friends and family visiting and dog-sitting and shopping and cooking, not to mention B's own wonderful spirit and steadiness... well, healing and recovery are well underway.

21 December

So, the twenty-one theme. Here's how the field, park and garden looked this morning (you can see them in November here). I suppose the trouble with starting this in November is that there won't be a whole lot of changes from month to month for the first few months. But who knows!?
Anyway, here are the 21 December images.

The field

Not a fox in sight, but some mornings recently I've seen one drift silently across this field and into the copse of trees on the right

The park

The sun was just about to rise on the shortest day of the year

The light of the rising sun worked its luminary magic on the tops of the oaks and ash

We've had a really mild winter so far, but a couple of incredibly windy, stormy days have released the last of the leaves from the sycamores

The garden

The still of the year in the garden

Winter pool and the therapy-dog

Solstice is the real turn of the year for me. I've celebrated it 'officially' now for 10 years or more. A few stalwart friends have been there all along the way (you know who you are!) and a few 'traditions' have grown over the years. Spiced beef is one, simmered with vegetables, cloves, allspice, water and ale for a few hours and then compressed (with a few handy--and heavy!--reference books; something the internet just couldn't do) to squeeze excess moisture out. Yummm.

There's spiced beef in this picture...

A more recent and personal one is to check if the witch hazel in the back garden is coming into bloom. And this year, YES, the small brown buds are opening to reveal tiny tendrils of lemon yellow to quiver in the winter winds.

Witch Hazel blooms just in time for solstice celebrations

Walks have been a bit curtailed, but Izzy and I have found time once or twice for the winter woods.

Winter beech

Elf caps pinpoint a palimpsest of a fallen tree on the forest floor

Winter is time for texture

Iz surveys the swirling river

Over the last couple of weeks, I've found the beautiful clarity of Ingrid Kertesi singing Bach to be a solace and sometimes I've worked on random colour charts at the same time. I can't find Kertesi online, but you can find here on Naxos 8.554508 with the Hungarian Radio Choir and the Failoni Chamber Orchestra. Here's a taster, Flosst mein Heiland, sung by another soprano:

Ochres and russets, Caran D'Ache and Faber Castell Polychromos

Happy Solstice all.

Twenty-one

So... here we all are, rumours and old toffee abound (there's a phrase that has been in my head since I saw it on the sleeve of a John Martyn album in 1977...).

First of all, thanks to those who wrote/emailed/spoke to me about the blog over the last few weeks, you've been very kind and very helpful...I've been mulling things over and I've a germ of an idea.

Twenty-one.

On 21 November, I went out with my camera on the morning walk in the usual suburban haunts: the field, the park, the garden. I took photos at particular vantage points. And I hope to do the same over the coming twelve months on the 21st of each month. Those of you who know me well will realise that the choice of date isn't entirely random -- it'll rather nicely pull in the solstices and the equinoxes, as well as provide a record of the changes over the year.

As well as garden news and views, goings-on in the immediate environment and the drawings, I'll also pull in other serendipitous bits and bobs: music, writing, whatever ... I hope you'll stay with me for this small homage to changing seasons, what's to wonder at and what's to wonder about.

21 November

And to start, here are the November images. It's a dark start; I have an imagination deficit at this time of the year when I just can't visualise how these places look in a different season ... Maybe this blog will help in the coming twelve months.

The field

One of the nice things about winter mornings is the moon

The park

Lamplight and a glimpse of the not-yet-risen-sun-light in the distance

We have oaks, horse chestnuts and ash in the park; on 21 November a lot of leaves were still on the trees providing
lovely colour but in the dawn light all were looking a bit grey

It's dark under the trees in the early winter mornings. This is a spot-the-schnauzer pic too.

The garden

Coming home from the walk, we come into the garden,
which looks distressingly grey and drab here in the poor light. Ah winter!

In winter, the pool does its task of reflecting the sky light very well,
even when it has gathered lots of falling leaves

In other news

I finished the Alphabet Yew! I handed it in on 30 November. Handing in was a lovely time - there was a wonderful array of paintings, all sorts of styles and approaches, all bound by their letter, the paper and the dimensions (30cmx30cm). Adjudication begins at some point in the new year: there'll be a painter, a curator and a botanist doing the assessing and I think they'll be spoilt for choice.

Doing the yew was quite the process for me: it was something I enjoyed immensely though there were many moments when I wondered what on earth did I think I was doing!? Learning as I went meant that any idea that came into my head had to be tried out as I didn't know what I could do with the medium (coloured pencil). Which meant that the final work had been through a few iterations on other pieces of, by now, smudged, creased and much-loved paper. I'd say BvG and LB in particular are delighted it's done - thanks so much both of you for your helpful words along the way! Thanks too to fellow-alphabetisers SD and JS. Here are some pics of the work in progress. All the final works will be on display in the Bots in May 2014: a treat in store!

It's some tree... I worked from sketches and photos

Nearly finished with the berries

Yew twig on the go

Everyone who has seen the drawing loved the moss on the twig so I thought I'd include it here;
mind you most people said "Ooh I love the lichen..." so I may need to draw it better the next time

It feels a bit strange now to have finished the yew. I'll have to find something else to try to draw. Look what I discovered in the local park - what a beauty, such a contrast in textures! There are still some grand old trees in the park, left over from its days as part of a demesne or estate of some sort, it most likely belonged to a house called Runnymede (at one point used by the Yeats sisters to run Dun Emer, later Cuala, Press in the early 20th Century). This tree alas, fell prey to the health and safety 'police', but there's still a Giant Sequoia in the park starting to tower above the Scots Pines. Izzy chases squirrels in vain some mornings and they have been known to dash to the Sequoia and, as usual, confound her completely.

This must have such as astonishing tree in its day...

...but it still provides wonder...

... and then some!

There was a squirrel here a second ago ... Giant Sequoia and Miniature Schnauzer

And speaking of things spotted in or near the park. Turns out we've a better class of graffiti than the usual run-of-the-mill 'tagging' (which I think is akin to dogs and lamp-posts to be honest); here's some that made me pause. I had to check what a divergent series was with my resident mathematician.

Divergent Series: refreshing Dublin graffiti

And to finish where I started, with John Martyn. Here's 'May You Never'; this one especially for my two lovely sons and their dad, who lost their grandpapa and father this week.

It's for all of us too:  "please won't you bear it in mind, love is a lesson to learn in our time..."

Go well.

Three quinces, two years

The fruits of the Japanese Quince smell divine: a sweet and delicious fragrance that's impossible to describe. Left in a room, they pervade it rather than fill it with their scent. I remember reading somewhere once that smells always have to be described in terms of other smells we know - we can't find another way to 'tell' them to each other.  The best I can do with Japanese Quince is tell you to think of apple crossed with lemon with a tincture of jasmine; that's the nearest I can get. You'll just have to make do with this picture or maybe go and find some in your own garden or a friend's and inhale that beautiful perfume yourself.

Japanese quince (Chaenomeles japonica.)

Since my own Chaenomeles didn't produce much fruit this year, I picked these up from my sister's garden (thanks SB) because I love their shape and I hope to draw them at some stage. I drew some from my own garden earlier this year (in February) when I was just getting back into this drawing thing, and I really enjoyed their shape.  I hope these three will last until the yew is complete (it has to be done by the end of this month!) and I'll have a go then. A break from 'colouring in' the yew this week took the form of fun with textures, as I quickly sketched a sweet chestnut shell I'd found in some woods a few weeks ago. Not a great sketch but it was a bit of light relief: lots of learning to do on textures still.

Ouch! a bit of work to do yet with textures (Sweet chestnut shells/cases)

Autumn has passed into winter this week as we've moved into November. The first frost came, gently, and whitened the morning grass in the field. The bright orange of Chinese Lanterns and Iris foetidissima berries brought recompense for the cool temperatures, grey skies and long nights; the winter rains have left rainbows in their wake, pointing to the deep reds of the maples and Sedums in the garden. Only seven weeks to the solstice...

The first gentle frost of winter

Chinese lanterns light up the house

Iris foetidissima needs a place in the garden *just* for the berries at this time of the year

Not a crock of gold, but the Japanese maple will do nicely thank you...

Japanese maples, so good we have them twice

This is blog-post no. 104 - marking two years of weekly blogs. Who'd've thunk? Not me certainly when I typed two short paras back in November 2011. Thank you dear readers (you know who you are) for sticking with it. I'm going to keep with the blog though I'm not sure how, but I do know it's time for a bit of a change; this may be as simple as less frequent posting, if, as I suspect, I can't think of anything else, but I'm open to ideas... (Suggestions on a (virtual) postcard please to erica).

Hope to see you back here in a couple of weeks. Go well all.