ice inside grass
It's barely 3 o'clock, and light is vanishing beyond the great sub-arctic lid that settled in our sky. The wind might have died by morning, but winter's claws now in firm grip of the island. We have been warned, a strange-shaped yellow bubble engulf our shores by the Met Office... So we've nailed apples on the edge of the composter and scraps litter the iced grass blades since mid-morning.
Latest tale from the Far-far-north
The garden never quite sound asleep,
 |
Long-Eared Owl, photographed
at Hoswick - Dave Hall |
Last night alone, at 0026, a Long-Eared Owl graced our sight, as it perched for a while on June's tree, just opposite our kitchen window. I lit the garden for a last check of the grass when the nocturnal predator flew into the spruce. Its silencers makes it a ghost. Magic moment! I just could not really believe my eyes, as the bird landed so gracefully and turned its eyes towards the lit backdoor. Majestic.
Earlier on today, Mr Robin was visible again, as it played around June's drystone wall and our fence posts. It whizzed and darted around stones and long grass, as elusive as a kingfisher perched on the bank of some river... Starlings and blackbirds made a meal of the half apples well before dusk. Precocious roosting time, de rigueur on this latitude.
The zoomed-out view from my kitchen door pedestal did not look too dramatic this morning. However, hailstones littered the garden and white dusted the nearby hill NW of us (not visible on the photrograph). I heard a gaggle of wild geese, very possibly Greylags, calling from Brakefield, as starlings gathered on my neighbours' ramskull and washing lines, June's and mine's. Such a familiar sight. Light remained dimmed through such short days.
If winter, as a season, selects the fittest of survivors, a hand from our part helps to limit the damage through this yearly carnival of death. Mother Earth and Father Sky have their way in dealing with the natural world, and many plant and animal species have adapted to cope with the gradual or sudden change of temperatures. For those who stay in one place all year round, they have no choice but face the perils of sedentary life, or rather, survival.
Like many thousands of us, friend & local wildlife photographer, Paula Moss, based at Girlsta, north of the town, invests in her local patch by feeding her local birds. Although she confessed she was "plagued" by over some "forty pigeons" (mix of Collared & Rock Doves), she found so much delight in mixing sheep fat with seeds & nuts. Her avian friends certainly appreciate her generosity, as they depend on such helping hand! Such gesture is now embedded in our hearts, and nature gives back in beauty what is so graciously offered to it.
Each solstice and equinox make
the very fabric of our world.
Meantime, we prepare for whiteworld as much as we can.
Coal, bagged and stacked against one wall,
the hearth now glows till late in the night.
Fat water-filled roasting dishes provide a little bit of goodness to our avian friends when left around during the day. Now night has overridden dusk, it will be emptied, washed and re-used for tonight's dinner.
Still keep an eye through the window, with a thought for my little feathery friends roosting in the trees of the nearby community garden, as well as those, such as wrens and robins, tucked in between stones of walls. Daily survival has its price.
Last Monday, I shared a slice of Sumburgh & Compass Head with a young lady from Bergen, whom I met on a coach on the previous Saturday... We befriended and, in no time, we spent Monday between tarmac, mud and laughters! The view from Compass Head is fabulous. We spoke the magic of our respective worlds, conservation and drivers' tricks... We exchanged e-addresses, and Bergen lies on the other side of the North Sea - all I need to do is look eastward. More connection with our Scandinavian neighbours & friends :-) ...And talking of Norge, I felt far too happy to hear from my Norskie connection: NYBAKK returns to my side of this wild North Sea next month, just in time for Norway's Constitution Day. We have something special in store for celebrating our bond with our Nordic heritage - the grand opening of Scalloway's brand new Museum. Scalloway, toute une histoire! 
I spent the last precious hours with my Serpentine Clan in a fantastic setting - Voxter Centre, just off the settlement of Brae, a little north of my 60N latitude. And what a slice of life!
we wrote, we played and read...
From Jonathan's little family of adventurers to the keenest Thespian, Voxter - that translates as a good place for growing - offered a playground and a home. In between two workshops, some of us dared to venture out to the wood and, closer to the porch, the walled garden. Jane, The Matriarch, gathered dead wood for a perfect log fire and fed the hearth with passion. Then, she led part of her clan within the dry stone walls where the world's safe for them to play in harmony with their whole world.
We were given a few hours to turn into our characters. One after the other, we reconvened to a table that reeled to the sombre 1940s. Inspector Jacque LeClue would make us question our motives... 
As each clue was revealed, we grew nervous, dismayed or afraid. All would be revealed in due time. Actors' magic - we spanned our lounge into 1940's Casablanca. The night ended in the retiring room, by the log fire. Joy or horror, I discovered my character to be the naughty one - the murderer, or at least, one of two. For a nano-second, repulsion filled my heart... I did not expect it. Together with my (then) unknown accomplice, I had to hide the deed. Confusion filled the room - and then, shock, horror! Hahha, for a first time, the game was fun. Just by the hearth, we laughed and played charades till late.
Yes, geese, Goldeneyes, Long-Tailed ducks and other seasonal wildfowl - including Whooper Swan, Red-breasted Merganser, Northern Lapwing, Teal, Wigeon, Shelduck, Moorhen, shalder and a grey heron - dwell on its edge. But somebody spotted the very first Bonxie of 2012 yesterday. So summer's definitely on its way! All seabirds need fresh water to wash off seaspray off their feathers, as salt burns the very fabric of plumage, keratin. Damaged feathers will only make life difficult to a seabird, just as it does to our local population of otters. Any creature that feeds from our maritime world needs fresh water for survival. 
The surf was gentle at our feet and my other half showed an amazing mollusc he found partly uncovered at the edge of the Atlantic: Arctica Islandica . Amazing find! 
The other end of day, I caught a bloodshot sun through the lens of my pocket camera, as we do not see very often. Our northern sky was filled with a uniform of grey but then, an unusual glowing red sun appeared amidst clouds from the front and I stopped the car to admire such spectacle. I trust other folk stopped on a passing place... It was awesome.
world poetics under one roof
By sunset time, I watched gardens fill with our most common visitors. Since we planted trees in not such a distant past, they have now grown to perching springs, well above ground and feline eyes. As soon as I opened the door onto the sliding sun, the sky unveiled earth symphony, as starlings, sparrows and blackbirds hovered around barren branches. So many voices filled our sky. 
We are getting accustomed to a pale sun on Sunday morning, so low in our Nordic sky. Soon, it will dip even lower. Yule, which coincides with the winter solstice , signals both the longest night in our northern hemisphere and a rite of passage for the gradual return of the sun. Yule light, so precious on our high latitude. Sunrises and sunsets will stagnate a little before precious seconds are regained. Meanwhile, the spirit of Yule has entered our home. Pine, holly, mistletoe adorn our walls & front door. More candles are lit on the chimney mantelpiece. The hearth glows on a daily basis and our larders are stocked for the festive season. 
It's barely 3 o'clock, and light is vanishing beyond the great sub-arctic lid that settled in our sky. The wind might have died by morning, but winter's claws now in firm grip of the island. We have been warned, a strange-shaped yellow bubble engulf our shores by the Met Office... So we've nailed apples on the edge of the composter and scraps litter the iced grass blades since mid-morning. 
