Every blade of grass has its angel that bends over it and whispers “Grow grow.” The Talmud.

May Bank Holiday weekend; perfect for a spot of gardening!

My garden is probably what some may call unconventional; weeds are widespread and have been happily allowed to colonise all four corners of the garden. There are plants that have crept in from next door’s –

and there are numerous troughs and containers showcasing bones and stones – and other pot-bound specimens but rarely intentionally cultivated plants or flowers! In a particularly green corner beneath an ear-less rabbit – there are some bones ‘cooking’ – left undisturbed for Nature to work her magic. They are three ‘Shamanic Massagers’ in the making – I found the deer leg at the side of the road while babysitting the ‘Whippets’.The jointed part will be ‘unrecognisable’ – once cured, separated and whitened later in the year – and because the deer was killed accidentally rather than by intent – they’ll feel better.

At this time of year – there are so many fascinating ‘weeds’ to marvel and one of my all time favourites is ‘Jack in the Pulpit’… 

and I’m always blown away by that other childhood perennial – the Dandelion Clock…I love trumpet and bell-like flowers like Foxgloves and Bindweed – 

and common or garden varieties like nasturtiums and petunias.

I bought this ‘Black Beauty’ last year; when opened – the flowers look like floppy upturned velvet hats. I was attracted by its darkly good looks – although not poisonous it was certainly powerful enough to make me unusually buy a number of them!  Other than long established shrubs and trees – most of the spring flowers in my garden have naturalised themselves; they’re just windblown weeds – like Celandine, Herb Robert and a carpet of pretty Daisies! The Hellebores are past their best now but their faded, bespeckled blooms still add coolness to my unruly beds. 

I like withered flowers and leaves because there is something rather beautiful about the slow process of decay; although it’s a conviction I fail to see in myself when I catch my own moldering reflection these days!

The plants that fascinate me the most of are poisonous ones of course – like cowled Monkshood – and Deadly Nightshade – or Atropa belladonna.

Ever since discovering the descriptive genius of L.P. Hartley’s novel – ‘The Go-Between’ – when Leo discovers Deadly Nightshade growing in a roofless outhouse at Brandham Hall – I too have been beguiled by this potentially baleful beauty – longing to grow a specimen of my own. 

As the best and most powerful description of Deadly Nightshade ever written – the passage reads –

“It wasn’t a plant, in my sense of the word, it was a shrub, almost a tree, and as tall as I was. It looked the picture of evil and also the picture of health, it was so glossy and strong and juicy-looking: I could almost see the sap rising to nourish it. It seemed to have found the place in all the world that suited it best.

I knew that every part of it was poisonous, I knew too that it was beautiful, for did not my mother’s botany book say so?

I stood on the threshold not daring to go in, staring at the button-bright berries and the dull, purplish, hairy bell-shaped flowers reaching out towards me.  I felt that the plant could poison me, even if I didn’t touch it, and that if I didn’t eat it, it would eat me, it looked so hungry, in spite of all the nourishment it was getting. 

As if I had been caught out looking at something I wasn’t meant to see I tiptoed away, wondering whether Mrs. Maudsley would think me interfering if I told her about it.  But I didn’t tell her, I couldn’t bear to think of those lusty limbs withering on a rubbish heap or crackling in a fire; all that beauty destroyed.  Besides I wanted to look at it again.  

Atropa belladonna.” 

Like the young Leo wanting to look at the Deadly Nightshade again – I have repeatedly returned to the book, the original film and soundtrack throughout my life – and recently thoroughly enjoyed the remake too.  When I first saw the original film in the seventies as an adolescent – the Go-Between sparked a life-long impression – an obsession – an inspiration!

Somewhat in defiance of Leo at the end of ‘The Go-Between’ – when he chants “Delenda est belladonna” (destroy the beautiful woman) as he rips the Deadly Nightshade from the ground – I want to bring one to life.  I have finally reached a time – when I feel safe to plant a Deadly Nightshade of my own in my enclosed garden; my boys are full-grown now – so it can do no harm.

To this end – I bought some seeds on Ebay – and followed the advisory note about immersing the black seeds in water and placing in a fridge to fool them into thinking that the winter thaw has taken place.  Everyday I changed the water and carefully placed them back in the fridge in a sealed container – until finally they were ready to plant.  Belladonna is notoriously difficult to germinate – and it is my opinion that you can’t fool this ‘beautiful lady’ by such trickery.  Out of all the seeds soaked – and planted – only one precious seed has taken root. I can’t tell you how excited I was when I first noticed its tiny green shoots. Everyday I reach for my magnifier – to marvel at its tiny hairy leaves – first a pair – and now four and counting!  I have noticed she has taken a small bedfellow into her pot right beside her. It’s a spiky, minute plant – whether it is the beginnings of another Belladonna – I’m not sure?  I suspect though that it is an impostor – because the soil was taken from a mole hill rather than using compost. I shall keep my watchful eye on both seedlings! 

I water my ‘Belladonna Babe’ with saved rain water only – and bring her in at night – perversely slugs are very partial to Deadly Nightshade!  For now – while she is so small and vulnerable – she sits at our oak table while we eat are evening meals – and she’s party to all our conversations – and every night I reach for my magnifier to check on progress. She is getting ‘noticeably’ bigger by about a millimeter a week!  And it will be a whole year – before she is ready to bear her “button-bright berries” and “dull purplish, hairy bell-shaped flowers”.  

Every day I bend over her and whisper “Grow grow.” – I’m literally willing her to grow tall and strong and “lusty” – and I can’t wait to behold her when she is full-grown.  You may think I’m a bit of a dark angel for actively encouraging such a wickedly, beautiful plant into my garden but it’s just harmless fascination I assure you.  Gloves are required at all times when handling Atropa belladonna.  

Here she is today 28th May 2016 on a thundery, atmospheric Go-Between-ish afternoon – and she’s listening to the 1971 masterpiece through the open french doors as we speak.  The clouds are towering, the music is climaxing – and all the while my ‘Belladonna Babe’ is quietly growing stronger – more powerful.  

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Update!

Growing ever stronger and lustier – Saturday – 5th August 2017. (Year 2)

I love her reddish tinge and hairiness.

Other ‘Belladonna’ posts…

http://somethingaboutdartmoor.com/2017/03/17/la-primavera-the-power-of-three/

A Beautiful Mix-up!

Bellissima!

A simple snapshot of a swallow sitting on a wire – taken on my three hour walk this evening and uploaded just a short while ago.  I love the way the clouds have opened behind the swallow to form a natural frame around it – 

When focused on – it’s like the keyhole to heaven’s door. Swallows are symbolic of hope, fertility and renewal of life – so just ties in nicely with my other post today – 24th. May 2016.

My inspiration for writing this post has come from a number of sources.  Firstly, it is dedicated to my niece, Araminta – who’s birthday it is today.  At birth she weighed less than a pound. She is her parent’s own miracle fawn – whom they have nurtured for nineteen whole years to this point in time – 24th. May 2016.

Today she is in her second year at university studying costume production and associated crafts at Plymouth university.

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“Nowadays people don’t get enlightenment because they don’t sit under a tree.” Satish Kumar – Earth Pilgrim.   Amitayus –  ‘Buddha of Limitless Life’ sits under the Mulberry tree in our garden.

Tuesday is probably my favourite day of the week because I don’t have to go to work – and I have time right now to sit and meditate – to ponder; not under a tree but in front of my computer at home. Beyond the screen – through the window – I’m vaguely distracted and amused by an acrobatic squirrel who has come to my table again…

Along with Squirrel – there are feathered beings – Wood Pigeons, Collared Doves, Sparrows, Blackbirds and a lightning-fast Magpie that all daily come to to eat at my table – each and everyone a welcome guest – and an inspiration; I feed them and they in turn feed my soul.  

I’m inspired too by Caitlin – and by Lynn – two wise commentators who regularly visit my blog.

Caitlin’s most recent comment on ‘A brown speckled cushion of loveliness’ reads – “On Buddha’s Birthday a spotted fawn is born – just like that.”
Haiku by Basho.

Lynn’s latest comment on ‘Beauty’s spot’ – says ‘Thank the Gods for nature.’  

The Buddhist festival, Vesak – was celebrated on the date of the full moon – the day I ‘coincidentally’ found the tiny fawn – 21st May 2016. The festival marks Buddha’s birth, enlightenment and death.

Another source came while setting off from the house for my late evening walk yesterday with Tom – 23rd May 2016 – I noticed a leaf had opened on Dad’s Mulberry tree that overhangs the garden railings into the road; it is a perfect, symbolic heart.  The tree was given to my father by my mother as a gift about fifty years ago. My father is now 92 and confined to his bed.  He has lived with cancer for five years and is slowly, inextricably nearing a new beginning…

While all the other trees in the garden and beyond have unfurled their leaves – the Mulberry will be the last to fully open. Standing next to it – I could hear the sap rising – pushing forth.

Beneath the Mulberry tree sits Amitayus – ‘Buddha of Limitless Life’.

Picking up on those thoughts and feelings – was something my Mother externalised when I showed her the picture of the tiny fawn on Sunday 22nd May 2016 – she is 82 years young.  Stirred by how all trees except the Mulberry have reached their zenith of vivid greenness – she verbalised that universal feeling of maternal joy – exhaustion – and relief – that a mother feels after nine ‘long’ months when finally her unborn child arrives on the Earth – that first moment of instant love when you hold your offspring in your arms and melt. My mother had five children – I was number four. I have gone on to have two myself – and I exactly got what she was expressing…

Each and every birth is its own miracle and it is a feeling that time doesn’t diminish.  It echoed my thoughts of the doe straining to give birth to the little fawn alone in a quiet wood – no midwife to assist – ‘just’ Nature – or Gaia taking her course. 

Walking home with Tom in the darkness – we reached the crossroads near the wood where I found the tiny fawn. “No talking now.”  I said. “We don’t want our voices to carry on the wind and disturb the tiny fawn and doe.”  Quietly we journeyed on until we reached the dip far enough away to not be heard.  As we resumed our conversation – a tawny owl somewhere up in in the tall pine trees chirped-in.  Not so much a “Tu-whit Tu-whoo”  rather a penetrating screech. I asked – “Are you the owl that came back to life in my car?”  and the owl screeched back at me again. Several times I asked the same question and every-time it answered with the same reply.

Ever-since the owl incident last year – we hear the same tawny owl always in the same spot and always when we are together – and I ask the same question. I feel certain that it is ‘our’ owl because as the crow flies – the spot is about half a mile from where we released it back into the wild.  

As we reached the brow of the hill back into our village – I stopped and looked back.  There on the horizon above ‘Shedland’ – a huge orange Moon had risen – and I realised the momentousness of finding that tiny, furry form curled-up on the woodland floor.  

Simply put via the miracle of modern-day communication – it’s that vastly greater medium of interconnectedness that all beings share; it’s called the gift of life.

Many happy returns of the day Araminta!  X

In February 2016 – I bought a curious brooch of a ‘golden’ faun from an online dealer in the Netherlands – I call the brooch ‘Mr. Tumnus’ after the famous character in ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ by C.S. Lewis.  It has such a benevolent face.  Ever since acquiring ‘Mr. Tumnus’ – I have been metaphorically disappearing into Narnia myself. Magical things just happen when I slip through my secret doorway to the other side – to a wood I call ‘Shedland’ – because it’s where I sighted four mythic stags and found two incredible sheds…Yesterday – 21st May 2016 – I was taken by an impulse to go there again for my early evening walk – ‘just’ to smell the heaven scent of bluebells after a day of rain.  There are no paths – I just go wherever fancy takes me…Walking through the wood – I found a wet feather – brown and a little bedraggled – probably that of a tawny owl.  I was so pleased, I knew it would soon fluff up and smooth out again once at home near the woodburner…

Moving on through the wood – I suddenly noticed something else brown.  At first sighting, it looked rather like a small tree stump in the wet grass – only different. Sort of striped and speckled – and furry – with black-tipped, tufted ears and a half-open eye…I have never come across one of these little darlings before in my life; only having seen them in fairy tales – and natural history programmes on the telly – I could hardly believe my eyes – or luck. There in front of me was a living, breathing Bambi.  A tiny, curled-up Roe Deer fawn contentedly dozing on the woodland floor – a brown speckled cushion of loveliness, perhaps born on today’s date of the Full Moon.  It was very small indeed.

Even though I would have liked to take it home  – I kept my distance and used the zoom function on my camera to get as close as I could.  Roe Deer mothers leave their young like this while they graze nearby – so I knew that it was imperative not to touch or disturb the vulnerable fawn.  After stealing a couple of photographs – I quietly backed away realising that I’ll probably never ‘stumble upon’ such an exquisite find again – and hoped my camera had captured the moment for keeps. Luckily I’m thrilled to report that there was one precious shot – and here it is…

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Walking home on cloud nine – I noticed how the low Sun highlighted my other lucky find; even if my few shots weren’t in focus I knew I had this beautiful fawn-coloured feather as a reminder of a magical moment in time when I found ‘A brown speckled cushion of loveliness’.

Oh! And there will always be Mr. Tumnus too!

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Today – 22nd May 2016 – I find myself unexpectedly being mother to a pair of fawn-like creatures – Mimi and Luna – my doggy nieces ‘The Whippets’!  They are looking at me doe-eyed wanting to go out for a walk – so we are off out very soon for a long, gentle walk around the quiet roads. There’ll be strictly no straying anywhere near ‘Shedland’ though – because somewhere amongst the bluebells and foxgloves a little fawn will be napping.

These days I seem to gravitate to the same area of Dartmoor – ‘in’ and around Burrator Reservoir.  After many wanderings over Dartmoor’s varied terrain – this area has a magnetism that I can’t resist.  I love the woods and water – and driving over the open moorland road to get there…

I always take sandwiches and a thermos of tea – and I can willingly lose myself for hours – lost in the detail – that perhaps some may overlook.  My walks are usually at a slower pace too – not route marches to the wilder parts of the Moor – been there done that – although I do hear Fur Tor calling me back – rather time to stand and stare – and perceive the magic and elemental beings that reveal themselves.  I always start at a customary place too – passing through a grove of Hawthorns; in tree lore – Hawthorns are sacred to the Little Folk.  On entering through their doorway – I’m immediately enthralled – or as some may say – away with the faeries – or piskie-led as they say locally!  

Arthur Rackham-ish trees, a Miss Havisham-esque bluebell – a besom broom plantation and a Marshwiggle’s house.  And greenness – and water – and that most magic of ingredients – light! All were taken within a short radius of the reservoir – 15th May 2016.  An enchanted afternoon spent. 

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Ending on a sad note – I came across a lifeless Song Thrush – lying in a mucky puddle at the side of the reservoir road.  Many cars pass that way especially on a Sunday when the weather is fine – and unfortunately she was a casualty of a busy day.  Not only her though, but her hungry babies waiting to be fed at home in the nest; she never returned. 

Mourning song.  Mother Song Thrush laid to rest on a mossy stump – 15th May 2016.

Earlier this year – someone defiled this popular parking bay near Burrator with an enormous pile of fly-tipped waste; it was shocking to see.

A few months on – 15th May 2016 – how wonderful to see a newly born Dartmoor foal reclaim the spot as his own.

‘Beauty’

Lift up thine eyes.  Making the most of a visit to modern-day Torquay.

Saturday morning – 7th May 2016 – while doing particularly nothing at my computer – I decided to watch a few favourite scenes from a couple of special dvds that I keep close at hand for such blissful, sedentary ‘moments’. Two stories both set around 1900 – the recent brilliant remake of my all time favourite film – ‘The Go-between’ – and ‘A Summer Story’ starring Imogen Stubbs and James Wilby – a love story set on Dartmoor – and in Torquay.

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.”  Opening line from ‘The Go-Between’ by LP Hartley.

Once in a while – I like to travel back to genteel Edwardian England – to another lifetime and these films are the perfect vehicle to get me there…

Sailing over the Moor to Torquay.  Still from ‘A Summer Story’

Come the afternoon an idea had been hatched for an impromptu trip to the ‘English Riviera’…

‘Sailing’ over the Moor to Torquay is a pleasant run – although once in South Devon things get noisier – much busier.  Aspects of Torquay today are just too in your face and brash for my liking – especially with flashing, gaudy ‘amusement’ arcades and signage like this on display – it’s all too much! 

Torquay struck me as a place of two halves – the haves and the have-nots; a century hasn’t changed that. Comfortable boat owners enjoying the freedom of the sea for fun and pleasure – and disadvantaged ‘landlubbers’ – landlocked by reduced income and high unemployment where there is nothing on the horizon and no realistic way out.  No escape through the open harbour bridge for them, just soulless shops on a dull Saturday with little or no money to spend.

Gateway to freedom.  Torquay harbour bridge in operation.

Degenerating buildings up a side road off the main shopping thoroughfare.

Too soon – I wanted to retreat northwards again along winding roads – over the rolling green hills of Dartmoor to my quiet backwater…

Of course my observances of Torquay are generalisation based on what I perceived during my ‘misspent’ afternoon – and although it is very pleasant along the palm-lined promenade and marine area – I found the town centre a depressing, run down place – a far cry from the elegance and grandeur of 1900. Whilst walking down the high street – an ill-mannered women with a gaggle of children and a pushchair – tossed aside her lit cigarette without so much as a backward glance as she disappeared with her irritable brood into a sports shop.  Meanwhile her discarded fag almost landed in my open pocket – catching my forearm in the process! With no desire for confrontation – I brushed the incident off with a simple resolve not to return to Torquay anytime soon – it only compounded my feelings of negativity about the place.  

Having said that, nowadays it’s ‘easy’ to witness bad manners and objectionable language and behaviour just about anywhere – and social and economic status are no parameters.  Walking around some of the shops – I was disgusted by the number of takeaway plastic coffee cups that were ‘just’ dumped on shop shelves. 

Torquay at street level was not my scene – although I did find that by raising my gaze there were uplifting highlights…

Atop the grand ‘Pavilion’ on Torquay seafront. ‘Mercury’ messenger to the Gods.

A shell-like stairwell.  Safe passage over the busy seafront road to Torre Abbey Gardens.

In the heart of a blaze of resplendent red and gold tulips in Torre Abbey Gardens – a group of black messenger birds had found refuge; unenterable by humans – the enclosed beds made for the most beautiful – and enviable spot in the whole of Torbay!  

Walk this way! A pair of ownerless flip-flops at a junction on the way back to the car park. Looking to the steeple on the horizon – they reminded me of the poem ‘Footprints in the Sand’.

Torquay; please God get me out of here!

On The Bright Side.

A wondrous capture shared from YouTube — a must see!

Video by William Spencer

Dartmoor on a clear Spring day – 2016.A pastoral scene of ewes and their lambs contentedly grazing on the banks of Burrator Reservoir.  The light on the water and through the trees – made me think of a poem I learnt as a child from a little book of prayers.  Many years on – I found myself joyfully reciting the words as I continued around the reservoir road…

‘The Lamb’ by William Blake

May Day bunting – Dartmoor style! Ribbons of frayed black plastic caught in the Whitethorn.  (Another name for Hawthorn) 1st May 2016.

Dartmoor was unseasonably dressed for the start of May; not a patch of blue – or a whiff of May-scented blossom anywhere – in fact it was the sort of day when a mayday call-out for ‘Search and Rescue’ would be likely – should one be foolhardy enough to wander out on to the open Moor; access to the Tors was impenetrable.On the road through Princetown – I snapped a shot through the car window of the prison’s grim lamp-lit portal…As I accelerated away – as free as a bird – I determined that despite the cold, wet and gloom – and distinct lack of visibility – I was going to seize the day with a visit to my familiar, sheltered haven…

At the doorway – I was greeted by the joyful sight and sound of a tail-less fledgling…  – it was nervously perched in a neighbouring tree – squawking for mealtime to be served…With my movements quizzically watched – I was thrilled to receive a May Day gift that fluttered down from their tree-top nest…

Nearby – the table was laid with Spring-lamb ‘chops’ – one each for Mum and Dad…– and a separate ‘chop’ for the ‘little’ one…
It would have been a welcome sight to see a gambolling lamb, rather than a sacrificial one – but ravens eat only carrion – this was not their killing. (The penetrating fog even managed to mist-up my lens hence the blurry blobs!)

After a couple of hours ‘lost’ in ‘Raven Haven’ – I headed back to my car – passing through a grove of rather bare Hawthorn trees. Stopping for a celebratory group tree hug – I perceived something strung within the tangle of thorny branches. The ‘Queen of the May’ was wearing something after all.  Neither a frock of new green leaves or a crown of creamy-white blossom – instead she wore a garland of glistening pearls…

Arriving back at my parked car – a Blackbird ‘Sings in the New’ – above charred blackened gorse. (Swaling is a Dartmoor tradition – it is the annual burning of gorse and moorland scrub – thinning out the old to regenerate the new.)  May Day blessings.

I guess I’m a bit of a magpie – a forager – gatherer!  I rarely come home empty handed from my walks…a heart-shaped stone, a feather – or two, even a pair of antlers – and on a daily basis – a bundle of lightings for the woodburner.  With all the windy weather we have had over Winter and early Spring – twigs are in abundant supply – I don’t buy kindling when it’s there for free!

Whether it’s just a handful – or an underarm bundle – there is something very satisfying about the simple pleasure – and age olde tradition of gathering a faggot for the fire.  Yesterday, I gathered a rather unruly bunch of Ash and Oak twigs – all found on the grass verges – or caught in the hedgerows at the side of the road – by the time I returned to my village I had an under-armful.  As I entered under the soft orange glow of the street lights something caught my eye – and it wasn’t the sharp end of a misbehaving twig! Suddenly, there was a huge monster in the shadows and alarmingly I realised it was me! Quite how I morphed into this grotesque (faintly rude) Doctor Who-esque shape is a mystery but after my initial perturbation – I became amused and so took this photo for my album… Of course – that’s why I love coming home in dimsy light – that magical time between sunset and nightfall, when what is real – and what is a trick of the light, merge to trigger the imagination.

This is a follow-on from my previous post ‘Quest’.

There’s no denying that held aloft, my red deer antler is a prize to be marvelled at; its structure and weight truly awesome. The annual regrowth of a stag’s antlers is a force of nature – growing at an inch a day it is no wonder that they visibly manifest such energy – such power.

In finding a shed Red Deer antler – I have discovered a ‘new world’ that beforehand I knew little about – or how popular it is – and I certainly didn’t know that it had a name – ‘Shed Hunting’.  

Globally, the ‘harvesting’ of live deer antler is large scale – for its believed efficacy as an elixir.  A trade that is brutal and cruel – its acquisition a world apart from harmless ‘Shed Hunting’.  How in this modern day – human beings can believe that deer antler has a potency beyond its visible structural wonderment – just leaves me deeply sickened. Those that are so vain – and wealthy enough – who buy into this age-old nonsense (a ‘medicine’ that causes such pain and terror in its procurement – can never do good) – are surely dead already without sensitivity to other living beings. 

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Closer to home, in my ‘back yard’ – ‘Shed Hunting’ is a Springtime activity enjoyed by locals – a time-consuming recreation that’s great fun with the added possibility of taking home – First – and Second prize!

Exmoor in particular is a favourite stomping ground for the seasoned shed hunter who knows where to look.  Even so – finding a shed antler is probably more luck than knowledge – maybe even fatedness?

The exhilaration of my first find is something that I’ll never quite experience again…A photograph of my antler in its original place before I touched it – is reproduced and enlarged on canvas – and now hanging on my parlour wall.  It’s there, so that I can remember the adrenalin rush that I felt in that magical moment – over and over again…  

The ‘slow’ recognition and excitable disbelief that I experienced in seconds – digitally – and magically preserved.  It is something that I’d recommend to any prospecting shed hunter; take a photo before you pick up your first find!  If I’d found a smaller antler with fewer points I’d have been equally thrilled – but that it has five points atop with a dew cup for its crown – finding gold bullion couldn’t have stirred such fulfilment within me.  My antler is a priceless gift from Nature beyond my wildest dreams.

Naturally, having shared news of my extraordinary find with people in the shed hunting know – several have asked about the other antler – and had I found that too?  A matching pair of shed ‘Royal Stag’ antlers are very marketable apparently.  Of course, to me – monetary worth is irrelevant – but out of curiosity – I decided to go back to where I found it and look for the other one – to see if what they were saying was true – that the other antler is usually close at hand – or whether it’s fallacy.   

Half of me didn’t want to find the matching antler but I set about searching for it anyway – covering a wide area working outwards from my original find.  Several shed hunting sessions followed over a course of a week or so but nothing found to date; only reinforcing my believe that I had ‘asked’ for one antler and that was what I had been most generously given.  I did find this pair of primroses though nestled in the grassy bank… 

Definitely a case of ‘remember to smell the flowers’ rather than just keeping your eyes downcast looking for antlers; Nature’s bountifulness is all around!

Not finding the other antler has pleased me.  I believe that the ‘lost’ antler has gone to earth.  A newly shed antler is a natural source of calcium for wildlife – that’s Nature’s way.  The fact that my antler was half covered in forest debris makes me think that it had lain undisturbed for an indeterminable time – coupled with the fact that it is so huge – just one of the pair would have been ample to satisfy any calcium deficiency in the forest fauna!  Just the tip of the brow point on my antler is missing – whether nibbled away – or an old battle scar I can’t tell – but I love every bit of it – and the missing tip!Shed Hunting has become the way of my walks at present – and not because I wish to find another cast antler – I don’t.  I just love disappearing through the ‘doorway’ – into the secret world of these magnificent wild animals – following their hoof impressions – to their muddy scrapes and scented mounds, deep within the forest.  And every now and then, a lucky sighting.  Sudden noise – twigs snap, hearts pound – as four stags leap and bound into the shadows – and then as quickly – everything returns to silence.  

I didn’t find the matching antler – or any shed antlers for that matter and I’m not looking anymore – but what I have found is a different ‘matching’ pair to celebrate my shed hunting success – not on the forest floor but through the vastness of the Internet – on Ebay!  

One is a magical little painting ‘Woodland Interior’ by brilliant Essex artist, David R. Jones.  

It perfectly captures my experience of shed hunting; the light through the trees, the smell of the earth, the exquisite silence – and me.  

Its ‘match’ is an original piece of stained glass art – designed and made by talented Rachel Ravelle – also on Ebay.  

I love the sentiment – and the clever integration of the stag’s antlers hidden in the veins of the leaf – a beautifully rustic piece that perfectly symbolises the way my antler was disguised as part of the forest floor.  The secret of shed hunting is to look through and beyond for the beautiful white tips! 

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Because of a feeling of fatedness rather than luck that I have when I hold my antler – I have given it a name, ‘Yod’ – after an astrological configuration in my birth chart – also known as the ‘Finger of Fate’ – or the ‘Finger of God’.  That the crown has an uncanny likeness to an outstretched hand – and that it spells ‘Y’ – for ‘Yod’ and for ‘Yggdrasil’ only strengthen the point.

Oh! Not forgetting four mythic stags…

a thousand aerobatic starlings…

and one very clever messenger raven who told me exactly where to look!

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There’s an unexpected epilogue!  Something magical has happened again – 23rd of April 2016.

Yesterday, I went out for a short walk against the clock – as I had a family birthday celebration to attend later in the evening.  No time for dilly dallying I thought – just a brisk, straightforward walk without my camera!

I should have gone a different route – rather than skirting the border of shed hunting territory. As I reached the ‘doorway’ – I lost my sense of direction and was taken by an undeniable feeling to go off-road! Almost immediately, I experienced an undreamt surprise…

There right in front of me – I was presented with a pristine, white-tipped antler, softly cushioned upon a patch of newly sprung bluebell leaves – it was a timely gift indeed.  In the warm, dappled sunlight it was such an uplifting sight to behold – heralding Winter has finally passed. Unlike my first antler that has an ancient otherworldliness – this one was newly shed – and because of its distinct shape – it had a familiarity about it; I knew I’d seen it before. Hurriedly, I picked it up and loosely disguised it in a bundle of gathered twigs for my home-fire; should anyone about, ask where I’d found it!  After a quick scout round for the reputed other antler (that I didn’t find) – it was suddenly way passed my time to head back home…And as I’d thought, the shed antler is that of a stag I’d previously photographed – it’s his right antler for sure.

And viewed from above – it’s a beautiful cursive ‘Y’.

So finally, I have reached the end of my rambling post – and Quest – and I couldn’t have wished for a more fitting conclusion; a perfect pair of two right antlers! 

‘Yod’ and ‘Son of Yod’ – side by side upon the fresh Spring grass.

Yesterday something magical happened – again.  Since sighting the ‘Four Stags of Yggdrasil‘ – I have been taken by a want to find a precious shed antler for my natural history collection.  No other stag antler would suffice, it had to be one of theirs – they are such handsome ‘boys’ – and it is the right time of year for stags to cast their antlers…

In hindsight, I would compare my quest to looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack – every piece of fallen branch on the forest floor morphed into an antler before my expectant eyes – I’d set myself an impossibly difficult goal – or maybe the stags had set it for me?

Daily for the last fortnight – I have searched in vain – until yesterday – 2nd April 2016…

I ventured deeper into the forest than before and set about finding one in earnest.  An hour or more passed and still no luck – when suddenly – I heard the familiar ‘cronk cronk’ call of a messenger raven…Up to this point, I admit – I was beginning to think maybe I wasn’t going to find any red deer antler let alone that of a mythic stag.  I’d have settled for a roe deer antler – or anything wild – just to take home for my humble collection – perhaps even a sculptural piece of wood!   The raven’s presence was all I needed to stay positive and with no more ado – I set my internal compass in the direction of its call – it was telling me where to find ‘my’ antler.  In a straight line, I walked no more than a hundred yards – and there just to my side was a strange branch that looked different to all the thousands of other branches I’d been misled by on my fortnight quest…Half concealed beneath twigs and moss – ‘my’ antler reached out from the Earth – its palm-like crown as an outstretched hand wanting to be found. Not recently shed either – this was a thrilling find.

Even after second take – and third take – my eyes couldn’t believe their luck; this was definitely no ordinary antler – it was an impressive eight pointer cast by a legend of a beast. WOW!

The width of my refectory table is 33 inches!

Oh thank you…

clever Raven.

Addendum.  Information about Red Deer stag antlers.

A stag with all his rights – 12 points or over is a royal stag. This antler has 5 ‘top’ points which with the 3 normal points lower down – brow, bray and trey makes a total (assuming the opposite not found antler has the same configuration) of 16 points.  Shed from a stag aged between 12 to 15 years old – maybe older…indeed much older!

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Hand like Antler like Hand.