Blue skies and showers.  My latest watery acquisition from Tavistock Market…

– and a walk after the rain – through bejeweled ‘Raven Wood’ Dartmoor – where even the raven droppings were a shade of aquamarine…

In my neck of the woods – there is a green belt of neglected forestry land that has remained largely unchanged for years – and overtime I have entered this forbidden kingdom many times!  When I had my horse – it was a place I’d go to regularly for a secret gallop down the labyrinth of lonely, tree-lined tracks; today though I enjoy a slower pace on foot. Invariably, I obey the ‘Keep Out’ signs – simply preferring to enjoy long walks skirting around the boundary of the forest – along ‘quiet’ country roads…

Often on my crepuscular activities – I’ll inadvertently cause a stir at the edge – there’s a rumpus of hooves and a snapping of twigs – and I know that I’m not alone…

In the snap of a twig – I recall riding along the same stretch in the snow – when a majestic red deer stag crossed-over in front of me, it stopped and stood in the middle of the road and looked straight at me unafraid – before it strode off into the silent forest with its antlered-head held high. It was a dreamlike moment that will last an eternity and the only ‘photograph’ is in my head; of muffled hooves on snow – and of a shining ‘white’ hart freeze-framed between two black velvet horse ears. I think of the legend of St. Hubert when I remember this experience.

I have had many sightings of deer – Red and Roe – over the years, but I have never been able to capture any of them because the light is always too dim by the time I venture out. My old camera has limited functions and settings – and the deer are simply too sensitive, too swift – wild.

Recently – I’ve gone out a little earlier while still light enough to witness the daily rush of a ‘thousand’ black stars pouring down out of the sky into the forest…

Because of the starlings – I have finally been able to stealthily get a magical shot of four red deer stags grazing in a clearing…

Are they the Four Stags of Yggdrasil – maybe the starlings are telling something?

What I do know is, that being out in nature is not only good exercise but it’s a chance to lose oneself between worlds – and sometimes I don’t want to come back in.

Hidden gem.  ‘Crow Point’ a multifaceted, multicoloured biosphere on the Taw-Torridge Estuary, North Devon Coast.

The sea was calling me on Sunday 13th March 2016 – to a belated Mother’s Day walk with my two lovely boys.  Strictly no chocolates, cards, flowers or sentimental geegaws – just simple pleasures – found treasures – and a newly discovered appreciation of ‘Kasabian’ through the magic of Archie’s on-board Bluetooth; a TREAT of a day in an out of the blue way! 

From middle Devon there are so many beautiful beaches to choose from; a personal favorite of ours is a wild sanctuary on the North Devon coast. With my grown-up son ‘home’ for one precious day – we unanimously chose ‘Crow Point’ for our afternoon walk.

Both boys hold fond memories of visits to ‘Crow Point’ with their late Godfather David – together they spent many happy hours there.

‘Crow Point’ isn’t really a swimmer’s beach though – rather a walker’s paradise where even the detritus adds something to the experience…Late in the day, when the Sun is low and most people are going home – it is a wonderfully peaceful and atmospheric place to be; to find ‘treasure’ – or simply stop and stand and look out to sea…

The beach itself is reached at the end of a long, rolling wooden track over the sandy burrows…  

Here we go!  In search of treasure…

for Turquoise…

Pearl…

And Emerald…

Jet…

And Ruby, Amber and Amethyst…

and Sapphire home.

Diamonds forever.  Archie, David and Tom.

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On a previous visit to ‘Crow Point’ last Easter-tide – it wasn’t a black crow but a beautiful white swan that caught my eye – I’ve kept these images to myself long enough…

For me – this serene encounter brought back a joyful childhood memory of my own – of a special Easter egg that my parents gave to me; my elder sister had one too.  The impressive foil wrapped egg sat in the back of a beautiful cardboard swan-shaped box – and long after the chocolate had been gobbled, we played with those boxes until they disintegrated through overlove.

World within a world.

A wander through ‘Raven Wood’ on a fogbound Tuesday – 8th March 2016. 

When I left home for Tavistock – it had been a cold, bright March morning but by the time I’d reached Mary Tavy, roughly three-quarters of an hour away – Dartmoor was fogbound – it was as if the Moor had been smothered in a vast grey prison blanket. Despite its heaviness and harshness, I found a clear pocket, where I lost my head in the clouds only, with a wander through my favourite Dartmoor wood for an indeterminable time…

After a temptatious visit to the antiques market in Tavistock where I bought something rather raven-ish (later) – I arrived at ‘my’ parking spot near ‘Raven Wood’.  Overhead – a lone raven was sitting on the line – as I got out of the car it disappeared into the greyness – no doubt still keeping a watchful eye on me as I headed-off down the slippery bank towards the trees…

Apart from droplets dripping off branches, nothing stirred within the wood – their treetop nest seemed unattended and no black feathers to be found anywhere, just a tree stump that resembled Corvus corax…

‘Raven Wood’

Silent witnesses to my audible delight…

About here, under this spreading Beech tree – I found a gem of a skull, completely intact and cleaned by nature – an exquisite little thing. I wrapped it up carefully and put it in my pocket for safe keeping…

A squirrel’s skull – a new one for my collection.

Identification made easy. A wonderful vintage book called – ‘Our Country’s Animals’ by W.J. Gordon

The Ravens patrolled the sky…

I can be certain they’re never faraway even when it seems they are not in.

Picture-perfect for a fogbound day.  Raven-haired beauty that I bought in Tavistock market. To me – she’s ‘Emily’ after Emily Bronte – she looks like she has just come-in off the fogbound Moor – I love the woven blanket around her shoulders. Emily’s sister Charlotte described her as “a solitude loving raven” – I get that.

Since when has it been acceptable to ‘stick and flick’ dog mess about the countryside like it’s an outdoor game? I’m disgusted by this transgression – and regression. 

Please see below – a ‘South West Lakes Trust’ sign at the gateway to Burrator Reservoir’s enclosure, nicely asking dog owners to actively take part. The use of the words ‘find a stick’ even suggest a little challenge – and as for “Please” – I ask you!

Evidently dog owners are now permitted to disperse their dog mess far and wide with a clear conscience, instead of bagging it and taking it home to dispose of responsibly. The access around the reservoir is wide in places – especially when the water level is low – therefore dog owners will require Olympian capabilities – and accuracy, to aim the mess into undergrowth with one ‘clean’ flick of a suitable stick! Irresponsible dog owners already litter the Burrator area; there are pendulous plastic bags dangling from many trees and fences – and more stuffed in crevices of granite walls – and on Sunday 24th January 2016 – we and others – luckily avoided treading in four separate piles of dog excrement left on both sides of the road over the dam…’stick and flick’ will only worsen the dog fouling problem in the area – and it is a hazardous and unhealthy alternative to ‘bag and bin’. 

Burrator needs attention – and dog bins – and litter bins desperately; general litter blights the area too.  I have notified several authorities – and I hope that something will be done to clean up Burrator.  Above all – I hope that the ‘stick and flick’ signage is removed from the reservoir entrances because it simply isn’t right to encourage dog owners to actively contaminate an area directly around a reservoir with their left behind dog filth.   

Here are some other images from Sunday’s late walk…

For Winter Solstice – 22nd December 2015.

Having come-in from my nightly perambulation around the block – I feel inspired to write a little something…

Tavistock Christmas Lights…

All day it has rained heavily here – and having bravely ventured to the ‘High Street’ for a brief Christmas foray around the shops earlier – I can’t put into words the joy of being outside completely alone under a moonlit sky tonight – at Winter Solstice.  All three miles I never passed a soul – either on foot or by car.  All the stars bar one low in the western sky, were hidden behind cloud, yet the brilliant Moon shone through complete with a halo of light around it, while the wet road gleamed as a satin ribbon of light leading me onward – and home to my glowing fire…

On the mantelpiece above the wood burner, an old friend has made an annual appearance – a toby jug that I call ‘Old Father Time’.  Inside, I have arranged some dried Mistletoe sprigs (saved from last year) intermingled with artificial Mistletoe for its realistic berries – in honour of my favourite Evergreen…

It gets so warm on the mantelpiece – that dried and faux Mistletoe is definitely best here!

However, earlier today – I had a Special Delivery waiting for me when I got home from the throng; a Yuletide present to myself!  A large, heavy, soggy cardboard box left outside in the rain – brimful with magic!

Traditionally, I treat myself to a generous amount of freshly picked Mistletoe that I festoon my home with at Christmas and New Year.  I simply love Mistletoe – it is my favourite plant – and that it has arrived at my door on this auspicious day – is the berry on the Christmas Cake!  Arranging the fresh Mistletoe around the house over the next couple of days will give me such pleasure – and a few sprigs will be kept and dried for ‘Old Father Time’ on the mantelpiece next year…

Inspired by the magic of Mistletoe – I occasionally make an everlasting sprig in stained glass – but nothing beats the magic or beauty of the real thing…

My box of Winter Solstice de-light!  Thank you Kissmemistletoe – it’s beautifully fresh and laden with berries…

http://www.kissmemistletoe.co.uk/ 

…and here it is in all its lovely greenness…

Standing under the Holly at Sourton Church, Dartmoor – I’m reminded that the festive season is all too soon nearly upon me.  Whilst the golden glow on the far-side, through the leaded church window warms me with the promise of Winter Solstice – and thoughts of longer days – and longer walks in New Year…Meantime, in early November – when the days have suddenly shortened as if overnight – and are often grey and sombre befitting the solemnity of Remembrance, I often take off for a couple of hours and seek the company of angels. Not those from another dimension – but rather the two dimensional type that are carved in stone – on monumental headstones…

As a seasonable change to striding over open moorland – I go in search of angels – tiptoeing softly around Dartmoor’s enclosed spaces, where the accompaniment of Rooks and Crows circling the belfry – and the wind stirring through the trees – only enhances this quiet November pastime.

Sun going down on angelic headstones at Sourton Churchyard – Dartmoor

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Here are a selection of angelic faces gathered from Dartmoor’s churchyards – in praise of the local stonecutters’ skilled dexterity and beautiful—beautiful artistry…

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A weathered poppy found nestled in a crevice on Bellever Tor.

For All-Hallows Eve. Samhain. 31st October 2015.

A post about ‘The Art of Bone Collecting’.  Detail from ‘Our Country’s Animals’ by W.J. Gordon with diagrams by R.E. Holding.

On a recent ‘forage’ to our local Asda – I was fascinated to see a range of home merchandise that included a ram’s skull and a feather ornament – mass-produced in resin of course! 

These are from my alternative collection…

Because my home does already host an array of real feathers and a small collection of boney relics – I can see the instant appeal of Asda’s rustic range, but they are not really my thing because they have no soul.  One can even buy real animal skulls on Ebay and the like – but in my opinion – they are even less appealing because of it.  For me – the thrill is in the ‘unearthing’ – and of being outside at one with nature – it’s an experience that can’t be recreated in resin or bought secondhand from the Internet. 

Setting out with the intention of finding a skull though is in my experience doomed to disappointment – because wild animals seemingly disappear without trace after they’ve died. It’s been a strange truth in my life that it happens more by ‘accident’ than by looking. Having once found a suicide whilst riding off-road – I’m convinced it is a strange kind of providence not chance that determines the odds.  Of course, a love of roaming remote places has its part to play also.

My skull collection falls into two categories; some have been given to me as thrilling surprises by a friend – direct from his land on the edge of Exmoor – and the others I have found for myself on Dartmoor – all bar one.  It is a wild hare’s skull – and most precious of all.  And oddly, it wasn’t found in a secretive location but on the busy B3227 whilst I was driving home from work one day – 16th. June 2015.

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At the edge of the road I noticed a fatality – a sandy-coloured form that hadn’t been there in the morning – sadly it was a hare.  The stretch of road is fast, straight and long – ideal for overtaking – and on either side of the low hedgerows – the fields are large and flat and used for crops; ideal hare country. There is a dead tree that stands outstretched against the skyline and points to near the spot… 

As soon as it was possible – I turned the car around and went back to the dead hare.  As I picked it up – I wondered how many times we had probably crossed each other’s path over the years? It was a mature, male hare – and I was taken by how strong and impressive it was – and by its thick bracken-coloured coat and the poignancy of the grit still loose on its paws…

I gently placed it in a gateway amid the long summer grass – and returned home saddened by its death. I hoped it had been a clean kill – but as there was only one visible injury to its hind quarters I was doubtful.  Later that evening – I was taken by an undeniable urge to return for the hare – to bring it home; a wild hare’s skull is rarer than a hen’s tooth – suddenly the opportunity had presented itself to procure one!

In the dusk – I returned to the gateway and picked up the stiffened hare now covered in a tracery of silvery trails. I brushed them away with my hand and lifted the hare into a ready box and transported it away.  In the cold fluorescent light of my garage – I looked into its sad, sunken eye and doubted myself – whether I’d be able to go through with the act of procurement now that I’d brought it home?

I did though.  The hands-on process was strangely therapeutic and not messy or grisly at all.  The following day – I returned Hare’s body to the earth.  I placed the head separately under a protective wire cage in a suitably quiet corner of our garden screened by weeds.  Overseen by Mother Elder – I left nature to take its course. Throughout the warm months – I watched the flies go in and out the protective dome; a hive of activity yet otherwise undisturbed…

After time – the head’s form visibly shrank and flattened – enriching the soil below – whilst the fur spread-out like a half-blown dandelion clock intermingled with Elder flowers. Just bone, fur and whiskers remained; the attendant flies, beetles and slugs had done a fantastic job. I decided that the next stage had come to soak the ‘husk of hare’ in water – to soften it – so that the skull within could be freed and cleansed.

I had expected this next bit to be slightly fetid but instead only a trace of Hare’s earthly existence pervaded.  As I peeled the ‘flesh’ from the bone – wafts that I can only describe as ‘evocation of hare’ triggered my sensory memory; of corn stooks and harvest – of wild grasses and hedgerow – of soft summer rain – of moonlight and shadow…

Mercifully, the exposure of the skull revealed that the hare had probably died instantly; its skull had sustained a violent injury to the side and rear. That the hare had suffered a protracted death at the roadside during the heat of the day, was something that had troubled me throughout the procurement process; suddenly I had peace of mind – and it didn’t matter that the skull was visibly perfect on one side only…

To complete the curing process – Hare journeyed back through the land of its birth – and death – to Exmoor, where I entrusted it to a friend who gave it his tried and tested whitening treatment.  

Whether naturally bleached by the elements – or chemically whitened – all my skulls are displayed simply and head-on.  Hare was to be different though…

As only one side of its skull was intact – a profile display was my best option – so I set about creating a simple wire encasement that would protect the delicate structure, whilst showcasing it – and allowing Hare to breathe.  At the end of a summer-long process – a life-sized, light-footed embodiment of Hare appeared; the piece is suitably called ‘Trace of Hare’ and safely holds the relic within…

‘Trace of Hare’

In the spirit of Hare folklore and time-honoured traditions – I have a fancy to decorate Hare with mistletoe and lights for Christmas and New Year.  And in that sense Hare goes on living – bringing inspiration and enchantment in his path – through the months and the seasons – and for years to come.

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With reference to an earlier disclosure – I assure you there is nothing remotely human in my skull collection! Along with Hare – there are three foxes from two Moors, a pair of inseparable newcomers (a pair of Exmoor badgers) – a Dartmoor crow and a Dartmoor sheep – plus two characterful Exmoor deer; one is a misshapen Roe and the other is a Red Deer prickett!  Though thinking about it…and maybe because it is the 31st of October – there is just one other skull that comes to mind!  Oddly it isn’t bone – but a stone – that I found under an ancient Holly – and it is the only one in my collection with a spooky vibe and it has to be said – it does possess a set of human-like gnashers!  

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(Thank you to Jake’s Bones – a fascinating blog by a young naturalist and bone collector – Jake McGowan-Lowe from Scotland. Lots of invaluable information for cleaning bones.)

After a grey, drizzly start to the last day of British summer time – the sun finally came out to play – highlighting a spider-web inside my kitchen window.  Whilst making a cup of afternoon tea – my gaze passed through the pretty web to where I noticed the light had caught two late blooms on the Alberic Barbier – a mature rambling rose in the garden.

Raggedy, drooping and faded at the edges – the couple of still lovely autumn roses brought to mind a grisaille painting on canvas that adorns my parlour wall – called ‘The last blooms of Summer’ by multi-talented artist/maker Lynn – at http://sea-angels.blogspot.co.uk/  It is a beautiful painting of an ‘imperfect’ circle of roses…

In sunlight – a sprinkle of rainbows can often be seen dancing prettily across its monochrome surface.  Whilst through the hours of darkness – ‘The last blooms of Summer’ emanate a pearl-like luminescence into my room. 

DEVON ROCKS! Exmoor and Dartmoor defined.

Exmoor and Dartmoor are about equidistant from where I live in middle Devon – probably Exmoor is just that bit further away – especially if one takes into consideration the number of hairpin bends en-route!  Although my feet are firmly in Dartmoor’s camp – occasionally they stray Exmoor’s snaky way – to the spectacular ‘Valley of the Rocks’ – a place where goats and ravens dare – and Exmoor drops away to the sea… 

A late-afternoon cliff edge walk – Sunday 18th. October 2015. 

Dartmoor’s livestock are hardy, nimble-footed – and seemingly obliging! Herded together here – are a few of my favourite snapshots taken on various wanderings across Dartmoor’s ‘lonely’ slopes…

All gleaned from my screen-saver – it’s a gallery of  photogenic sheep, ponies and cattle – in that order. Dartmoor’s beauty needs no introduction.

Over the top – on the other side – it is light, open and scenic; a popular gathering place for recreation, especially busy at weekends.

In contrast, on this side – out of sight and below, there is a lost world where ‘nobody’ seemingly ventures; an Eden of totemic trees, colossal boulders, dark pools and forbidden fruits! If you should stumble upon this hidden gem; be not afraid to enter in.  All you need are a staff in hand to steady you as you clamber over slippery stone – and a good set of lungs to breathe in all the wonderful greenness.

Sunday’s adventure – 11th. October 2015…