I was excited to get out into the snow first thing this morning and enjoy it while the branches were still laden and heavy. I hurried my porridge as I could already see it falling from the trees in mini snow showers from my window. Come on, come on, flask filled, thermal trousers on (they are so good), boots laced, gloves located (can't find a pair but at least there are two), camera charged, we're ready, let's go.
It was a wonderland. Quiet. Still. Laden with white, each footstep a crunch. As I walked under the trees they kindly shared their snowy burden with me, sometimes softly like icing sugar through a sieve, a refreshing mist on my face, sometimes with a thud, reminding me of stressful school playground snowballs. I wrapped my scarf a little more tightly when one tree offloaded right down my neck onto bare skin. Brrrrr.
I love how snow makes everything monochrome. The trees stand out so clearly and they reveal their shapes to you.
There are the twisty dancers,
the many limbed,
the tall and straight,
the knotted and gnarly
and each has a story to tell. What makes them twist and turn and grow this way and that? The sun, the wind, the rain, the rocks, the soil. They are shaped by the conditions they find themselves in, just as we are. And what do their roots look like? How far do they have to travel before they tap into the rich the mycelial network of support under the ground?
I have been trying to get to know this particular part of the Hardcastle Crags, one of our ancient woodlands a bit better recently, the bit up to the right off the main track from Midgehole car park, just past the wishing well. It's called Foul Scout wood. I've been walking here, sitting here, drawing here, looking at the soil, the leaves and the fungi here and pondering about its history. It's all making me feel a little more connected to it. More rooted.
The definition of an ancient woodland (in England) is one that has been continuously wooded for at least 400 years. Only 2.5% of Britain's land is covered in ancient forest now and it's an important habitat that needs preserving. But even though it's classed as ancient I was surprised to discover that, according to a survey done by Pennine Prospects on the site a few years back the majority of the trees here were planted after the mid 1900's and there are a few ancient trees, even in this big forest. Without thinking about it much I'd assumed that an ancient forest meant that the trees were ancient, but if it's not the trees then it must be the soil and all the plants and species it nurtures? It's hard to imagine but in springtime this site is covered in bluebells. They are an 'ancient woodland indicator' as they are known to love the rich, undisturbed soil of an ancient forest so if there are bluebells there is likely to be history. You can read more about ancient woodland here.
But even if some of these old trees weren't planted until the 1850's then they have still seen a thing or two! They would have seen the mill workers heading through the woods to the Gibson Mill at first light and back again at dusk after a heavy day working the cotton. Later when the mill closed down and became an entertainment emporium they would have seen revelers with roller skates around their necks off to the roller rink or the bowling alley or the dance hall. Think about it, they have seen the beginnings of the industrial revolution, they have lived through two world wars and seen SO much change in the human world. All the while they were just quietly growing bigger and stronger, quietly being a habitat for birds and creatures, watching the seasons come and go, losing their leaves in autumn and growing them again in the spring.
As I sat a while on a rock (you can do that in thermal trousers), sipping some too hot tea and pondering all of this I saw in the distance the tiny twitch of an ear.
It was a deer, dark against white, no longer camouflaged in the fading bracken and leaf litter. It looked at me for a while and then carried on foraging.
I walked back by the river, also black and white.
I admired the remaining foxglove seed heads
some bent over with snow
I've been making laser cut ivy berries in the studio recently so these felt familiar
but I was a bit baffled by these. Can anyone tell me what is going on here? It's not the usual green/white flower you see on the ivy and it's not the dark berries either, is it the transition between. I can't believe I've never noticed this before.
I trudged home after this, boots covered in snow, chilly fingers, rosy cheeks and feeling ready to curl up under a blanket with Willow and a cup of tea.
Thanks for coming on this snowy walk with me. Only last week we were watching the golden fluttering of autumn and suddenly it's WINTER but there's lots of beauty to be found, whatever the season.
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