June 9th – To the Canada geese with young, I remain their biggest enemy.
This momma was separated with 2 chicks from her parter and was anxious to rejoin the main brood.
I loved the little guy peering out from behind her.
It would be nice to be able to potter about the canal without being hissed at and pecked for a change…
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June 9th – A decent enough day following the heavy rain of the day before – I had stuff to do at home so just nipped out on errands.
Another beautiful sign of the season slipping by is the waterlilies are blooming on the canals – not my favourite white ones yet, but the yellow are coming on a treat.
We just need some warm weather now…
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June 8th – The weather cleared, so I left the fair and headed up to Honey Hill, No Mans Heath, Netherseal, Coton in the Elms, Walton and over to Barton for coffee – but from the rickety Walton Bridge, I watched a fascinating drama unfold.
Four adult Canada geese were shepherding their clutches as one group along the reedbeds at the edge of the Trent, foraging for food. It’s not uncommon for these geese to team up on parenting duties or mind each other’s chicks, but this group of nearly 30 is one of the largest I’ve ever witnessed. It was stunning – not least for the control exerted by the parents.
They guided the goslings upstream to an inlet to the west. I watched as they processed one by one and two by two into the side brook.
Then, a splash and a flash of red fur – a fox was waiting. There was a commotion, and Reynard fled empty mouthed, and the geese herded their young back into the main river. They appeared to be counting as they gathered the young birds into a tight, safe circle.
Fox had gone, his lunch thwarted by eagle eyed parents – or maybe goose eyed – and then normal business resumed as a human with food was spotted on the eastern bank.
I’ve never seen anything like it and had I not ventured out on a wet, miserable Saturday, I probably never would have.
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June 8th – Riding 20 miles in the pouring rain to visit a country fair in a village on the border of four counties may not be many folk’s idea of fun. But I loved it.
I’ve always liked Clifton Campbville Country Fair, for it’s acute Englishness, parochiality and eccentricity. And on this Saturday, it was almost, but not quite rained off.
Most of the stalls had gone. But I sat in a beer tent, had tea, strawberries, listened to Morris music and endless jokes about the weather. I had cake, met a Kookaburra and enjoyed the company of damp but faithful dogs.
An event continuing despite dreadful weather is almost as much fun as one on a blazing sunny day.
Better luck next year, folks.
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June 7th – A mystery that always makes me wonder: Why are blue-purple lupins always out weeks earlier than the light colours like the pink ones here at Clayhanger Bridge?
I think I prefer the pink ones if I’m honest although they’re all beautiful.
This curiosity does at least extend the visible presence of a beautiful flower…
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June 7th – Kidney vetch is an odd little wildflower, which consists of tiny yellow flowers cluster around a fluffy, downy head. I always imagine it’s a plant of late summer for some reason, and it’s appearance in midsummer always surprises me.
It grows profusely on the grass around the top of the new pond embankment at Clayhanger, one of the few places I know it exist, yet every year, like the orchids, it’s cut down by Canal and River Trust’s mowing team who insist on obliterating anything in their path.
I preferred canals when they were more unkempt, if I’m honest.
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June 6th – On the way home, I noticed the handsome, sprawling honeysuckle that grows along the railings on the southern flank of the Black Cock Bridge in Walsall Wood are in full bloom now.
Sadly, someone will be along to clip this back like a hedge soon, they always do when in flower and that always puzzles me.
It remains lovely though, and it tumbles down the embankment in the pasture below, a haven for bees, bugs and passing cyclists who adore the scent.
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June 6th – The 75th anniversary of the D Day landings in Northern France, when the tide turned in the Allies favour in World War 2.
Darlaston war memorial was as sombre and thought provoking as it ever was: Last year’s remembrance wreaths and crosses fading, but no less sad. But the flowers endure and the memorial’s neatness and clear pride is a credit to the Scouts and others maintaining it.
It was lovely to see the tribute at Mindful Gifts, too.
We will never forget them.
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June 5th – I’ve been passing by this graffiti – if one can call it that – for weeks and only recently realised what it is.
I have no idea of the purpose or intent, but it’s very neat.
A baby, in the womb, on an otherwise unremarkable wall between Victoria Terrace and the shops on Lichfield Road, Walsall, just by the Mellish Road island in the Butts.
I really, really like it and would love to know more…
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June 5th – On the wasteland, long unused at the junction of Bentley Mill Way and the Walsall Road at Darlaston, unexpected beauty.
Look once, and it’s a patch of unremarkable, but lush green scrub with gorse flower and a variety of trees – doing well despite last year’s grassfires here.
But look closer.
Lupins. Loads and loads of them. In the full colour range from creamy white to deep, deep purple.
I know this journal is all about the flowers at the moment, but with beauty such as this everyday just waiting to be found, how can it not be?
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