Tag: lynn

May 29th – I had expected to get very wet on my return home. As it happened, it was merely a light drizzle, in the gap between downpours, but there was a significant headwind, and the going was grim. Cowparsley and hawthorn buds line the verges and hedgerows, and the cheesy scent of rapeseed hangs heavy. But there’s little sun about, and the lanes look grey and dull. Even the rabbit that darted in front of me, causing me to brake sharply was soaking wet.

We must be due a hot, dry spell soon, please?

May 14th – Grim ride home. The morning wasn’t bad, but just as I started the evening commute, the heavens opened. It was thoroughly wet, dark and miserable. Not helping the mood were the remarkable number of speeding drivers on Lynn Lane at Shenstone – two were actually racing each other in very bad conditions indeed.

My glum determination was lifted, however, by the familiar cheesy, flowery scent of oilseed rape. The thick, heavy pollen was being stirred by the raindrops. In the dark afternoon, it was gorgeous.

There’s beauty in the most unpleasant days.

May 8th – Sweet rain.

As someone who spends an inordinate amount of time outdoors, I’m fairly honed to the seasons and their timetable. That was, until this year. Spring is so late, it feels like a chunk of the year has just gone missing, lost, been edited from the tape.

The natural order being disturbed, I’ve missed little things without realising them. One being the smell of the countryside in spring after rain. When I travelled to work, the drizzle was very, very fine and almost not there at all, but heavier on my return. At Shenstone, the air was damp, musty and smelled beautifully of pollen, oilseed rape, moist earth and growth.

I didn’t know how much I’d missed that smell until today. I got off my bike, and stood there, just opening my senses to it. Not just the scent, but the colour, the light, the birdsong. 

It was glorious. Even dull days can be a joy.

April 11th – On Lynne Lane, approaching Lynn itself, stands another deserted house. The area around here seems to have a veritable plague of such homes, falling to wrack and ruin, with nobody to care for them. Last week I pointed out Keeper’s Cottage. I suspect the ownership to be the same person.

This bungalow has been empty for as long as I care to remember – certainly since 1982. It has survived remarkably well, and is a tiny little place that would make an agreeable home for someone. 

I took this photo today, as within a few weeks, this place will be invisible, shrouded in scrub and hedgerow. This abandoned bungalow only appears, Brigadoon-like every winter with the leaves shedding.

Another once fine house going to waste; another tragedy.

April 11th – In the fields just outside Shenstone, one might be forgiven for thinking there was a frost. However, it was too warm for that today, and this looks more like a dusting of icing sugar. It’s actually a freshly ploughed field, dusted by nitrate fertiliser. Soon, a crop will be planted here, and the growing will start over again.

The only trouble with dusting fields in this way is that even in still conditions, everything around gets dusted too, like the holly in the hedgerow…

March 26 – A stunning sunset, which as Jayne Howarth noted on Twitter, gave a spring-like light that wasn’t justified by the conditions. It was cold, and brisk as I cycled the backlanes from Shenstone, and the coming darkness felt threatening and sharp as I cycled home with the wind behind me. The roads were clear and largely dry, although the thaw had evidently set in during daytime. The sky changed colour a number of times, and it was thoroughly beautiful. 

A gorgeous end to what had been a somewhat trying day.

March 5th – The sunsets are great at the moment. The welcome lengthening of the day, combined with some dry, misty weather is making the local countryside beautiful at dusk. Winter is still ongoing, as the bare trees indicate, but everything feels like it’s ready to go. Crocuses and daffodils are in bud, hedgerows are smattered with small specs of light emerald, and the sun, when it comes it feels warming.

After a wet, cold winter, this is just what’s needed. It warms the shoulders and the heart.

March 4th – I came home from Shenstone at sunset. They day hadn’t improved much – coming back necessarily late, my train ticket was invalid and I had to buy a second. All the way back I’d been fighting the kind of tiredness that repeatedly pulls you into slumber, then cruelly snatches you awake, momentarily terrified. I just wanted to be home.

It was chilly, and slightly misty as the sun went down. The countryside around Stonnall, Lynn and Sandhills looked gorgeous in the subtle light and mist. I was still tired, but I couldn’t stop taking pictures. I love the outdoors, even when I’m nearly beaten. It gives me strength.

I note that at Home Farm, at Sandhills, the field that was potatoes last year has been prepared with long, flat, plastic film encased beds, suggesting something delicate. I’m wondering if it’s connected with the pipework I saw being installed last weekend. The geometry and precision of the automated planting and covering is stunning. It’ll be interesting to see what crop emerges.

September 25th – The mystery of the bean field continues. The commute home was grey and made grim by late trains, but at least it was dry. Coming back along green Lane to Walsall Wood, I noted that the fields of beans here – unlike the ones in Lynn, near Stonnall, hadn’t been harvested. They’re just rotting in the fields. Whether that’s the plan, and it’s just a crop rotation technique, or whether the lousy summer ruined the crop, I have no idea, but I’m hoping someone can explain…