Guelder Rose, Viburnum Opulus I have longed for Smardale, longed so deep that the reality may not live up to the longing. This year, this long year, spring and summer pass by with Smardale unvisited, autumn is come and here we are, at last.
For my companion I choose a looker, someone who delves dimensions and misses nothing. Someone curious. Who has to include Waitby Greenriggs in the fading light to see how every loop of railway line connects, from live lines with trains to disused railway tracks with embankments now habitat for flora and butterflies.
For my companion I choose a looker, someone who delves dimensions and misses nothing. Someone curious. Who has to include Waitby Greenriggs in the fading light to see how every loop of railway line connects, from live lines with trains to disused railway tracks with embankments now habitat for flora and butterflies.
Close by the new car park a wren is calling, loud, insistent and lurking in foliage. We are lookers and will seek until we find. so here is our wren vocal, in warm colour and intricate plumage pattern.
Fungi about a tree stump and the glossy berries of stone bramble. Stone bramble, Rubus saxatilis.
Smardale has layer upon layer of history. LIke the sedimentary layers of Smardale limestone, a millefeuille of compacted layers laid down over aeons of time. Hidden within them, an ocean of tiny creatures preserved as fossils. Before we set forth on our exploration my companion reads to me the history of Smardale Hall.
On wet, grassy slopes below Smardale Fell the white flowers of Grass of Parnassus are scattered. And again as we approach the pack-horse bridge over Scandal Beck. Once a flower is fertilised the ovary swells and flushes pink, amidst a corolla of white petals streaked with green. I have a personal natural history of Smardale visits , finding things over the years, at different seasons. I have not seen Grass of Parnassus here before. You have to come to Smardale once a week in every season, so as not to miss anything. If only.
Fungi about a tree stump and the glossy berries of stone bramble. Stone bramble, Rubus saxatilis.
Smardale has layer upon layer of history. LIke the sedimentary layers of Smardale limestone, a millefeuille of compacted layers laid down over aeons of time. Hidden within them, an ocean of tiny creatures preserved as fossils. Before we set forth on our exploration my companion reads to me the history of Smardale Hall.
On wet, grassy slopes below Smardale Fell the white flowers of Grass of Parnassus are scattered. And again as we approach the pack-horse bridge over Scandal Beck. Once a flower is fertilised the ovary swells and flushes pink, amidst a corolla of white petals streaked with green. I have a personal natural history of Smardale visits , finding things over the years, at different seasons. I have not seen Grass of Parnassus here before. You have to come to Smardale once a week in every season, so as not to miss anything. If only.
We find a high point and a sheltered spot on Smardale Fell where we share Wensleydale cheese with bread rolls, baked once again with my favourite flour. Flour was scarce during lockdown, when home bakers were lucky to find any. We consider the map - this is the River Eden catchment but where are the county boundaries? To the south, the heather fells of Smardale Fell and Ash Fell. A naming of distant tops.
I hope we'll take to the heather and find red grouse. 'Let's not linger over every fossil in the wall', he suggests. Oh dear! I have history. Sheep graze the grassy fringe of the heather then there's the raucous 'go back, go back' of red grouse and a bird flies low and disappears. Wading through fragrant heather is wonderful. More cackling from a pair of red grouse and I follow their flight, take photographs blind to catch the bird on camera. A kestrel hovers over the heather fell and we stop to watch.
We do not linger over every fossil in the wall but we remark upon the uprights, one gatepost of limestone, one of sandstone. There was a sandstone quarry by the pack-horse bridge and as we approach the character of the wall shifts from limestone to the warmer and darker hues of old red sandstone. Over the wall we contemplate Scandal Beck, Smardale Gill Viaduct and the limekilns and limestone quarry. The route above the beck gives a fresh perspective, with gnarled hawthorns with ripe fruit, and birch trees.
I hope we'll take to the heather and find red grouse. 'Let's not linger over every fossil in the wall', he suggests. Oh dear! I have history. Sheep graze the grassy fringe of the heather then there's the raucous 'go back, go back' of red grouse and a bird flies low and disappears. Wading through fragrant heather is wonderful. More cackling from a pair of red grouse and I follow their flight, take photographs blind to catch the bird on camera. A kestrel hovers over the heather fell and we stop to watch.
We do not linger over every fossil in the wall but we remark upon the uprights, one gatepost of limestone, one of sandstone. There was a sandstone quarry by the pack-horse bridge and as we approach the character of the wall shifts from limestone to the warmer and darker hues of old red sandstone. Over the wall we contemplate Scandal Beck, Smardale Gill Viaduct and the limekilns and limestone quarry. The route above the beck gives a fresh perspective, with gnarled hawthorns with ripe fruit, and birch trees.
Hazel nuts, rose hips and Guelder rose. Guelder rose, Viburnum opulus. Season of mellow fruitfulness, said the poet Keats of autumn. I look for Guelder rose, neither knowing how lush and lovely the berries might be, nor if we would find a coincidence of ripening fruit and leaves mellowing into autumn colour. Some years the fruit is scarce and wind strips the leaves from the bushes whilst they're still green. Today, Guelder rose is looking lovely and we stop to admire every shrub . A charm of goldfinch flies through the trees along our way.
To Waitby Greeriggs where we descend the steps to walk the disused railway line, and to explore. September flowers and seed-heads in the damp ground below the railway embankment. Tall-stemmed Great Burnet of deep crimson stamens and styles, a flower without petals. A banded snail forages on a flower. A bumblebee nectars amongst flowers of Devil's-bit scabious. There's a low spread of brambles, late white flowers and green fruit ripening to bluish-black. A close head of fleshy segments or drupelets, with a waxy bloom. Dewberry, Rubus caesius.
Are they edible, he asks?
If served with Shakespeare's poetry, if served by Titania's fairies, Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed. The Fairy Queen instructs her fairies to be courteous to her new lover.
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs and mulberries,
The honeybags steal from the Humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes
To have my love to bed, and to arise.
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes ,
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Midsummer Night's Dream Act 111. scene 1.
Perhaps wild dewberries were served at the Tudor court, perhaps they were cultivated. Titania, the Fairy Queen, has her fairies offer dewberries to her lover, Nick Bottom the weaver- transformed into an ass. If we'd had our wits about us we might have gathered fruit for a supper of lasagne, a millefeuille of layers, followed by dewberries and clotted cream.
In fading light I might suggest we look for glow-worms. If we cannot find them we could crop the waxen thighs of bumblebees to make night tapers - here's one deep in Devil's-bit scabious.
Are they edible, he asks?
If served with Shakespeare's poetry, if served by Titania's fairies, Peaseblossom, Cobweb, Moth and Mustardseed. The Fairy Queen instructs her fairies to be courteous to her new lover.
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs and mulberries,
The honeybags steal from the Humble-bees,
And for night-tapers crop their waxen thighs
And light them at the fiery glow-worm's eyes
To have my love to bed, and to arise.
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon-beams from his sleeping eyes ,
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.
Midsummer Night's Dream Act 111. scene 1.
Perhaps wild dewberries were served at the Tudor court, perhaps they were cultivated. Titania, the Fairy Queen, has her fairies offer dewberries to her lover, Nick Bottom the weaver- transformed into an ass. If we'd had our wits about us we might have gathered fruit for a supper of lasagne, a millefeuille of layers, followed by dewberries and clotted cream.
In fading light I might suggest we look for glow-worms. If we cannot find them we could crop the waxen thighs of bumblebees to make night tapers - here's one deep in Devil's-bit scabious.
History and natural history intermingle today at Smardale. September 2020 is no ordinary year and traditions are reinvented in challenging times. In the evening, we listen to a Proms concert given by the Aurora Orchestra, the most memorable performance we have ever heard, a revelation. They have Beethoven's symphony by heart and without sheet music the musicians engage with each other, undistracted by reading the score or by an audience coughing and fidgeting. They are spaced out and TV cameras seem to bring us close amongst them with greater intimacy. The focus is solely on the music. Conductor Nicholas Collon introduces the symphony in the manner of a masterclass, giving an insight into Rhythm- the essence and theme of the work, showing how it builds layer upon layer. Phrases so subtle they fuse into the structure and lie hidden, like Smardale fossils waiting to be discovered. Nicholas Collon and presenter Tom Service have a lively dialogue about this complex and inspiring symphony. I've long felt its power and energy but tonight is illuminating. We feel this is a way to open up the experience to a far wider audience, if only they can find a way to make it pay, to support musicians through this time of pandemic.
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