THE PLANTS IN THE WALL

I expect every town, every city, every village, maybe every street has a part that is breathtakingly wonderful but un-noticed and neglected.

It’s a grey day and these are grey walls. The ground is wet, the gutters are gungy and water is caught between stems in the wall.

Does anyone know what this plant is?
I suspect it's a garden escapee.
What do you think?
Three people have suggested
Pellitory-of-the-wall
(Parietaria judaica)
but I am unconvinced.

Stems?

What’s in a wall?

Here’s some green.

I don't know what this is either.

and a feather and sycamore seed caught on the Wall.

High on the wall, then . . .

safe and surprisingly dry, inside the wall - the chrysalis of a Large White butterfly.

This area is close to town but neglected.

Close by, there was to be a small public garden. It hasn’t worked. It’s where people came to drink and be drunk when the council banned out-door consumption of alcohol in the town centre. (Pub gardens and seating excepted.)

It’s a steep walk. People are likely to look down as they go up.

When they come down, the natural thing is to look at the view the - harbour, the bridge the buildings and masts, roofs, roads - and the hills beyond.

The walls loom. Plants make their home there.

A PORTRAIT OF PRINCE CHARLES

In 1980, Bryan Organ painted a picture of Prince Charles.

I seem to remember there was a fuss. I’ve been googling away and can’t find a trace of what was said at the time. It will be there, of course, buried under all the articles I’m not looking for but I’ll leave that aside for the moment. There’s always a fuss. No-artist can please everybody.

This painting pleased me though.

I remember going to see it in the National Portrait Gallery and how it touched my humour. At the time, it seemed more to be a portrait of a flag and a fence than of a prince. But the flag and the fence would have been much less memorable, would have held much less meaning, if there hadn’t been a man in the foreground. If he had been standing, instead of sitting on a mundane wooden chair (a nice one though, blue) the image would have faded from my mind. And the best thing is, so much space is taken by the flag and the fence and the blue, blue sky, there’s not enough room for the whole of him; one whole foot, a toe and a heel are missing.

I’ve been trying to re-construct how I saw the world before I saw the painting. And failing. I can’t remember whether I liked the painting because I could already see that some things are so important, they don’t fit fully in the frame; that the power of the whole can be displayed more completely if all of the whole shape isn’t in view; that space is as important as content; that straight lines and bold skies are . . . don’t know - but I like them.

I just can’t remember.

Did this painting inspire to such a degree it has influenced the kind of photos I have taken ever since? Or did I warm to it because I recognised a fellow ‘eye’?

Reconstructing is made extra hard because, back then, I hadn’t had much access to a ‘proper’ camera. I have little with which to compare.

The point of this will emerge in a moment.

Just for now, back to hedgerow photos when the light has gone black and white.

When I took this photo, I thought this tree was a young lime (Tilia). I now think it might be a sycamore or maple. I’ll see more clearly come the spring.

From light and twiggy to heavy, dark and solid-leafy all year - Holm Oak (Quercus ilex).

An oak of some other kind. (Turkey Oak? - Quercus Cerris.) (Very scientific, this!)

Buddleia

And . . . tantarantara . . . ! The reed (Phragmites communis  - I think!)

which reminded me of Prince Charles.

You can see more of my photos at Message in a Milk Bottle and Pictures Just Pictures.

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This post is listed in the Festival of the Trees 56 , February 1st 2011 which, for this edition, is hosted by Treeblog.

For information about future (and past!) Tree Festivals, click the picture below.

SILHOUETTES

Blackthorn - Prunus spinosa

If I tell you right at the beginning that all pictures in this post are in colour, you may understand why there haven’t been as many as usual and why Message in a Milk Bottle is suspended until better light.

It’s not just that the skies are solid and dark - but it now rains almost every day too and my camera objects to water. It’s raining hard as I write.  Sometimes, it reduces to a drizzle and sometimes it stops for a few minutes - then it starts again. Even in those few moments, there are spits in the air.

Blackthorn is more noticeable

when it comes into flower.

After that, it seems to vanish until its fruits appear (sloes).

I think it is specially beautiful before anything happens.

Gorse - Ulex europaeus

Underfoot, the earth has gone mushy and some plants seem to be dissolving. Hedgerows appear to be faring better than gardens and there is, in both, a greening. I was planning to put some examples here - of the lichen which was yellow but which now isn’t and a little plantain seedling (Plantago lanceolata (Ribwort) not an exotic tree like Musa balbisiana, with fruits that look like bananas. Despite the daily rise in temperature and the almost constant rain, we haven't (yet) gone tropical!).

Alexanders - Smyrnium olusatrum

But, when I included photos with too much green in, they looked out of place. It's as if there are parallel worlds - one (at foot level) where plants continue to grow and another where everything is apparently static - still in waiting. In my last post, I looked mostly down, where the growth is. In this, I'm risking turning the lens up (quick up, quick down before the view goes fuzzy and the rain leaks in) where branches and dead leaves, shrivelled fruits and desiccated plants make wonderful silhouettes against the annoying and constant grey.

I'm pretty certain this is
Chicory - Chicorium intybus.
Winter has given it a soggybrown texture and mush
where its seeds were.

For the bushes, trees and last season's plants are still worth looking at. Detail is gone - but their silhouettes are specially lovely. I’m putting a few here. There are more to come for they are so delicate, so lovely, bombarding you with a hedgerow full in one go would be too rich a feast.

A post for Skywatch.

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IN THE BLEAKNESS OF MID-WINTER THERE IS NEW GROWTH

It’s bleak here; the sky solid grey, the wind chill and a hint of drizzle in the air. Not the best weather for photos. Not the best weather for examining plants.

They are there though, the plants. Buffeted by the wind and tatty and tough. Some are preparing for Spring. Others, like gorse, never give up on Summer!

A quick dash outside and the drama of survival and success is revealed.

Brambles swamp whole areas. If they were in gardens, the owners would despair - but here . . . they mean blackberries, come the autumn. Most of them will be inaccessible for humans but enough will be in reach to keep a couple of hundred pickers in pies and jam.

It’s surprising how much is there at our feet. My ability to identify wild plants is minimal but I’ll have a bash.

A large-leafed Cranesbill (I think) and the beginning of tall plants in the Apiaceae family which includes carrots and parsley and ground elder. By ‘tall’ I mean two or three feet and, in the summer, they will support white umbels. There will be Queen Anne’s Lace and Cow Parsley and horrid solid, plate-like equivalents as well as the Ground Elder which nearly all gardeners rip out before it flowers. There are oak leaves here too, brought from further along the path by the wind.

See young Nettles; and Cleavers which will stick sticky burrs to our socks later in the year.

(Like Burdock, Cleavers are associated with the pre-history of Velcro.)

Incidentally, although ‘Cleavers’ (Galium aparine) seems to be the widely accepted name, I was brought up calling it ‘Goose Grass’.

With thanks to Nigel Colborn, who has left a comment to identify this as
Lonicera Japonica.

Honeysuckle. This particular one flowers late and long. I think it is a domestic escapee rather than a truly wild plant but there’s a long stretch of it still in leaf.

And grass. Never ignore grass. There are lots of kinds, even by the wayside. This is tough and clumpy. Its flowers and seeds won’t be especially interesting, at least, not to me and not compared with other, more delicate kinds (like wild oats) or the elegant kinds (like wild barley) or a host of others I am unable to name. However, if you imagine taking one clump and putting it in a flower pot and keeping it free from ‘weeds’ - why is this less interesting than a popular garden grass like Carex?

If you clear your mind from preconceptions, it’s astonishing how beautiful are the tough and common plants at our feet.