Ain't no shakin'

Posted by Cliff Birchall on January 25, 2008 4:45 PM

Ain’t nothing shakin’ but the leaves on the trees
They wouldn’t shake if it wasn’t for the breeze
There ain’t nothing happenin’ but the birds and the bees
There ain’t nothin’ shakin’ but the leaves

TAKING the same road every day might seem a highway to boredom but it gives you the chance to look at tiny things in detail – the seasons change before you subtly altering differences in colour and texture that passing by just once in a while would go unnoticed – it’s as though there’s an on-off button which you can press each time you see something familiar yet strange – for instance, I can think of one particular little triangle of woodland that lies on a corner that makes you concentrate on the road long enough just to be able to give it a passing glance, hardly more – you drive around and yet you can still see just a few details, over time building up a picture of the whole layer by layer – it’s like a landscape jigsaw only you are taking it to pieces, putting it together in reverse as it were – this time of year you notice the colours – only the other day when there was a hard frost after all that rain it was packed down like a dirty tarpaulin, slumped against the trees as a bubbling wave of silvery bronze – today it is back to being a copper tundra between the trees, light reflecting on the dappled shadows – at first it looks like bracken but then commonsense takes hold and you realise if it was bracken then nothing else would be growing as bracken kills everything near it – it’s actually loop after loop of bramble, coiled in giant lengths across the grass and rolling up to the hedgerow and the trees – the colour’s the same but after a few glances you can identify that it is bramble – in summer it should be a lovely sea of green with tiny white ships rolling over it when the blossoms come out – this colour seems to be everywhere in this particular location – leaves have fallen from the hedgegrow and not been blown away, just decayed into a golden carpet – and further towards Formby one of my favourite birds takes on this copperandbronze look – in the field opposite Sutton’s Farm a kestrel glides down on to the ground, walking among the rows of winter corn – its feathers are caught in what little sunlight there is and they show off its golden brown tones – a pleasant alternative to the sight of pale underparts when you spot one hovering or perched on a high lookout

Music on the moss: it should have been Ain’t no shaking by Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen with its catchy chorus about leaves but it wasn’t. The Airmen may have been put back into orbit but the old guy is still going strong with the Commander Cody Band. I’d guess he didn’t write the song from which the lyrics at the head of this blog come from. Who did? Any guesses out there?

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A shadow by the hedgerow

Posted by Cliff Birchall on January 17, 2008 3:50 PM

IT was almost a shadow in the hedgerow until it moved.
But the heron came out into the open at the edge of the field next to the old Cheshire Lines track at Hillhouse, near to the bridge.
It was motionless now, looking for frogs or small mammals in the long grass by the side of the field.
It's the only time I've seen it in this particular location, though no doubt it spends more time there than I do. And this weather must suit it, too.

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Hazy days

Posted by Cliff Birchall on January 11, 2008 1:37 PM

A COMBINATION of an extremely cold night and the previous day's heavy rainfall made for a curtain of mist rising when you looked at distant fields.
Look at the fields a little nearer and you saw the reason why - they were still saturated.
Many, such as the large field opposite Farmer Ted's or those between Downholland Brook and the New Causeway, still had large areas under water.
The Brook itself was still within a couple of feet of the bank, having risen the day before after a night's downpour. The water was not moving quite as swiftly as 24 hours earlier but it was still a muddy brown thanks to all the ditches moving the silt about.
Fields where there was grass or winter wheat was holding onto a sharp early morning frost. The only birds about were a skein of 50-odd pinkfeet rolling and tumbling through the sky, probably bound for Martin Mere.
Music on the Moss: those folkies from yesteryear, The Johnstons, featuring Paul Brady before he became a solo star and the nimble fingers of banjo player Mick Maloney. I once knew Mick Maloney but not the banjo player unfortunately. Still, it makes the wheels go round very easily.

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High in the sky

Posted by Cliff Birchall on January 8, 2008 4:37 PM

THERE were more pinkfeet high over Downholland Moss, but not as many as yesterday.
Then the sky was full as they had been scared off a field. Rising into the air, they wheel until they form into a battalion of V-shaped skeins and then set off in search of new fields to conquer.
I always enjoy watching the geese when they have been roused, as they create chaos for a few minutes and them somehow order pours out of the cloud of birds.
Their flight is one of winter's pleasures and it is also a joy to hear them calling in the dark when they return late at night, perhaps shadows flitting across the sky or silhouetted against the moon if it is out.
Having said that, though, there was not a lot of see on the moss this morning.
Music on the moss: a touch of the albino bombshell that is Johnny Winter, on an early release that included good Texas blues as well as soul music, rock and a dreadful Dylan impression. Every LP has one [a duff track that is, not a Dylan impression]!

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A light dusting of white

Posted by Cliff Birchall on January 4, 2008 9:13 AM

There was a light dusting of snow on some stone walls and some of the fields on the moss this morning, and one or two cars heading in from the Aughton direction had a good covering.

There was a covering of white on the big field at Farmer Ted's, too - but that was merely a large flock of gulls resting until the day got brighter.

Yesterday there were three kestrels patrolling the road, at Flatman's Lane, Hillhouse, and one hovering over the bank of the Downholland Brook by the bridge in Altcar Road.

And the weather seemed to be confusing the early-morning pinkfeet yesterday. Skeins of them were flying across the moss in opposite directions, some towards Crosby and some towards the Ribble. I don't know which patch would be the warmest for them in this weather.

Music on the moss: The Wandering Minstrel, a great collection of tunes by that wizard of the chanter, the late Seamus Ennis, R.I.P.

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