Early autumn trees

It's surprising what a difference a few colder nights make at this time of year. It seems the trees get kick-started into their colour change. There are definitely more hints of autumn in the foliage than there were a week or so ago. Of course, golden leaves and blue skies are a winning combination... though the sun was a bit teasing, kept disappearing behind clouds. 

Post prandial

They say it's good to have a walk after dinner, to minimise the blood sugar spike from a big meal. Anyway, I'd had a less than active day, with a long drive and then some sitting at the computer so I persuaded myself out for a short walk, no more than half an hour down through Saltaire village and back. It was still quite warm and the light was attractive. 

Red pelargoniums on a warm evening, against a blue sky, seemed positively Mediterranean. 

On the other hand roses seem very English and there are plenty around. I loved the coral pink colour of those above. 

Rowan trees are full of berries - and rather early in their fruiting.  

I always assumed the tree (below) on the opposite side of Victoria Road, outside the old school building, was a rowan too but now I'm not so sure - or perhaps it's just a different variety. Either way, it currently seems to have more berries than leaves.

Fresh delights

At this time of year, every few days there's something new to enjoy as nature rapidly bursts into leaf and flower. The larger houses in Saltaire, on Albert Road, have bigger gardens than most in the village, so there are more trees and shrubs to see.  This ceanothus is such a vibrant shade of blue - glorious. I'm not sure what the little white blooms peeping out are, but they  prettily set off the blue. I don't know what the adjacent dark purple shrub is either - perhaps a sambucus nigra? 

Further up the street there is a beautiful tree (in fact, two along the length of the street) that I can't say I have ever really looked at before. At this time of year it's covered in white blossom, almost like rowan blossom. The leaves are a silvery white, at least from underneath, and the tree has a wonderful, compact, dome shape - almost the perfect tree shape! I'd no idea what it is but an extensive Google search - words and images - leads me to conclude it is a Common Whitebeam, 'frequently used in urban landscaping and gardens due to its pollution tolerance and ornamental value'. I learn something every day. 

Roost

I absolutely love the ever-changing view from my balcony. During the day I have a prime spot for observing all the comings and goings to the apartments, since it overlooks our small car park. As the sun sets, I have a grandstand view of the western sky, except for a few houses and the church in the foreground. Inside, by the balcony doors, I've installed a comfortable chair (which swivels! 😊). I can sit knitting and still feel connected to life. Not that it matters at the moment as obviously I'm still very active, but I guess one day I might be glad of it. 

When I was choosing where to move to, I came to realise how much I like being near trees. The view from the front of my previous home was largely of mature trees and I really enjoyed watching their progression through the seasons (if not the massive job of clearing leaves from the garden and paths). Here, the apartment block is in pleasant grounds with lots of mature trees, mostly under protection orders - one being a magnificent copper beech and some walnuts too, which are not all that common. (And we have gardeners who deal with the leaves. Yay!) The tree I can see from my balcony (above) is a few blocks away, in the garden of a neighbouring apartment complex. I think that's a copper beech too. I noticed it seems to be a favoured roost for the birds as the sun goes down. 

The trees are up!

With remarkable commercial restraint, Salts Mill waited until December to install and decorate its Christmas trees. As usual, they are lofty and magnificent. 

The Home Shop within the mill had a lovely selection of festive wreaths. Last year, most of the residents in my apartment building hung wreaths on their front doors. I felt a bit 'naked' as I didn't have one! This year I'm going to have to remedy that and put one up. These, though attractive, would be too heavy, I think. 

No words needed

To the woods

More autumn trees! These from a wander through Hirst Woods in the sunshine. The entire wood is carpeted thickly with leaves and beech mast, though there are still plenty of leaves yet to fall. 

I enjoy tramping the ancient, hollowed out trackways, strong links to our ancestors who also used these woods. Some worked in the long abandoned mill by the river, some even lived here, in cottages whose broken walls can still be traced. Iron Age Britons may have had a small settlement in the wood, which sits on a glacial moraine; traces of a circular structure have been identified. Charcoal burners had their kilns here. Nowadays, people walk their dogs, children build dens, all manner of wildlife lives in the undergrowth and the trees breathe for us. 

Trees

More from the Hebden photo walk:

I do wonder what causes a tree to take a shape like the one above. I thought it both dramatic and  beautiful.

In winter, the skeletons of trees make interesting silhouettes. I always think I should be able to identify them from their shapes or their bark but I'm really not that good at working them out. 

Where trees group together in a copse, their strong, straight trunks as they reach for the light make an interesting subject. At least two of these are beeches, I think:

Another silhouette, rather less contorted than the previous one: 

Here's a tangle of roots, similar to those I found a few days ago (HERE). Their brightness contrasts starkly with the rich, dark soil and leaf litter around them. 

 

Medusa, clinging on

I'm mixing metaphors here but, on a recent walk, I was reminded of the Greek goddess Medusa. She had snakes for hair and the various tree roots, writhing around unseen obstacles, reminded me of snakes - or perhaps an octopus. Not that hair - or snakes or octopuses - would cling on so tenaciously to the hillside, I suppose. Yet, these trees do manage to cling on, miraculously, even though in places along the path you could see empty 'bowls' where a tree had obviously once been. The wonders of nature. 

Also miraculous, the teeming life colonies on the fallen trees... Mosses and lichens fur the dead limbs; grasses, ivy and creepers curl through the branches that once reached for the sky. And who knows what woodland creatures, large and miscroscopic, find comfort and a home in the rotting wood. 

More winter trees

Walking from home involves either a steep walk downhill, towards Saltaire village, the canal and river, followed of course by a steep trudge uphill on the way back - or vice versa. Arguably it's easier to do the steep climb uphill at the beginning when my legs are fresh, so it's a pity really that that is my slightly less preferred route. It takes me up into Northcliffe Park, a large area of land donated to the people of Shipley by Sir Norman Rae in 1920. It is lovely really. Much larger, less formal and more varied than Saltaire's Roberts Park, it has an extensive meadow, woodland and recreation areas. At this time of year though, the meadow is boggy, forcing me to stick to the paths, and there is little to see along the paths other than trees, grass and sky. 

I like it when I'm in a certain mood, when the sun is shining and the sky is blue and I feel like a taste of freedom. It's expansive, somehow. It doesn't feel like 'home' to me though, not in the way that walking through Saltaire and along the canal or river feels. Additionally, there is a much more limited choice of route, just three or four paths all going much the same way - boggy meadow, tarmac path, muddy woodland or down through the wood in the steep and dark ravine. And there are so many dogs, off the lead. Some are a bit scary, I find. Dogs in Saltaire, more often than not, are on a lead. 

Oddly, it bothers me that there are also no coffee shops in the park. I rarely actually buy myself a coffee when I'm out on my own... but it always feels good to have the possibility there. 

Still, about once a month I'll take the uphill route and mostly I will enjoy the walk. Northcliffe does hold one of my favourite winter trees, the one in the photo above, which I like for its graceful arc of a trunk. It looks to me like it's dancing. 

The beauty of winter trees

Having been frustratingly confined indoors because of the weather, once the snow started to melt it was good to drive over to my 'happy place' at RHS Harlow Carr Gardens for a walk. The main woodland is on a north-east facing hillside that doesn't get much sun in the winter, so it was out of bounds and still covered with a layer of lingering snow. I was quite happy exploring the central areas, around the lake and streamside, and in the kitchen garden. 

It was the trees that really caught my eye. The little copse of young birches, recently planted by the lakeside, shows a great deal of photographic promise, though I have not yet nailed a composition or been blessed with the spectacular lighting that would most enhance it.   

The sky was a wonderful blue and the bare branches really stood out, sometimes catching the sun, sometimes in silhouette. 

The shape of the weeping tree (willow, birch?) seemed rather dramatic, looking like something that had just leaped out of the shadows with a roar. Gaaargh! 

Further along, a crow sat in a tree, making a very long, loud, chattering speech to nobody in particular. Maybe he was just enjoying the sunshine too.

Seeking escape

Gosh, it's really not the weather for outdoor photography at the moment. It's not so much the damp as the fact that there is just no 'light' at all. Bad weather can be atmospheric but drizzly, dark days with not much wind are neither one thing nor another. It's not stopping me going out, but it is militating against interesting photos. I went with a friend to Bolton Abbey and we had a walk upriver to the Strid (above), the point where the Wharfe plunges into a narrow chasm. Despite the recent snow, there has not been much rain so the river level was very low and the - often thrillingly turbulent - Strid was ... well, pretty boring really! 

I didn't find much to point my camera at. Not that it mattered, as we were chatting away and not always focusing on the scenery. My friend did point out a curious blemish on a tree trunk that we both agreed looked like a female figure... perhaps the Spirit of the Tree?

Or perhaps I could conjure up a line of dancing girls...! 

 

Salts Mill's trees

I always love to visit Salts Mill around Christmas as it feels so festive. They have bands and choirs singing at the weekends (though I didn't manage to see any of them this year). They also decorate the most enormous Christmas trees. I think the one in the 1853 Gallery is an artificial one, although such good quality that it's hard to tell. Anything smaller would be dwarfed in the vast space of the former spinning shed.

The one in the entrance - a huge 12 footer - is definitely a freshly felled tree. I hope it is enjoying its proximity to David Hockney's artistic, and somewhat fanciful, painting of Salts Mill and the village, which hangs here in the foyer. 

The light shines...

I'm always glad that Christmas in the northern hemisphere comes at the darkest time of the year. The Christmas lights certainly help to brighten our gloomy nights. It gets dark here before 4pm at this point in December. 

The Christmas tree in front of the Victoria Hall looks much the same year after year and could arguably do with a few more embellishments! It's about all Saltaire can muster in terms of festive lights, though of course our annual Advent Windows are underway... more of which, later.

An illuminated star in my church's chancel promises the Light that is to come into our world. It's the herald of a lot more Christmas decoration to be arranged over the coming days, in the run up to our Christmas services. 

Meanwhile, this is my little acknowledgement of the season... It's the first actual Christmas tree I've had for near on thirty years, my previous sitting room being far too small for such frivolity. I always made do with a little wooden structure, made in Germany, on which hung various tiny toys, angels, snowmen. I wasn't sure I could be bothered to decorate this year, but my daughter put some pressure on me! (She loves Christmas and always has her tree up as soon as she can decently do so.) Anyway, in the end I'm quite pleased with this. There is something welcoming and heart-warming, too, to come home to my apartment block glowing with lights in people's windows and LEDs draped over the balcony railings. 

In our rather dark world, there's a lot of comfort in the light. 

'The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.'  John 1:5