Free Fuel and Wine

Now that the winds have died down, the snow has melted, and the temperatures have risen,  I keep finding more and more excuses to spend time in Owl Wood.      Time which should be spent on  housework, but it feels good to be working outdoors.

The woodpecker is constantly busy, tap-tap-tapping.    I think I caught sight of him this morning, but I could be mistaken.    I shall try the old trick of tapping a stick on a hollow tree, see whether he responds to warn me off his territory!

The snowdrops are a bit droopy now but there are primroses aplenty, plus the early signs of bluebells and wild garlic, as well as daffodils. 

Perhaps loveliest of all,  are the fungi.    I have no idea what they are, other than the fact that I think they are very beautiful and very colourful- I am never tempted to gather them for food!

A very beautiful snail shell.

The air is filled with multi-layers birdsong and there is a lot of flirting going on.   Nest boxes are being scrutinised and assessed, jackdaws have once again taken possession of the owl box

blue tits have already taken possession of this one.

I haven't had enough time to observe the other boxes, time will tell.   

I can while away lots of time just looking and listening, but the main reason I was there was to get picking up some of the countless branches and twigs which are scattered on the woodland floor.   

One of the most enjoyable aspects about gathering this fallen wood is that it was a traditional occupation.  Fuel being one of the most important materials available from the wild,  to heat the home and cook food.

Lest you have visions of me staggering home with a great bundle of sticks tied to my back - sorry.  I make big heaps of sticks, get my wheel barrow and trundle them to 'the wood yard' where it will be cut down to suitable size.

I also draw the line at collecting cow pats which were known as cow cassons from the meadows.     Somewhere I read that children were paid 3d a day for collecting cow dung which was later dried and used for fuel by the farmer.

A few years ago we tapped a silver birch tree for some of the spring sap - March is the perfect month for that - and made wine from it.     It was excellent.    Those days have long gone, my body can no longer tolerate even a glass of alcohol, unless I am prepared to endure three days of nausea, sight problems and migraine.   I'm not.

Done correctly, and the hole sealed afterwards, this process of tapping the birch tree for sap does not do any harm to the tree at all.


Over on the pond I can hear the sound of a duck who appears to be laughing at a filthy joke, though in reality he is probably shouting at the goose which has just crash landed with an almighty splash, a proper belly flop.

Now I must head outside again, rain is forecast for later.
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