Trying to be subtle

I often see other photographers' landscape work that has a seductive blend of softness and yet detail, and the exact quality has always eluded me in my own work. I'm not trying to reproduce someone else's ideas or images - that's impossible anyway - but rather seeking to push my own boundaries and keep on learning. On a trip up to Malhamdale recently, the light was ever-changing and, at one point, I was really struck by the variety of tones in the scenery - aquas, soft greys and light russets seemed to be there, giving almost a smoky quality to the foliage. I have tried to process this image rather differently from how I'd usually do it: lighter, less saturated and softer. Perhaps it's less 'as I saw it' and more 'as I perceived it'. I think I quite like it. 

Harvest

'When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth.'     Mary Oliver

When life (or a friend, in my case) gives you cooking apples, fresh and tart from the tree, go and look for blackberries. Well, that's what I decided to do anyway. In truth, blackberries seem few this year, I suppose as a result of the dry weather. Or maybe I just wasn't looking in the right places. Those I found were quite small but still sweet-tasting. I collected a little bag full. Once the apples were chopped and stewed, I added the blackberries, cooking them enough to release their purple juice but not lose their shape. The concoction needed a sprinkling of sugar to satisfy my sweet tooth but, oh, it was tasty. 

Perhaps we all have a latent hunter-gatherer still within us. Once I got into the swing of it - and managing to avoid the sharp prickles of the brambles - it was a pleasurable half hour or so. There is something satisfying about getting close to mother earth and her bounty. I'm not a gardener at all, but I'm sure it must be very pleasing to harvest your own home-grown crops. 

And yes, I did 'cram the black honey of summer into my mouth' as well as into the bag. You can't return from a blackberrying expedition without juice-stained fingers and a purple tongue! 

Boundaries

Warm and humid today but I needed a walk so I did my usual 'out along the canal and back along the river and through the park' route. It takes me about an hour and a quarter, so it's a decent stretch (and I need to stretch, being crippled up with lower back pain right now. 😬 ) It turned out to be a bit of a nature walk, though mostly unidentified. I saw some kind of furry creature swimming across the canal. It was quite long but I couldn't really see it in detail so I'm not sure if it was a water vole, a mink or a rat. By Hirst Weir, there was a bird that I took to be the heron that is often around there - and then I wasn't sure, as it looked a lot paler than herons usually appear, and thinner too. So maybe a little egret? It was too far away to be certain. Less happily, there are flotillas of Canada geese along the river and in the park. I counted at least 50 birds. In the past few years they have taken over the local waterways and fields, big, messy, aggressive and noisy birds. I dislike them. Finally I spotted a tiny, brilliant blue butterfly near the nature reserve. I'm hopeless at identifying butterflies and it didn't stop still to be photographed or closely studied. It was most probably a Common Blue, though its underwings appeared to be blue too, so possibly a Holly Blue? Who cares, really? It was pretty and a delight to watch. 

The advantage of that particular walk, I think, is that it takes place along various boundaries - the edge of the canal, the river path, the edges of the grassland and woodland. Those liminal spaces are always exciting places to be. I walk the same route over and over and yet still see things afresh each time. 

The scene in my photo caught my eye this time. I'm not sure why, though the soft colours are so harmonious and I like the textures of stone, grasses, old wood. The lady lace is in bloom of course, which always reminds me of childhood... Our family outings into the lanes of the Derbyshire Peak District, and - specifically, for some reason - the May Day celebrations at Wellow, which I used to love, watching the maypole dancing and enjoying the festivities. The hedgerows were always coming into bloom at that time of year - buttercups and lady lace and may blossom. Sweet memories. 

Today isn't May Day... August 1st is Yorkshire Day. Having never actually desired to live in Yorkshire, and finding myself here initially just by circumstance (last minute entry to university), I have now lived here for 52 years. I reckon I can count myself Yorkshire and be proud of it. It gets under your skin and I wouldn't want to live anywhere else now.