The feature photo today is of a cherry tree at Studley Royal, near Ripon. It’s known to be at least 325 years old. This is extraordinary. Cherry trees aren’t long-lived. Fifteen to thirty years is usually enough.
This tree though isn’t the star of today’s show. Here’s some cherry blossom from another local site, Swinton Park. It’s definitely past its best – for now. Blossom gone, and with any luck pollinated by early bees, the tree’s energy is focussed on translating the flower into this year’s fruit. It’s moving forward to the next phase. Come late June, we can perhaps enjoy some of those cherries it’s producing.
Poor old Ripon Spa Baths. A hundred and twenty years old, and now – quite literally – put out to grass. We have a new Leisure Centre here in town now. These Edwardian baths are now surplus to requirements and up for sale. Meanwhile, doughty seedlings and saplings commandeer cracks in the mortar and gaps in the tiling: putting down roots that will let water in and begin to crumble brickwork.
The header image is courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, Brian Shore.
Every month, over at Fake Flamenco, Rebecca sets a poetry challenge, and invites her readers to submit a verse on a chosen theme, in a selected poetic form. This month, she’s played into the hands of Becky’s Squares challenge. She’s shared an image of another blogger whom I follow, Britta. It’s the one shown in the header photo: a pair of frogs definitely planning on renewing the blood line.
Here’s my doiditsu (four non-rhyming lines, syllable count 7-7-7-5). Why not join in? You have till tomorrow to submit your entry. The real joy is that Rebecca translates every entry into Spanish : there’s a special thrill in having your own words beautifully re-crafted as a poem in another language.
Bathing in their tiny pond, frogs are croaking words of love: dressing up in greenest lace to tryst, woo, then win.
For many people – and dogs, a walk along the seashore is the very best way of clearing the cobwebs and giving the busy mind a good old spring clean. A renewal, in fact.
In the cold and wet of the last few weeks the lilac and laburnum flowers, like most things, has refused to do anything but remain tightly furled in tiny, hard little buds. This week, and almost overnight, they’ve all burst into ravishingly radiant and resplendent life.
I think Greylag Goose parents definitely keep their broods moving forward, renewing the blood line. These geese only moved onto our village ponds last year, but already they have had the effect of making ducks and moorhens move away, and ensuring that those few that remain aren’t able to raise their own babies to maturity. When it comes to protecting local wildlife, many of us here aren’t so keen on offering these geese much of a helping hand.
Take one felled tree. Give it another life. A boat. A house. Floorboards. There’s still a lot left. A table. Chairs. Cupboards. And still there’s more. Look what one woman was making with the tree’s detritus at a country fair last year. Simply spoons.
Poor Mrs. Pheasant. There she was, trying to renew the blood line and produce a clutch of eggs to grow into the next generation of pheasants. But a marauder found her eggs, and instead, made a breakfast of them, so that he (or she?) had the nourishment needed to set about producing the next generation of their own species.
At least this marauder was keeping body and soul together. We live in shooting country, and the countryside is crammed with pheasants, imported here in vast numbers simply so they can be the target of barely competent marksmen enjoying their yearly shooting break. Some dead birds find their way to the table via local butchers. Many corpses are quite simply … discarded.
This blackbird may have been luckier. Once hatched, the baby blackbird’s shell simply fell to the ground beneath the nest.
By the way, the featured photo is of male pheasants. Their female counterparts are somewhat dowdier.
Today’s post for Becky’s Squares takes me to our nearby woodlands . Leaves are just emerging on the trees, a fresh acidic green. This delicate newness may be my favourite time of year for a walk in the woods. The trees are busy renewing, burgeoning, reconstructing, moving forward …
On the first Saturday of every month, a book is chosen as a starting point and linked to six other books to form a chain. Readers and bloggers are invited to join in by creating their own ‘chain’ leading from the selected book.
Yet again I haven’t read the starter book: Stephanie Bishop’s The Anniversary. I gather though that it’s a forensic examination of marriages and relationships.
That gives us plenty to choose from then. I’ll start with Jenny Erpenbeck’s Kairos, a compelling story of a doomed love affair, set against the background of the crumbling of the GDR in the 1980s. A young student meets by chance a very much older married man and they fall into a tumultuous, torrid affair, fuelled by their love of music and art. He’s had several affairs during his marriage, but when she strays for a single night, he submits her to cruel and demeaning punishments, picking over her confession for weeks and long months. This is not a tidily wrapped up book, though we learn from the prologue and epilogue that the affair does in fact end. As did the GDR. Though that wasn’t tidy either. One quibble – in a society where spying on one’s neighbours was expected, how did this couple keep secret their affair, conducted in full public view?
My next choice might have had a married man having an affair as its subject. Not quite. How to Make a Bomb by Rupert Thomson was a surprise to read. Instead of full stops, there are line breaks. Sentences are often short – staccato even, giving the book something of a feel of a prose poem: this choppy presentation suits the book and its main unable-to-stick -with-an-idea protagonist well. Philip Notman is an acclaimed historian who’s been to a conference in Bergen. He’s happily married to Anya. From nowhere, apparently, he start to question life itself – it’s ‘artificial’, ‘unbearable’. His solution is to go away for a while – to Cádiz, where a woman – Inés – whom he met at the conference lives, and for whom he has formed an attraction. No adultery takes place, and soon he is off to Crete, because some chance acquaintances have lent him their holiday home there. He dabbles with integrating himself into local male society, with religion, before moving back to London, but not to his wife. He still loves her, still needs time. His rather self-indulgent and self-aggrandising quest to solve the ills of society via his Notmanifesto (see what he did there?) is rather a mish-mash of received ideas. His grandiose ideas amount to very little and we leave him on the last page no further forward than he was when he embarked on his unlikely quest. Unconventionally written, with its absence of punctuation, this is an immensely readable book whose subject is a Privileged White Male living out a cliche.
Next, Holly Williams’ The Start of Something concerns a group of people also exploring relationships. It’s a cleverly constructed novel – or is it a set of short stories? in which ten characters in turn have their inner stories revealed. Each character has slept with the one before. Several are exploring or questioning their sexuality: some are lonely, because or in spite of their relationship; some are heartbroken: all are seeking – something. One chapter is coming to an end for each of them, another is beginning. And at the end, there is hope for the two people with whom the book closes.
More exploration of sexuality in The Sleep Watcher by Rowan Hisayo Buchanan. A young woman, Kit, uses this book to address her lover to explain how her teenage self has made her who she is. She lived with her parents and younger brother in an unnamed seaside town in southern England and became prone to out-of-body nighttime wanderings as she slept. This device should have had me slamming the book shut, never to open it again, but it worked. Able to travel round the town at will, she witnesses her parents in private moments and realises their relationship is increasingly fragile, her father not the happy-go-lucky man she thought she knew. She’s also exploring her own sexuality with her closest school friend, Andrew. The satisfaction of reading this book lies in the evocation in just a few phrases of her home town, her teenage companions, her family, and the things they did. Her conflicting feelings about her parents – especially her father – whom she thought she knew are well portrayed. Kit is a convincing, if enigmatic character. An intriguing read.
Here’s another book written in the voice of the main protagonist reviewing her past. Absolutely and Forever by Rose Tremain, of whose writing I’m usually a fan. But while this book was, as expected, a page-turner, I didn’t warm to it much. It’s written in the voice of Marianne, whom we meet as a 15 year old boarding-school girl, with self-obsessed parents whom I found to be caricatures. She’s helplessly in love with 18 year old Simon. She knows they’ll soon marry and she willingly loses her virginity to him. Life gets in the way, and he’s despatched to Paris when he disappoints himself and his parents. She never forgets him, despite a decent marriage, which is detailed in all is downs and ups. The denouement, when it comes, isn’t a surprise, to me at least. I found most of the characters to be ciphers, and the characters slightly unbelievable. An easily-read and well-written, but slightly unsatisfactory read.
There’s quite a bit of serious stuff here. Let’s finish in a lighter vein. Curtis Sittenfeld’s Romantic Comedy. An engaging and highly readable … romantic comedy. Sally is in a team of writers and other creatives who collectively and separately write a popular Saturday night TV sketch show. It feels as if Sittenfeld has accurately brought to life this high-octane, stressful environment where very close friendships sustain the team, and the lively portrayal of a-week-in-the-life-of was eye opening as well as entertaining. But this story is that which develops between Sally, and one of the guest hosts, wildly popular singer Noah. We follow their tentative first mis-steps towards romance, through an e-mail relationship that develops in lockdown through further mis-steps to … well read it and find out. The story is sustained by cameos of the relationship Sally has with her two closest women friends, and with her now-widowed step father. A rewarding romantic novel with the added edge of giving an insight into aspects of the world of show business.
That’s it for this month. My last book doesn’t link back to my first, but all of them this month deal with the search for, or life with A Significant Other. Next month’s starter is Butter by Asako Yuzuki. Apparently it’s a crime novel with a difference.
The first, second and fourth images in the text of this post are my own. The third is by Valentin Antonucci of Pexels. The sixth is by Penin Thibault of Unsplash, and the seventh is by This is Engineering of Unsplash.
From Pyrenees to Pennines 
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