Ashes to ashes

This is what happens when ash buds burst; they blow raspberries, which very quickly become small male flowers. I'm watching them while I still can; I'm very allergic to ash pollen, the sap, and even dust from ash keys. The wheatear is still here, and seems to have adopted the pile of stones in the cut as a base for making insectivorous forays. It is slightly less puffed out today, hopping less and flying more, to show off its eponymous white...ahem...rump. We also have a building/ parliament/ clamour/ storytelling of more than 50 rooks, mixed in with a few jackdaws.

Real Food

The new Real Food Store in Exeter opened for business at 8am! It provides shoppers with the opportunity to buy fresh, seasonal produce which is grown, reared or prepared in the surrounding countryside; and to eat it in the café. So therefore it provides local suppliers with an outlet in Exeter. And most importantly - the underlying aim - it educates people about the benefits of fresh, seasonal and local food, for their health, the local economy and the environment. It is a social enterprise, set up with capital invested by members of the community who have bought shares, like me when I was living in Exeter. It's about community ownership: it's my store!

Back at Mucknell, in the morning I watched a pair of lapwings in their courtship and territorial dance, tightly choreographed looping, sweeping and diving together, or briefly parting to left and right to fly in symmetry. After they landed and melted into the field, my imagination continued in its looping and sweeping, and I can bring it back now. But more stolidly, in the evening I watched a wheatear plop around a pile of stones. It was decidedly rotund, with no neck when at rest, but suddenly extended for action. The black stripe on its head put me in mind of a very out-of-shape Zorro.

Keeping up

I have been lulled into a false sense of security over the winter. What with there being so few birds around, I could get to know most of them. So, if there were a flock of small birds, they were probably linnets, and if of larger birds, they were probably fieldfares. But now spring is here, there are migrants passing over, and new arrivals from north and south, and I'm not going to be able to keep up with all the new birds. There are lots of new calls in the hedges, and Anthony has seen snipe, golden plover, green-something-I-forget-probably-finch, chiff chaff, house martin and swallow. The last two I'd know, but I wouldn't recognise the others if I saw or heard them. Back to school.

Malvern Priory has a prayer candlestand, with a design inspired by the astrolabe. According to the tourist leaflet, the astrolabe was introduced to Britain in the 11th century by Walcher, the second Prior of Malvern. It was in wide use in the Islamic world, and Walcher had translated information about its use from Arabic while living in Lorraine. Walcher's tombstone "records his abilities as 'an able astrologer and mathematician'... [He] was also noted for his great piety... Thus he brought together, in Malvern Priory in the 12th century, scientific skills and spirituality; an enquiring mind and faith... Our candlestand symbolises this coming together of:

• science - the astrolabe, a precursoe of modern scientific technology, and
• faith - candles, which represent, and gather up before God, our prayers and hopes, the often unspoken and deep longings of our hearts, the faith that God loves and cares about us."

Word association

The blackthorn down by the stream is now just about out, but what has struck me now is how far behind Mucknell is compared with the surrounding area. The roundabout at Junction 7 on the M5 is ablaze with blackthorn blossom, and there is cherry blossom in gardens along the Pershore road. We are no more exposed than J7, but perhaps a little higher, or maybe the exhaust fumes provide the warmth and nutrients (!) to encourage early growth.

There are patches of white dead nettles by the orchard, and one heartsease has bloomed among the new tree planting along the east side of the cut. Small tortoiseshells were out frolicking in the sunshine by the stream, and a couple of lapwings displaying and peewitting over the swales, boldly letting us approach quite near.

The House at Poo Corner has been replaced by a small brick building, so the three little pigs are safe from the blustering of the big bad wolf. And it's Virginia Woolf's birthday.

Census 2011

"In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered." (Luke 2:1-3; NRSV).

In these days, the Office for National Statistics awarded the £150m Census contract to Lockheed Martin, the US arms manufacturer (think Trident, F-16s, and cluster bombs) and consultant (contract interrogators at Guantanamo Bay, and surveillance). A coalition of protestors had set up a website at www.countmeout.me.uk, urging people to boycott the Census (up to £1,000 fine and a criminal record), but interestingly at the time of writing the website could not be displayed.

Counting, data and population statistics can be very political.

The last census in the Palestinian territories was taken in December 2007, and found that the population had risen by 30% in the previous decade to 3.74 million: "In a region where demographics are used to justify contentious claims to land, especially in the West Bank and Jerusalem, the results sparked unusual agreement between Israelis and Palestinians who attacked the headcount as inaccurate." Israel's population grew by 5% over the same period to about 7 million, almost twice as big as the Palestinian population. But in the West Bank, there are two million Palestinians and 250,000 Israelis, and the representative of the Israeli settlers in the West Bank said the Palestinian figure was "grossly exaggerated" and "politically motivated". Conversely, the number of Palestinians in East Jerusalem was lower than expected, according to some Palestinians, and too high, according to some Israelis.

Earth Hour

At 8.30pm local time, lights will switch off around the globe for Earth Hour, organised by WWF. In the past, this has been more of a symbolic gesture to highlight the issues of climate change and the environment generally. This year, WWF are asking people to commit to actions that go Beyond the Hour. What will I do? What will you do? What will we do?

Well we won't be observing Earth Hour, as I forgot all about it, and while we have said Compline by candlelight in the past, it's now too late to suggest switching all lights off for the whole hour.

But here's an example of a small action: sign Christian Aid's letter to environment secretary Caroline Spelman. According to Christian Aid, she is "weighing up whether UK companies should be required to report their carbon emissions". The Climate Change Act requires the Government to introduce mandatory reporting by 6 April 2012, or explain to Parliament why this has not happened, so there is only just over one year to go. This sort of transparency is the first step in reducing the 1/8 of global carbon emissions for which UK-listed companies are responsible (compare the Toxic Release Inventory in the US).

PS. The clocks go forward tonight.

Annunciation and Dedication

Archbishop Rowan presided and preached at the eucharist for The Annunciation, and as part of the service dedicated the Oratory to the Blessed Virgin Mary and St Benedict, and blessed the Entrance and Refectory as places of welcome and hospitality.

The weather was perfect, the daffodils were shining in the Oratory, and the skylarks sang throughout. Here are some words from Archbishop Rowan's homily:

"This new home for a community has been designed and constructed with deep attention to the kind of world we’re in; the kind of world where it won’t do to ignore considerations about ecological balance, sustainability and the health of the whole environment. And surely that’s part of the same listening: listening for the creative Word in things, in the stuff of the world; listening our way into the depths of what is around us, so that the Word comes alive in what we do with the things that are around us, the stuff we live with and live on.
...
"So, ausculta, listen, as The Rule [of Benedict] says. But also speak, be who you are, be who you say you are in this place. Let this place be what it is, and let all of that together be God’s Word to this wider environment."

Update: The full text of the homily is now available on the Mucknell website.

Photo credit: Rev Andrew Spurr.

3-2-1

Three buzzards over the Abbey in the mid-morning, wheeling and mewing, until one flew off east and the other two drifted west.

Two crab apple trees in leaf, Red Sentinel in becoming fresh green and Harry Baker in red-purple

One and only William Morris, 177 today, so "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."

...and we now have blackthorn flowers.

Budget cynicism - sorry!

A stunning March day, with temperatures well above average, even summery. The maximum recorded at Pershore at 4pm was 16.7 °C, while the average daily maximum is closer to 10 °C. We were of course doing strenuous outside work that involved getting overheated: digging holes for trees in dry clay, bricks and hardcore. We've also run out of rainwater in the rainwater tank and have nearly emptied all the water butts, so the toilets are running on mains, and we had to take the water for watering in the trees from the swales. The forecast is for a dry and bright period, but there may be some light rain on Saturday. The fire services have told us they wouldn't use the 45,000 litres rainwater tank, so it could be modified to make it available to the house, and we are awaiting a pump for the borehole, but this highlights that we also need to think about how we conserve our water resources.

Similarly, it would appear the UK is out of money, and we're not thinking about conserving but still trying to run it on oil: taxing the oil companies more, so we can reduce fuel duty, so we can run our cars more.

• Friends of the Earth don't like it: "In the face of a global oil crisis, this Budget will increase the UK's oil addiction".
• The oil and gas companies don't like it: "With more than 50% of Britain's gas now imported, it is vital for our energy security and for the economy that investment [in the North Sea] is maintained to ensure we extract all of the untapped hydrocarbons we can" and burn them... until we finally pull our heads out of the tar sands and realise too late that we don't have any hydrocarbons left.
• And Robert Peston says: "If the likes of Shell and BP don’t complain that this will undermine their efforts to squeeze the last drop of oil and gas out of the North Sea for the benefit of the UK, I will drink a litre of their finest unleaded petrol [I think he's safe]. Also, it is not clear how the government can be sure that the oil companies won’t push up the pump price to recoup the extra tax - which would defeat the point of the exercise." Quite.

The Budget also includes "a new presumption that developments should be permitted, unless the local planning authority can advance compelling reasons why they should not", and from now on, "local authorities can no longer favour brownfield sites over other more pristine sites (though the green belt will continue to be protected)."

So the "greenest government ever" has just announced policies that will encourage continued pollution of our skies (plus, running our cars more = greater burden on the NHS through pollution and RTAs), and turning over our land to concrete. Smashing!

Tragedy in 10,000 acts

The frogspawn is hatching into tadpoles, one by one at present, but soon they'll all be bursting in a frenzy like popcorn in a saucepan. I crouched down in the littoral to watch the throes of birth: the short sharp wriggle, the deflation of the sac, and the dart of the water boatman to gobble it up. After which, the water boatman returned to its station, feathered its oars and merged into its surroundings. So the predators keep the number of frogs down, but the sheer amount of spawn means that some will win through. As I waited for the next act in the tragedy, I became conscious of many other bugs in and on and above the pond: two spiders the size of ha'pennies walking on the water between grass stems; downy tinkerbells hovering and dipping; tiny black bugs scooting manically around on the surface; and more sedate water skaters and their six dimples. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a small black shape crawl out of the water and behind some reeds. It croaked once, but seemed too big for a frog. Of course, there was nothing there when I walked round, except the end of the drainage pipe. Anthony said later that moorhen had nested in the reeds last year, and it could have been hiding in the pipe, which sounded like a good explanation.

Most of the hedge roses can now definitively be said to be in leaf. The hawthorn buds have burst and the leaves are emerging, and one tree near the main gate is well ahead of itself and is already in leaf too. The neighbouring blackthorn is also well-advanced and on the verge of blossoming. The patch of violet violets down in the south east corner is extensive (not white violets - I obviously wasn't listening). Cowslips are appearing there too, just at the point of standing up and unshrugging their shoulders.

And I've dug half a house out of what will be the herb bed.

Habitat and habitus

From "The Solace of Fierce Landscapes" by Belden Lane: "Aboriginal peoples traverse the sacred landscape by following invisible songlines, singing - as they walk - the songs first sung by their ancestors in an ancient dreamtime beyond memory. They name (and 're-create') every characteristic of their hard and thirsty land - rocks, caves, desert brush, and waterholes - through the habitus, or ritualised way of perceiving reality, they bring to it. The know that to 'dwell' in a place creatively over an extended period of time is to conduct oneself according to a custom or habit that draws meaning from the particularities of the environment." In our post-Enlightment technological society, we have no connection "between habitat and habitus, where one lives, and how one practices a habit of being. Our concern is simply to move as quickly (and freely) as possible from one place to another. We are bereft of rituals of entry that allow us to participate fully in the places we inhabit."

In some small way, observing the environment and writing this blog is one ritual of entry into Mucknell, for me and I hope for the members of the community who read it. Lane quotes Ortega y Gasset: "Tell me the landscape in which you live, and I will tell you who you are." In his guest post, Philip described another ritual, that of reciting the Divine Office several times a day. This week I am ringing the bell to summon all to Office, perhaps also the whole of the estate to join us in our offering.

Planting seeds

We have planted seeds, and the greenhouse is starting to look more like how a greenhouse should. So we have trays of five tomatoes and three lettuces; plugs of cabbage, cauliflower, calabrese and peppers; and small pots of squash and beans. Beans are easy, but sowing the trays and plugs requires immense concentration. There are only so many seeds in the packet, and each one is tiny and precious. So two seeds of brassica per plug means taking a small pinch and rolling them carefully between the finger tips until two fall into the dimple, then sieving on very light layer of compost to cover. Having only 28 pepper seeds means holding them in the palm of your hand, and placing them one by one... except that there turned out to be closer to 40 in the packet. And planting tomato or lettuce seeds involves making a very shallow drill with the finger tip, sprinkling as evenly and sparsely as possible, then pushing the compost back over. Concentrating so hard on one thing makes other concerns fade away, and taking care and time over planting, considering how things will hopefully grow and the end product, is very rewarding.

Earthing

The pathlayers have laid the tarmac paths. The treeplanters will plant the larger ornamental trees at the beginning of next week, including a lovely prunus in flower brought by Janet (a friend of the community). The landscapers will finish the landscaping ditto. Anthony and I planted most of the shrubs - elaeagnus, viburnum, hippophae rhamnoides, etc. We might even get some vegetable seeds planted soon.

Philip came out to warn us of Janet's imminent arrival, and we stood in the sun drinking tea and looking round at the view, and commiserating with each other about how awful the place was. Still, I expect we'll manage somehow.

We also constructed a staircase for Bella up to Mary Bernard's window, from some of the thicker willow cords that were about the right length. It's not a bit of the building I see much of, and there are some snaggings: missing drain covers, detached lightning earth connector, and a slate off the roof. Back down to earth a bit.

Punctuation

My legs are somewhat scratched and punctured from the last session of bramble-bashing down by the stream, before the nesting season starts. I found a nest from last year, song thrush, carefully constructed of grass and lined with clay. We uncovered yet more swan mussel shells on the bank, probably more otter feeding sites. Anthony pointed out snaking patterns in the mud at the bottom of the stream, formed by the mussels in their filter feeding.

Celandine are now coming out all along the stream, there are cuckoo pint leaves under most hedges, and Alison says she's seen a patch of white violets under the hedge down in the southeast corner of the estate. I later found another patch along the stream, sheltering under an ancient hawthorn where the brambles were cleared last year, and a comma sunning itself. I can't tell the difference between male and female, but its behaviour probably indicates male waiting for a female to pass.

Last, but not least, there is a small patch of common or garden daisies near the orchard.

Gravity wells

Another beautiful spring day, coming thick and fast now. We had a discussion on the Rule, specifically the Prologue, which over tea turned into a theological discussion about hell and whether we can really say anything about God. Things then got a bit whimsical - could be summarised as 'Jesus the gravity well' - and turned into a discussion of the size of the universe and Patrick Moore (discussion of Patrick Moore, that is, not of the size of...).

Preparations for the 'opening' by the ABC are proceeding apace. Gabriel has already made industrial quantities of marmalade cake. Lists of things to do are lengthening - signage, flowers, sweeping up gravel, notify change in start time. Hopefully the last won't unduly inconvenience the Lord Lieutenant, Chief Constable, and other alliterative guests.

Irooneasvbst

I've just returned from 72 hours in the Hermitage, cunningly scheduling a few blog posts to pop up while I was in retreat. Here are some random observations:

• The sky was very clear on Sunday evening, and the bright half moon bathed the community building in eery grey light. The bright half moon put paid to my hopes for seeing the Milky Way, but I had a good look at M42, the Pleiades and Venus, clearly showing as a disc even in my 'good value for money' binoculars, and a satellite (yet to be determined) crossing the Plough.
• The tarmac path was being laid on and off throughout. Billy followed the workmen over on Monday, and stayed with me all morning, happily giving in to gravity on the sunny verandah. He refused all food and water, so I crumbled biscuits for the birds instead.
• The frogs have well and truly spawned in the pond.

• Three pied wagtails were the only takers of the biscuit crumbs, but came regularly to partake, swooping up, plummeting sharply, and materialising in their wagtail walk. They are too black & white for their surroundings of muted green and browns, and remind me of a BBC test card.
• On Tuesday morning, I had a visit from three red-legged partridges, all got up in their ceremonial uniforms.
• Linnets are poor formation fliers; very loose and ill-disciplined compared with starlings.
• There are still very few flowers around. Apart from the pussy willow, which has broken out into yellow-tipped hairs, I have seen only dead nettles, some weeny white wild flowers (aka shepherd's-purse), weeny blue wild flowers (aka speedwell), weeny yellow thistle-y flowers and two scrawny dandelions. But the pussy willow is delicately scented and bee heaven.

Now you see it...

On first moving in, I said that if I stand to the right of my window I can see Bredon, and if I stand to the left I can see the Malverns. Now, four months later, I know that this isn't always the case. Bredon has many moods, from looming hulk to wafty Avalon, to shrouding itself entirely.

In presenting its public forecasts, the Met Office defines visibility as: very poor - less than 1 km; poor - 1 to 4 km; moderate - 4 to 10 km; good - 10 to 20 km; very good - 20 to 40 km; excellent - more than 40 km. Bredon is about 12.5 km from my window, and beyond Bredon the Cotswolds ridge is about 25 km. So it has to be good to very good visibility to see them. Because much of my view is fairly flat, Bredon takes on a greater presence and seems closer than it really is. So it feels slightly odd when it disappears, as it has done today in the mist after two days of brilliant sunshine. But meteorologically-speaking, it's a pretty mundane event.

Over in the west, the Malverns are about 14 km away. Of these there is the old saw, that if you can't see them, it is raining, and if you can see them, it is about to rain.

The Blackthorn mystery

Two of my budwatch posts seem to contradict each other: incipient blossom on the blackthorn on 7 March; and blackthorn buds just out on 5 February.

Aha! I thought as I wandered past the southwestern hedgerows. The blossoming blackthorn must be functionally male, and the budding blackthorn functionally female. And I continued to ruminate over the trend for planting male trees in urban areas because female trees, or more specifically their fruits, can make a mess. The problem is, that all that extra blossom and pollen causes more hayfever and asthma. On the other hand, cities are better than rural areas nowadays as pollen sources for bees.

But that was all a red herring as blackthorn is hermaphroditic. In which case perhaps I've confused it with cherry plum (frequently done)... but cherry plum is an ornamental, and I'd have thought not very likely to be found in our hedgerows. Or perhaps I've confused blackthorn and hawthorn, which is more likely, but I thought hawthorn had different spines.

So who knows? We'll have to wait for the leaves and the blossom and the fruit, and see what we shall see.

Fairtrade fortnight

It's the last day of Fairtrade fortnight, and I have been musing on the Fairtrade logo and how we all see things differently. I always saw it as a road, with a field on the left and the sky and sun on the right. But I recently read that others see a green leaf, or a blue parrot, or a person waving their arm.

Seeing the logo through others' eyes has changed it for me; it's gained more meaning and become richer. But on the shadow side, it has annoyed me, as I now mainly see the person and I want to keep my view as the road. It's only a small example, but illustrates a more general principle of how we get along with other people, interpret the news, and so on.

This morning's gospel was the Temptations of Jesus. Thank you to Peter for pointing me to this amazing video of illustrations by Simon Smith.

Weasel words

I found a dead weasel in amongst the raised beds. Its wee sel' was pale brown with a white underbelly, and was barely six inches long even though full-grown. It's incredible to think that it can kill and drag a rabbit. The neck and shoulder area was crushed and the fur matted, probably by one of the cats. If only they did something useful like killing the voles instead of killing the voles' predators. And how to tell the difference between a weasel and a stoat? Well, a weasel is weasily recognised, and a stoat is stoatally different! Alternatively, a stoat is twice as big, and has a dark tail tip.

Which brings me to the Word of the day:

tergiversation (ˈtɜːdʒɪvəˌseɪʃən)
Turning dishonestly from a straightforward action or statement; shifting, shuffling, equivocation.
Origin 1570, from Latin tergiversationem, from tergiversari turn one's back on, evade, from tergum the back + versare to spin, turn.

Cackles and mussels

It's now light in the east at 6am as we start Office of Readings. Geese often fly over the Oratory at this time, and the honking of a skein momentarily distracted me from reading John Chrysologus on the links between prayer, fasting and mercy. After Lauds, I watched a flock of fieldfares browsing in the field by the railway line, then retiring to one of the trees in the triangle with great commotion.

Wednesday and Friday mornings are given over to estate work during March, so this morning was spent bashing brambles and clearing tree litter down by the stream. One mighty bramble bush hid a large stash of freshwater swan mussels, probably an otter's favourite dining place that we have now ravaged. Ian and Anthony donned the waders - I definitely wish I'd had my camera at that point - to clear a mess of twigs and leaves partially blocking the stream. They disturbed an eel, which apparently was <this> big. I'm guessing it was a freshwater European eel, Anguilla anguilla, not to be confused with Natrix natrix or Lutra lutra. And Anthony stepped in a hole that was too deep and filled his right wader.

Soaring on eagles' wings

The anticyclonic frost and cold of the beginning of March has become cyclonic bluster and low cloud. I took advantage of some nice force 5-ish south-westerlies, and reached for my kite again. Kite flying is an excellent way to stand and stare, soar on eagles' wings, forget about earthly matters and ride the breeze. All very good for the soul and the spirit. Why else would the US National Institute of Environmental Health Sciences have the Mary Poppins lyrics on its website?

I have a stunt kite, and usually just do aerobatics: as many tight 360° as possible; skim the ground without crashing; try and trace out a neat square; S's and figures of eight; fly it as close to the wind as possible (I estimate about 30° either side of the wind direction); bounce it off the ground and recover (also known as crashing); and so on. But today I spent some time just letting it fly, as a tell-tale of how the wind was changing direction, or blowing harder (almost overhead) and softer (fell out of the sky). Then I stopped watching it, and just felt it through the strings and my hands instead. And I got an even clearer sense of the gradual strengthening and fading of the wind, the sudden pull with a gust, and especially the turbulence, the sudden juddering pull-pull-pull followed by relaxation. I have a new respect for how the kestrel can hover over a single spot.

And then the wind got up, and the kite pulled hard. So I ended with some more aerobatics and crashes, and one final spectacular vertical nosedive. 20/30 minutes standing and staring, 10 minutes winding up the string and tail.

Ash Wednesday

The Church of England commemorates "Woodbine Willie" on 8 March, the anniversary of his death in 1929. Before the First World War, he was the vicar at St Paul's church in Worcester, and is buried at St John's cemetery in the city.

It's also Ash Wednesday, so we start our Lenten observances. One of the Community's corporate observances is to get some fresh air, and find time to stand and stare: "to take 20/30 minutes in the day, weather permitting, to get outside the building (not for work!); for some fresh air, some sunshine, look at the progress being made around the grounds and listen to the birds, etc!" I'm all in favour of Lenten observances that license the things I enjoy doing! Today I wandered south, but the only thing worth reporting was one small abandoned nest cradled by bramble and thorn.

Either side of lunch, I spent a bit of time meditatively cleaning secateurs. The greenhouse effect ensured that the greenhouse was lovely and warm, despite the wind and a brief spatter of rain. Just before lunch, the buzzard was just visible above the wall and garth bank, wheeling and glancing at the ground. After lunch, the trees in that area were full of chattering linnets: "Well Mavis, I think he's gone now, but that was a near miss and no mistake!" "Oooh yes Muriel, I thought that was my lot, bound for linnet heaven. My Stanley is still having palpitations. But how are your summer holiday plans coming along? Mind you don't miss the deadline for cheap flights." .........

Shrove Tuesday

It was another clear frosty morning. The sun is now shining through the east window during Lauds, golden orange on the Oratory wood. Just after we came out of chapel, there was a hare feeding by the pond, black ears and scut. Something seemed to make it wary, and it moved off south down the cut, paused slightly for a bit more browsing, before heading east over the bank and out of sight.

The native bluebells are coming through in the south eastern hedges. We have planted the soft fruit, mostly raspberries and blackberries, and done a bit more muck-spreading around them.* There were stonking pancakes for lunch, courtesy of Mary Teresa, and a 'last chance to see' glass of red wine for supper. It must be Shrove Tuesday.

* Alison would like to point out that, while we planted the raspberries, she did the muck-spreading.

Springing

There are daffodils and clumps of white violets by the lane, and still some snowdrops in the small copse by the junction with the B4084. The more ornamental trees arrived first thing, root balled in burlap. It seemed improbable that such small root balls should anchor such large trees, but they appear to be healthy, and will be planted close to the house. Alison and I did some arranging in the greenhouse of irrigation tubes and electric blankets for seedlings, and washed up some of the propagation trays.

A budwatch survey to the north of the grounds revealed:

• wild rose leaves continuing to open slowly in palest green
• the pussy willow in full splendour
• incipient blossom on the blackthorn
• an elder beside our neighbours' barn, with grey-green leaves starting to spread
• bramble ditto, producing buds and leaves already - they must like the sheltered spot, as there are still no signs in the other hedges

The great tits were giving their peep-peep grrr alarm call. But the dead grass snake, which had probably come out of hibernation a bit early (I know the feeling), had disappeared.

Familiar and unfamiliar beauty

Raymond, visiting, preached today about the theology of beauty. He was responding to a recent writing by Sara Maitland, probably from her column in the Tablet, but had an interesting starting point: that of technology. Television, and David Attenborough's programming in particular, has given us the ability to see much more of the earth in its immensity and its tiny detail. And awe-inspiring images from telescopes also bring the heavens close. So the beauty of the earth and the rest of the universe reflects God's beauty. He also spoke of the beauty of humanity, though marred, and the beauty of Jesus, even as the suffering servant on the cross. The glory of God was revealed on the mountain of Transfiguration; can beauty be the same as glory?

As I write this, I find myself reflecting instead on the strangeness of the earth and the heavens, as revealed by television and telescopes, and am reminded of Janet Morley's invocation: "O Unfamiliar God". And on the other hand, I think back to my afternoon walk with friends around the estate in glorious spring sunshine. We haven't been here long enough yet, but for example Roger Deakin's "Notes from Walnut Tree Farm" reveals the deep beauty in the familiar, the well-trodden and well-known, the expected and yet unexpected seasonal round, and in waiting for a place to grow and mature.

Oil crises

One of my earliest posts was about the Transition Movement in the context of energy security. And now the government has shown some common sense at last and decided in the light of unrest in Middle East that it would be a good idea to wean the UK off oil. The Transition Movement has been talking for some years now about peak oil, which is not the point when we run out of oil, but the point of maximum output after which supply will fall. If demand continues to rise, then the laws of supply and demand will dictate further price rises, perhaps spikes. The Libyan situation could have the same effect, if supplies are cut off. As Chris Huhne has now said: "We cannot afford to go on relying on such a volatile source of energy when we can have clean, green and secure energy from low-carbon sources". So the Carbon Plan, to be launched this week, should if it is worth the bandwidth address both climate change and oil supply constraints.

Also of interest... the Sustainable Development Commission (SDC), which has been axed by the government, is planning a people-power watchdog on green government: communities of experts who can analyse statistics and policy, rate government performance and lobby for improvement. The ideas were partly driven "by the effectiveness of the recent campaign against moving Forestry Commission lands out of state management - which, as they noted, was not co-ordinated by the traditional environment movement but by loose networks of concerned people." The SDC's final blast was to criticise the government's seven-page plan on Sustainable Development in Government. For my part, it seems ludicrous that Defra should be producing a sustainable development plan and DECC a carbon plan, not a good example of joined up government.

Watching sunrises

I gave this evening's sunset 3/10, for making a little effort with shining wisps of cloud, but the colours and sky coverage weren't up to the usual standard. It did, however, remind me of a couple of lovely sunrises in the last 10 days. One in particular was a glorious crimson, lighting clouds across the whole sky. As I watched during Lauds, the patch of sky framed by the Oratory windows faded to orange then yellow, or rather brightened to orange and yellow. Gazing at it later from the window at the eastern end of the community building top floor corridor, I wasn't sure what to expect. I've watched many sunsets: the fiery light, the disappearance of the sun behind the horizon, the fading to twilight, the secondary red glow, the dissolving to darkness. But I've barely ever watched a sunrise. And it's not like a sunset in reverse, ending as it does in light and day and activity and life, instead of dark and night and mystery and death. So I felt confused, in a good sort of a way. And to all you other night birds, I recommend watching sunrises.

Rhubarb rhubarb

Today was an inter-novitiate day, and a jaunt down to Oxford. There were to be more of us from Mucknell, but it ended up just being me. I did try calling the Franciscans the other side of Worcester to ask for a lift, but was too late. So as we left Oxford at the end of the day, there was the unedifying spectacle of two Frannies and two Poor Clares squishing into a tiny red Micra (comparable to yesterday's ladybird), and just me in Mucknell's ginormous silver Ford estate. So much for our sustainability effort! All I can write in defence is that I tried, and that the Ford is diesel, high mpg and low road tax band.

I brought back some rhubarb plants (native of Siberia) and welsh onions (native of, well, Siberia), kindly donated by Tymawr to the kitchen garden effort. I remember a Rogation procession at Tymawr back in May 2000, complete with sprinking of holy water, which was forbidden to go anywhere near the rhubarb patch, on the grounds that it didn't need any encouragement thank you very much! I am hoping for similar plenitude; the weather yesterday was Siberian enough.

Circling buzzards

Eleven plum and pear trees planted this morning. Proper job! Now on to the soft fruit...

Apparently, there were five buzzards circling in the distance towards Bredon, but I could only see one slightly separate from the others. My eyesight is not particularly good, and I need to ask my opticians to change my lens-by-post subscription to match my nine-month-old updated prescription, but perhaps I was looking in the wrong direction.

After lunch, I walked north down to the stream. Another buzzard was circling close above the ridge and furrow, fading south west as I approached. The stream is as low as I've seen it. The section fenced off for drinking (with scaffolding poles and barbed wire) is very clogged, and there's a lovely back-up of surface gunge; a possible job for someone on Friday morning, assuming it doesn't rain in the interim. A ladybird dozed in the sun, brilliant scarlet against the blackthorn.

Pomaceous!

We have at last finished planting the apple trees - Pitmaston Pineapple, Winston, Worcester Pearmain and all - and tomorrow is set fair, or at least only slightly drizzly, to have a good go at the plums and pears. Mary Teresa was heard talking to her trees; we shall see whether it makes any difference. Alison drew the short straw and the long couch grass, and did a sterling job making the tea. Meanwhile, Anthony and Luke were installing rabbit-proof fencing. We have invented the Mucknell Slurry Dance, a kind of hop, step and shake the mud off the welly. But we still have to scrape off large quantities of mud and gravel, and have a good scrub in the trug.

A very kind benefactor provided us with a few bottles of wine, and we duly celebrate the feast of St David at supper. To quote Philip: "Dydd Gwŷl Dewi Sant hapus!"