Bits and Pieces at Work

Managed to get outside at  lunchtime today to see what was happening on our wilding campus.

This was after I'd seen a scared roe deer running like mad across the grasslands, trapped between various busy roads.

I wonder where it ended up? Hopefully found the way out towards the wooded farmlands at the back.

Lots of strange little characters seemingly feeding of leaf sap today; They looked like wasps but actually seem to be some form of solitary cuckoo bee of the nomad family, possibly gooden's nomad bee. They parasatize on andrena type bees apparently.

We are letting all our verges go unmowed for the summer; forget me nots doing very well at the moment but hopefully we will have orchids again before too long.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 14.05.18

The Subsidence of Lyricist

"He is Lyricist" it said.

He still is. But now though his paint is still bright, his home on the back of the has now reclaimed by nature as the buddleia inevitably colonises anywhere like that little triangle of brownfield site at the back of the floorists with the hot yoga studio on top.

I knew him. Know him. He'd just done his first hip hop album when the mural went up and was working in the pub where I drink. I think fatherhood kind of overtook the music, and hence Lyricist went into abeyance.

But his mural still persists, watching over the butterflies and bees as they feed in summer. It's also a Pokemon stop; it has earned a place in legend.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 20.12.17

The Wild Weir

Yesterday I visited a corner of Newark I haven't stepped foot in for a long time.

The helllish, muddy field we had to slog through 4 times during the marathon in November.

It was a mite less muddy when I ran through this second time, but it was still grim, grey, and ugly. The sewage farm smell wafted across the river, and the water had the feeling of being loaded with diseases. It roared over the weir, and the spray in the air felt toxic.

This was Newark's old industrial hinterland but without any Hovis advert charm. The boiler works and ruined buildings across the river are hardly Ironbridge Gorge, the rail bridge rattles, the wooden bridge is rickety in the face of the surging water. This is post industrial land left to rot, no-one is building here.

The bridges reflect symmetry in the water; the crows don't circle because there is nothing to eat.

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 17.03.16