A Balancing Act

 

I always find myself in a reflective, pensive mood at this time of year.  Life moves at pace and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to squeeze in everything I want to do and sadly that includes blogging.  Whilst I very much enjoy many of the blogs I read and value the virtual, 21st century friendships I've made, I'm still very conscious of what I divulge about my own life.  Photography may be my great passion, but I rarely feel comfortable in front of the lens (hence the scarcity of photos of me).  Add into the mix my butterfly mind, a giant whirlpool of 150 things I need to do and consequently, sitting down to diarise my life at the expense of doing something else, is becoming increasingly challenging.  As we all know, life is a tricky balancing act.  I want the balance to tip towards living life as opposed to documenting it.

That said, marketing is the number one priority of any small business and people do occasionally want to see the face behind the blurb.  I've been busy with my homework of late and even though I've filmed (and deleted) more videos than I care to mention, I'm slowly getting there. Blogging is another tool in my armoury. 

The poet and artist Adeboye Oluwajuyitan once said: "Colour details the story.  Black and white make it a myth."  I like that.  It makes perfect sense to me.

If I scroll through my Instagram feed, it always strikes me how much nature informs my work.  The colours flow from black and white through to fresh pastel hues and into vibrant colour, before deepening into rich tones until finally, the colours leach out once again as we return to winter. 

I'm playing catch up a little here, but black and white was firmly in charge in January.

After the fun and frivolity of the pin up shoot, I had a wedding booking in Worcester, which happened to fall on one of the coldest days of the year so far and sadly, a beautiful blue winter sky was notably absent.  The trees of Worcester Wood which provided a backdrop were still bare and I just knew that the photos would look infinitely better in black and white when natural colour was so lacking.  

Francine and Gabor's wedding was a memorable one.  Due to a last minute hiccup, the couple asked if I would step in and be a witness.  I was delighted to oblige and touched by their gratitude and insistence on giving me what seemed like a quarter of their wedding cake.

Parts of the register office building were out of bounds due to the discovery of RAAC (reinforced autoclaved aerated concrete), a lightweight material that was used on flat roofs and in walls and floors between the 1950s and 1990s.  It has a lifespan of around 30 years, but can cause structural failure when exposed to moisture, often collapsing with little or no warning.  It's a huge problem in many UK public buildings right now.

The couple had what is now referred to as a micro wedding; a small affair with fewer than 20 guests.  (The couple had already enjoyed some extremely colourful and traditional celebrations in Francine's home country, Rwanda).  This photo of the newlyweds is my favourite.  Despite the cold weather and metal barriers behind, their happiness radiates from this photograph.

The whole micro wedding trend is just my thing.  Admittedly, it's a dull title, but the reality is freedom, no structure, your nearest and dearest (not the great aunt you never see or your parents' friends) in attendance, family favourite dishes on the menu, a country pad or restaurant party location and no formality for the sake of formality.   

I've even forsaken my own Vinted and vintage hunting to inspire brides to be.  Check out these beauties; a mix of second hand, vintage and sustainable dresses for under £150!

Black and white and winter are the perfect partnership.  Naked trees, the high contrast between featureless white skies and landscape and water reflections are black and white's best friends.

Here are a few from a recent stroll around Shropshire's Dudmaston Estate (run by the National Trust).

Black sheep, given the folklore, dark fairy tale treatment.

Winter's prettiest offering...snowdrops.

Ducks coming into land.

No one is spared my portrait practise - or a black and white edit.  Here's the best Valentine's gift I ever received, ear phones firmly in place, and rocking his newly bleached hair, the result of teenage experimentation...

...and cats are always wonderful subjects.  After the death of our beloved Lotte, we're getting our cat fix from no less than 17 feral cats at the local vineyard.  Here are four of them filling their furry faces.

Don't adjust your TV screens.  This is a natural concrete divide and there's no camera shake, just a kitty shaking off the rain.

Don't be fooled by her expression, this one's a little more friendly.

Even the less mobile amongst us are fair game for me and my camera.  Here's a scarecrow operating in the Castle gardens of Bridgnorth.  I've christened him Zapata, after the Mexican revolutionary.

I'm permitting some colour for his companion and have even created her very own backstory.  Here's Linda Burrell.  Linda is a failed actress and British eccentric.  Linda had a flirtation with film director Woody Allen in the early 1970s and contrary to popular belief, Woody wrote Annie Hall for Linda.

However, Linda fell out of favour with Woody after a row over a sourdough starter in New York and he went on to cast Diane Keaton, who has since been credited as the inspiration for the screenplay.  

Linda never got over this rejection and returned to her native Shropshire, where she took up gardening as a form of therapy.  Here she is.  She can't shake off that Annie Hall fashion aesthetic.  She's encouraging me to go and check out her hellebores.

But fear not!  I do mingle with real people too.  I've been busy meeting clients, catching up with friends, taking bracing walks - followed by coffees in cosy cafes, not to mention a fun night out watching a Fleetwood Mac tribute act and investigating the pubs of Dudley.  A tribute act?  I hear you cry.  As fun as it was and as accomplished as the musicians were, there's no possible way of seeing the coolest line up of the Mac.  It no longer exists after the acrimonious exit of Lindsey Buckingham and death of Christine McVie.  Thankfully, I've seen the real band (and separately, their founding member Peter Green).  There really is no comparison.

It's clearly been a while since my last blog and in spite of all the black and white, I have to concede that spring is on the way...and nothing says Spring like cherry blossom. 

In other news, I've bought a drone, which will come in useful.  Watch this space.

One Spring Day

Everyone is waiting for Spring to arrive.  The signs are there; splashes of colour are rising above cold and sodden earth and we've had hints of the changing of the seasons on the breeze, but rain has been plentiful and still, the frosts persist.  The tree pictured above appears tormented, stripped of life and reaching for the light.

I've had my annual battle with Lotte's dreadlocks which manage to conceal themselves successfully in her winter coat until they are the size of ping pong balls.  We're getting there.  She's feeling "summer ready" now and was happy enough to pose in front of the mirror for me.

Last night offered some promise in the shape of a beautiful Pink April Moon...

...and, as Good Friday dawned, in these parts the weather was very good; no wind, wall to wall blue skies and the mercury reaching a very pleasant 14.5 degrees.  After a chilly start, I put some washing on and headed into the garden to take some cheery Easter photos using some novelty chocolates before they disappear for good.

Things quickly took a sinister turn....run, rabbit, run!

That's better.

Spring's small pleasures include being able to peg washing out on the line and have it dry, leaving behind an outdoor scent that's impossible to replicate.

Here's the bamboo as glimpsed through my hot pink honeycomb blanket hanging out to dry this morning.

After lunch we headed out over the hills for some exercise, stopping only to capture the blossom..

 ...blue sky (Gareth shedding his jacket at the top and tossing it into the air)...

...and Greater Starwort growing on the grass verges.

Still not convinced Spring is here?  Well this particular mother and son, happily posing in the sunshine on our descent, will tell you otherwise.  Renewal and rebirth.  Spring has arrived!

We have a weekend of bark chip path formation and entertaining in store and hopefully more of the same from the weather gods.  Happy Easter!

Horticulture, History and a Hint of Intrigue

We may be fully vaccinated, but we are determined to avoid Covid if at all possible, particularly now a close family member is facing numerous hospital tests.  We can't afford to pass anything on.  Last week's stats made for scary reading.  One in thirteen people in the UK had Covid last week - that's 5 million people.  We now have 20,000 people in hospital with Covid (although not all for that reason).  People may not be dying in such scary numbers, but according to one NSH worker we were chatting to yesterday, the situation in hospitals "is very bad."  

Anyway, we've been quite happy roaming around the great outdoors, especially when the temperature last weekend topped Spain's.  Our chosen destination last weekend was Arley Arboretum, sitting on the banks of the River Severn in the hamlet of Upper Arley.  It's one of the area's hidden gems and is one of the oldest Arboreta in Britain.  Well, I say hidden, but I still managed to bump into an old primary school friend.

It was originally planted by Earl Mountnorris in around 1800 and contains many exotic and rare tropical plants and one of the country's finest specimen tree collection.  

Ownership subsequently passed to Robert Woodward in 1852, before being acquired - in a state of neglect - by Midlands industrialist and philanthropist, Roger Turner in 1959.  Turner took on responsibility for the picturesque hamlet, building 27 new properties, restoring the arboretum and Grade II listed walled garden and bringing the community together by erecting a Sports & Social Club. 

Prior to his death in 1999, Turner, with great foresight, had taken steps to protect the Arboretum by setting up a charitable trust.  He bequeathed the entire 1600 acre Estate to that Trust.  The Trustees took the decision to open the arboretum to the public, having decided that it held sufficient educational importance.  It was officially opened to the public in 2002 by Lord Lichfield.

The Arboretum boasts a wonderful Laburnum Arch measuring 65 metres, sadly not in flower at the time of our visit.

Also, the usually spectacular Italian garden was missing its fountain and one of the pools had been drained.

However, the 300 species of trees dating back over 350 years, the blossom and the acres of magical woodland walks and views more than made up for this.

We even reverted to childhood and entered the Hornbeam maze.  Clocking that the laid hedgerows weren't yet in leaf, I scoffed as we entered, suggesting that this would be a doddle, only to exit, alongside a tearful pre-pubescent 20 minutes later.  He was upset that his biggest fear of getting lost in a maze had been realised.  As for me, I was just a quitter.  

Here's Gareth calling me a loser from the centre.  It still took him way too long to fnd it!

I received a copy of Irish singer/poet Imelda May's poetry collection for Mother's Day after dropping the heaviest of hints.  The collection includes a foreword by Irish Novelist Roddy Doyle and is accompanied by Imelda's pencil drawings.

Here's a lovely little example entitled "Etta."  Apologies in advance for the stream of consciousness layout, but Blogger would not permit single line spacing!

The sun sneaked its head out from a volatile sky and winked at pansy smiles that got the joke Etta James sang her soul out from across the divide and I danced in my slippers with a heart of love and hope.

Back home in the garden, the magnolia is finally in flower and has miraculously defied this year's late frosts.  Here is is, pictured at dusk on Wednesday evening.

Joining me on my evening garden exploration, was Lotte.  The only way I can distract her and stop her relentless head bumps (which mess with my focus), is to throw a twig or a leaf for her to hunt down.  Here she is, my perfect furry muse, hunting her imaginary prey amongst the daffodils.

Later in the week, we were treated to wind, sleet and snow flurries before the weather finally settled into squally rain.

Yesterday, we met up with a customer who was in the area and wanted to collect his latest order of rust paint.  He's transforming this amazing old farm truck imported from Georgia Texas.

For any petrol heads, here's the engine he built himself.

These license plates cost a pretty penny.

                        .

I'm sure by now, you've spotted that behind the handsome Ford truck, is a handsome old building.

 Introducing Harvington Hall, a moated Elizabethan Manor House.  

The moat and artificial island can be traced back to the 13th century, making them even older than the majority of the 14th century building work that still survives behind a layer of brick. 

The property houses the largest number of priest holes (7) than any other property in England and houses an impressive collection of rare Elizabethan wall paintings.  

Friends of ours married in the neighbouring church back in the early 2000s and we all enjoyed a lavish wedding breakfast within the walls of Harvington Hall.  A wonderful memory.

Harvington's history is naturally rich in stories.  Adam he Herywnton (Harvington) lived and almost certainly died here in March 1344.  Upon his death the estate passed to the Earl of Warwick and in 1529 was sold to a wealthy lawyer, Sir John Pakington.  Curiously, there is documentation to say that Pakington was provided with a special grant by Henry VIII no less, permitting him to wear his hat in the King's presence!

Sir John's great nephew, Humphrey Pakington, inherited the estate in 1578 and the manor we see today came into being.  

Unfortunately, being Catholic, Humphrey was repeatedly fined for his refusal to attend the Church of England Sunday services.  The fines started at 12p per week but increased to £20.00 per month, equating to around £4,000 today.  When, in 1585, it was made illegal for a Catholic priest to step foot in England, Humphrey equipped Harvington with ingenious priest holes (including a "swinging beam hide"), which visitors can see today.  Some of these were almost certainly the handiwork of master carpenter Nicholas Owen (who met his own death in the Tower of London in 1606).

A potted history, post Humphrey.  Harvington became the dower house of his widow, Abigail.  Upon her death, Harvington passed to daughter Lady Mary Yate in 1657.  Mary died at Harvington in 1696 at the grand old age of 85.  As she had outlived her son and grandson, Mary's granddaughter, another Mary Yate.  Mary was married to Sir Robert Throckmorton of Coughton Court (now under the care of the National Trust).  Sir Robert had very little use for Harvington and so demolished two wings of the property and in the 19th and early 20th centuries, most of the furnishings were stripped, leaving the hall in a dilapidated state.  

With only two generations of gentry living at Harvington, the house was restored, courtesy of the generosity of a new owner and Catholic lady, Mrs Ellen Ryan Ferris, who in 1923 purchased the Hall and gifted it to the Archdiocese of Birmingham, who still own the hall today.

Outbuildings including cafe, cottages and Georgian Chapel

Yesterday's visit was confined to the grounds and the Georgian chapel, which are free of charge to enter, although we both intend to return for another guided tour as soon as possible.  

A glimpse inside the Georgian chapel.  The light was exquisite.

We also took a stroll down memory lane for Gareth, visiting the location of his first job at another historic local landmark - Hagley Hall Mews.  Fresh out of uni, Gareth was employed as a product designer at this lovely location. 

Here you'll have to use your imagination and conjure a mental image of a courtyard surrounded by converted stables, each housing small independent businesses.  For some reason, my memory card appears to have erased these photos!

Lunch hours (or half hours) were spent wandering the footpaths on the Hagley Hall Estate, a Grade I listed 18th century house in Hagley, Worcestershire, the home of the Lyttelton family, currently owned by the 12th Viscount Cobham.  

Here's the church of St John the Baptist, 

there's the steeple, 

go through the lychgate...and here's a lone teen scrolling on his phone!  OK I'm paraphrasing the old nursery rhyme, but you get the picture.  Incidentally, I have a confession.  The line "I am the resurrection and the life" was introduced to me not via Bible studies, but by The Stone Roses, atheist that I am.

The deer were out in force in the deer park, but you'll have to take my word for it.  Pre dating the Palladian mansion and once considered amongst the greatest of all landscaped gardens, today, the park is under construction and not open to the public after almost 150 years of neglect.

There are numerous follies connected to the estate, scattered around Hagley, one of which can be glimpsed from the summit of Clent Hills.

Another, the Grade II listed Hagley Obelisk, stands close to the summit of Wychbury Hill in Hagley.  Here is it, just visible on the hill above the housing estate.  

The obelisk was constructed in 1747 under the orders of Lord Lyttelton.  However, the monument  for over three quarters of a century, has become part of local folklore courtesy of a very intriguing tale and was also branded with graffiti referencing the local mystery.  But I shall keep you in suspense until my next post!