NATURE NOTES, Charlotte Daniel
Wendy Andrew’s enchanting artwork on the front cover has inspired me to dedicate part of this article to the hare.
In the Western tradition and in many other cultures the hare is closely associated with the moon, the dawn and the east. The hare was regarded as sacred in British and Irish Celtic cultures and was unlikely to have been hunted for a long time apart from at the equinoxes or at Beltane when the hare is associated with fertility.
In the past 100 years brown hares have declined by over 80% in Britain. Agricultural intensification, changes in land use and probably building development are factors in the decline. Lack of food sources from an overall declining biodiversity threatens the survival of many hares. As they do not hibernate or store sufficient body fat, brown hares need regular year-round food supplies.
A few months ago at White House Farm, a hare ran ahead of me as I stood still and watched. Its striking back legs charged forward with an elegant force. I felt honoured to have shared its path.
I am very happy to see an increasing reverence for the hare. I also focus positive thought (although it can be challenging at times) on the increasing awareness and care for the natural environment, where hopefully sound, balanced knowledge can be turned into widespread practice.
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Ivy berries ripen in December, providing a useful food source at this time of outward dormancy. Ivy covered trees provide a secure retreat in winter for many small birds. As I write, the ivy berries at the window are crowned with snow.
If you are able to visit barn owl territory, you may have greater opportunity to see an owl in daylight now that winter is upon us. In the colder months they have an increased need to hunt for food earlier in the day. I have vivid memories of seeing a barn owl gracefully gliding through the winter mist at dusk over the Alde valley where I used to live. At White House Farm, I occasionally see a barn owl’s mottled outstretched wings and its body’s white underside and very occasionally I hear its sharp call in the distance.
Natural regenerated woodland forms part of the land at White House Farm and I imagine it to feel like a primeval place with the colonising of the first trees such as oak, ash and birch. The young birch trees here have formed dense secondary woodland, clothed in deep and vibrant shades of moss and bright lichens and the atmosphere is markedly different in these surroundings. At the heart of this area it seems a silent place, where life feels essentially still and everlasting.
White House Farm, Hasketon is a 115-acre organic farm and County Wildlife Site near Woodbridge and is owned by The Sinfield Nature Conservation Trust. The Trust welcomes new members and volunteers to support the work and educational projects at the farm. www.sinfieldtrust.org
THE VILLAGE HERBALIST, Hilary Holden
Like most middle aged women who have cooked their fair share of Christmas dinners, I have an ambivalent relationship with Christmas. I think it’s to do with all that giving. Women give and give and give. Then at Christmas, they give some more. You want to give everyone a wonderful day and a fabulous Christmas dinner. And it starts off that way. It starts to get confused with vague feelings of resentment nearer the day. About the 19th of December, women all over the country start frantically wrapping the impossibly lumpy presents they have bought, for her and his family. Husbands normally sink into deep depression at this time, and lay on the sofa watching TV muttering about the expense and the rubbish adverts. Meanwhile Mrs is having her fifteenth hot flush trying to pin down the inflatable dingy she bought for mother in law, hoping she might tempt her to get in it so she can push her off on an outgoing tide somewhere off Mersea island.
She then tries to deal with her rising irritation by munching her way through most of the marzipan she bought to ice the cake with. By Christmas day she will have re-bought marzipan about five times.
The children, being of a nervous disposition, are not excited by Father Christmas coming down the chimney/into their bedroom. Instead the six year old starts bed wetting again, and the four year old insists on sleeping in with mum and dad out of fright. This means Mrs spends the two weeks before Christmas clinging to the remaining two inches of duvet and the edge of the bed, whilst the four year old sleeps in the shape of a starfish.
By Christmas eve, house fully decorated, shopping all done, presents wrapped, Mr suddenly gets all Christmassy. Wearing a paper hat and the grin of a happy drunk, he returns from the pub and says those fatal words “anything I can do”. Mrs, breaking teeth whilst gritting them, will not lose it at this point. She will however, lose it when he repeats the phrase just as she’s about to serve up Christmas dinner.
She will have had two large glasses of wine whilst cooking, which is two more than she planned to have, and has now arrived at the “to hell with it” phase. It will take very little to cause her to down tools and lay down howling, wolflike, in front of the cooker.
The phrase “anything I can do” does the trick…..every time. Happy Christmas one and all.
Hilary Holden MNIMH is a Medical Herbalist with clinics in Stanton and Eye. She is a member of the National Institute of Medical Herbalists.
(Oh, and she does actually enjoy Christmas!)