Yesterday and today, they've been making hay on Shapwick Hill just across the valley from our house. It reminds me of the happy but exhausting time we used to have helping friends to do the same in the 90s - racketing rides back from the field on top of the wobbling pile of bales with screaming children and barking collies, followed by the hard, hot, prickly work of stacking in the barn, and the reward: supper and plenty of cold beer in the darkening evening. Another free but simple pleasure whose memory I shall treasure till I'm very old.

I used to think the adjective was a mark of approbation of nice weather, rather than, as I now suspect, a curse!

The puddle outside the office is almost deep enough to come over the top of my garden clogs, the rain is pouring, the mist is thick, and the lawn is strewn with minced leaves shredded from the trees. Over the fence, dejected cows are looming out of the mist, having forgotten to lie down last night before the rain started, and save themselves some dry grass to lie on.

An English summer, then!

Preparing to form a bovine pyramid

With apologies to all my chums here - I've been very busy with work and haven't had any spare time to see what you've all been up to

Yesterday, my potting friends and I had one of our occasional raku firing days, which are an excuse to eat lots, gossip, and inhale vast quantities of stinking smoke! Oh, and we fire a few pots too.

The potters feast - my rainbow tabbouleh waiting for the lunch to begin

Smoking bins, Batman!

A moon and stars plate

Two little birds to hang in the window

Big Dog and Little Dog, with their bones

If you want to find out more about raku, I have a page on my web site that explains a bit more.

This is one of my favourite fields locally, in Pinhay. If you get the time just right when the maize is sprouting, the setting sun throws rather nice shadows over its voluptuous curves.

I've been back many times over the years to catch this, and last night, was rewarded by my first-ever sighting locally of a brown hare. She was poised just on the crest of the hill you see here, and of course took flight as soon as I came into view. But a magical experience, nevertheless.

Tonight was a perfect summer evening: warm, sunny and almost still. After tea, I went for a walk in the nearby fields, concentrating on the uncultivated patches at the edge of the wheat. These are home to a big variety of plants: docks, thistles, grasses, clover, foxgloves, and many others.

As the sun went down over the hill in a blaze of gold, I could hear birdsong and tractors cutting silage on the other side of the valley - a distant gentle roar; smell the perfume of elderflowers and honeysuckle hanging heavy in the air; and watch the backlight transform ordinary weeds into little gems.

Meadow thistle

Yorkshire fog

Narrow-leaf dock

Then home for a cup of tea - the perfect end to a busy day.

Two local historians - Ken Gollop and Graham Davies - have been researching the history of farming in the parish of Uplyme where I live.

The culmination of two or three years of research is an exhibition in the Village Hall that I visited last night and again today when it was less crowded.

It was a fascinating insight into rural life in the last century, and especially interesting for me as I learnt some new things about our house and field.

The house (part of a range of farm buildings converted in the mid-80s) was in existence on a map from 1838, so the shell is at least 170 years old. No foundations at all and still standing - which makes a bit of a mockery of current building regs! We were told it was built using the labour of Napoleonic prisoners - but apart from the dates being possible, no real evidence for that. I saw some pictures of it as a stable, hayloft and piggery in the 30s too.

I've long been interested in field names - and to find out that ours is called Hill Close is fascinating. A close is an area of land that has always been enclosed, rather than communal fields or common grazing, so the name probably predates the enclosures of 1750-1850.

But I felt sad that my own roots are not here: lots of people at the exhibition could recognise their families and friends or places they played as children.

The sky at 7:30 this morning - already blemished by seven contrails. Although the current price of oil is painful - both for driving and heating water and the house, a welcome side effect might be fewer flights, and hence less cloud cover and annoying disturbance of what should be peaceful countryside!

After the 9/11 terrorist attacks grounded all flights, there was a significant decrease in cloud cover - as you can read here.

I'm pretty sure I met Ceres running though the green barley early this morning. How else to account for the shivery ripples moving through the barley?

This is a multiple exposure, using a slow shutter speed to accentuate the movement of the barley.

I'm not normally a big fan of lone trees on the skyline, but this particular tree is visible from the back garden, and this morning, I tracked it down closer to. For the techies out there, I thought this was an interesting demonstration of the effect of using a polarising filter: the left side has the filter at the maximum effect, and the right at minimum:

The actual reality as seen by eye is somewhere between the two.

This year, the oak leaves were out well before the ash. According to the saw: “Oak before ash, in for a splash – ash before oak, in for a soak”.

Left: oak; right: ash

So, what actually happened? We had 10 days of clear warm sunny weather, followed by a torrential downpour – presumably a soak.

The trouble with such predictions is that they are very imprecise, and can often be interpreted in a way that suits the interpreter! Five days after I noticed the different budding of the trees, it would have been true – today, it isn’t.

I think there may be a germ of truth in the saying. Ash is shallow-rooted, and oak has a taproot. So, oaks will generally fare better in dry periods than ash. But that isn’t the same as day-to-day weather prediction.

A while ago, I mentioned living in a nanny state - which could also be called "Signs of the times", I suppose.

Danger! Warning! Caution! Beware! Pooh!

Today, we went for an early morning walk to visit the new landslip at Lyme - I wanted a photo for a geology page on my main web site. The local news mentioned that "the beach has been cordoned off" - and by gum, so it has. I have outlined the slip in yellow: it is a good 10 minutes slog across rocks and mud and groynes to get to it, so personally, I feel the swathes of Police "do not cross" tape and these officious yellow signs are just a little over the top.

Here is a closer view - well into the danger zone. The fallen trees teetering at the top of the fall are probably about 15-20m high, to give you an idea of the scale:

Some of the slabs of rock at the foot of the slip are taller than I am, and must weigh many tonnes:

- so I didn't get too close!

At last, the hawthorn is flowering. For me, a still sunny afternoon, listening to flies buzzing, wood pigeons cooing, and smelling the heavy perfume of the may tree is the absolute essence of early summer - something to savour and dream about in the depths of winter.

The old saw "Ne'er cast a clout till May be out" has debatable meaning: should be keep our woollies on till the end of the month, or till the blossom appears? This year, I tend to the latter, though it's not always the case.

We hear lots of complaints about "coming over here and taking our houses". I wonder if resident UK birds think the same of summer migrants?

At last, we have some swallows zooming about twittering in the garden (though I saw the first one over a month ago). There was one perched on top of the kitchen dresser this morning after I'd left the back door open: quite a palaver catching it and releasing it into the garden!

My husband has designed our shed so we can open a panel in the eaves for the summer. This makes the high-up dark opening that they seem to love. Inside, there are some shelves for their nests. A pair are already investigating, so I hope we have a nest soon.

We are almost at the end of bluebell season here: the leaves are starting to flatten (which gives a good view of the flowers), and soon the best will be over.

Today, I went to the Spittles - a strangely named area of undercliff west of Lyme Regis. You can follow part of the old road to Charmouth which collapsed in the 1920s into the sea: there are still fragments of tarmac and the foundations of houses, being overwhelmed by trees.

I took the camera of course: I used the telephoto to try and convey some of the blue confusion here:

and a wider angle to get a sharper image of some individual blooms:

Interesting how the colour balance changes from shot to shot: I really ought to set it manually.

I thought it was about time to change my banner image, so I chose this panorama of my own village, taken early this morning. There are a few oddities in the light where the clouds chased across as I was assembling the images, but it's not too bad, and shows the pretty spring countryside quite nicely.

Happy May Day, everyone.

A few weeks ago, I blogged about plastic rubbish on the beach. But that isn't the only rubbish. A big rash of ugly and largely unnecessary signage is - to my eyes - just as obtrusive and out of place.

These horrible railings and signs were put on the end of the Cobb wall in Lyme Regis some years ago now, transforming a historical monument into a monument to the litigation society. Some idiot fell off the Cobb during a storm and sued the town council for damages. Fortunately he lost on appeal, but this is his legacy.

A few hundred yards west, there is a natural beach, whose wilderness is spoiled by this large and ugly sign, telling us to beware of, amongst other things, tides, rocks, waves and currents. How unexpected on a beach.

On the front proper, there are warning signs every few hundred yards like this. Caution: The shingle beach shelves steeply - as a cursory inspection will confirm.

Stuff like this negates Darwinian selection. The human race will become more stupid and unable to take responsibility with every generation.

One of my favourite weekend activities is to visit Bridport on a Saturday morning.

This is a lively market town: the market not only sells the usual tat, but you can buy local food, French cheeses and charcuterie, and a wide range of antiques and collectibles (whole stalls with nothing but old carpentry tools, chandelier glass and brass knobs, 1930s costume jewellery to name a few). On a sunny Saturday like the one just past, wandering along the streets watching the shoppers is a pastime in itself!

There is usually a band playing in the quaintly named Bucky-Doo Square (allegedly rhyming slang because the public toilets are nearby!). This Saturday, there was a band playing the blues - which brought a quick tear to my eyes, as it made me wonder if Humph was listening from on high. I usually scoff at people who say that they feel sad when famous people they don't know have died - but Humphrey Lyttleton was such an engaging presence on the radio, I felt I knew him quite well. (Anyone who hasn't heard his unique brand of humour can listen to some clips here.)

On to more cheerful subjects - we then visited the Allsop Gallery at the Arts Centre. I wanted to catch the Francis Newbery exhibition before it ends, and was glad I did. Such a treat to see paintings by such a consummate artist - though some of them needed cleaning as they were very dingy. I was particularly interested to read that, when he was learning his craft, he was taught how important it was to master the materials and techniques of painting and drawing. A message probably frowned on in these PC days of installation and conceptual art (and it shows).

http://www.franewbery.co.uk/ is the official web site.

The next event at the Arts Centre is one of those where you read the blurb and still don't really know what sort of right-on stuff will greet your eyes. Nuff said, really!

Oak trees have long been a beloved part of the lowland English countryside, and they are, in many ways, one of the iconic symbols of our country - think of the song "Hearts of Oak" for example.

I am glad to see that the UK Google homepage has a St George motif today, even if they forgot to include the flag - of which I can see a specimen fluttering from the flagpole on the village church.

It's the warmest day for a long time, the sun is out, the blackbirds are singing, and I feel full of hope and optimism. I love this time of the year, when Mother Nature is turning restlessly under her green duvet, almost ready to jump out of bed and get to work.

My little pesky grey friends are zooming about the trees chattering at each other when they aren't nicking the birds' food ...

... and excellent news on the home front: 'my' family of pheasants, whose temporary disappearance I wrote about, have now returned to the garden. In fact, Mr has picked up some extra wives on his travels, and there are sometimes 5 or 6 waiting for breakfast.

... or unnerve the cows. BBC Spotlight last night had a rather bizarre piece about a farmer who uses Tai Chi to calm his cows. The poor beast watching from a crush looked unsettled rather than soothed, I have to report.

Visit http://www.love-om.com/om-tai-chi.ashx to see the moves in action. No wonder townies think us odd.

I'm a bit worried about my garden pheasants. Yesterday at teatime, a fox was wandering about the lawn as bold as brass, sniffing round the bird table and the pheasants' hide in the rockery. The cock pheasant was kicking up a real indignant racket, though the fox ignored him and went on to investigate the bonfire ashes.

I haven't seen or heard him or his harem this morning - usually, they are waiting under the utility room window for me when I get up to make the tea, heads cocked, waiting for some magic corn to rain down on them! This is a photo of them at breakfast that I took in the snow earlier this week - sorry about all the water on the window

... neither unseasonable snowstorm a winter presage - to paraphrase Aristotle.

Today, I saw my first swallow of 2008 whilst I was out photographing the snow this afternoon. I hope the poor creature can find enough insects to survive.

I had to be quick - as the covering only lasted about 30 minutes after the sun came out, as you can see from these two photos:

I only wandered a few minutes from the house, but was enchanted by the unexpected views.

One of my favourite trees on Cannington Lane

Docks in an uncultivated corner catching the snow

[Edit] Snow has been a popular topic over the weekend - lots of my friends here have also commented on various aspects:

•  the Homely Year
•  Missy Mouse
•  Tylluan Penry
•  Ellie Gant
•  Lissa T
•  Mr Flighty

I forgot to turn the lights off for Earth Hour yesterday, so to make up for it, I’m blogging about another environmental issue that’s been in the news: plastic rubbish in the sea and on the beach.

I went to Monmouth Beach in Lyme Regis this evening (taking advantage of the extra hour’s light) to see what was washed up on the strandline. I met two other beachcombers collecting driftwood, but my sights were set on much more destructive rubbish: plastic waste.

The vast majority on the local beaches is plastic drink, water, household cleaner and cosmetics bottles, including a horrible rash of “Blonde Expressions” shampoo bottles (I counted over 50 in one place) – I hope Pantene’s ears are burning as I write this.

Dumb blondes sunbathing

But there is also lots of fishing waste (local fishermen’s ears are similarly flaming?), bits of kids’ toys, disposable lighters, industrial containers, odd shoes, and waste left directly by holiday makers: throwaway barbeques, crisp packets, pristine drinks bottles etc. Shame on them too.

Whilst disfiguring our local coast is bad enough, plastic has far worse consequences than that. Fishing line can trap and kill birds, small pieces can end up collecting heavy metals then be eaten by all sorts of marine life, and farther afield, albatrosses unknowingly feed it to their chicks, who die when their intestines become blocked.

So, if you are ever tempted to dump some plastic near the sea, please think again!

While I am in a blossom mood, the cold snap we often get while the blackthorn (sloe) is blooming is called the "blackthorn winter".

It has certainly been very cold this year - but the show of flowers has been disappointing as the rain and wind have spoilt the blossom. So, here instead is the magnificent show we had last year: I deliberately took some long exposures on a windy day to get a sense of movement. What do you think?

"Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough"
- a favourite poem by A.E. Housman. It actually talks about wild white cherry (gean), but that won't be in flower for a while yet - so here is some Japanese cherry blossom in the garden, which has survived the cold wet weather remarkably well!

You can read the whole poem here amongst many others.

Well - not while we were there, but the much-publicised wind and high tides combined to make quite spectacular waves at Lyme Regis this morning - another Carpe Diem moment, to see the high tide before the rain came, then home for breakfast.

Huge waves breaking over the Cobb - higher than the buildings!

Lots of other people getting salt spray all over their cameras, including one poser with a huge telephoto lens that would have been quite useless in the circumstances...

This obliging fellow posed unknowingly for me watching the breakers sploshing over the Cobb wall:

And this one, who was snapping the waves on his phone, was not so obliging, and wouldn't move away from the signpost:

In Uplyme, it's long been a tradition for a group of Church ladies to pick and bunch primroses in the week before Mothering Sunday and send them to a church in Bermondsey (south east London).

This year, the flowers were out early, fortunate since Mothering Sunday was so early too (the fourth Sunday in Lent). This has nothing to do with Mother's Day - probably an invention of the greetings card industry - but the day when people used to journey to their "Mother Church" in the 16th Century, and often the only day when hard-working poor families got to spend any time together. Later on, it was traditional to give domestic servants this day off to visit their families.

I show some primroses in the hedgerow, and also a wild violet, another traditional posy for Mum. With love for my own Mum!

Now it's lighter in the morning, we've resumed our daily walk to our field to do bramble cutting etc. - a bit of exercise to counteract the winter flab and too much sitting at the computer desk!

Today, when I'd done my stint, I walked back to the house across this field, though the uncultivated sloping corner behind the bit you can see here. I startled a flock of skylarks. We tend to think of them as more or less solitary birds, but in the winter, they flock together, and as they don't sing till about now, I guess they often get overlooked as anonymous brown birds. Anyway, I was pleased that there were at least 6 living here: they erupted into the air trilling and twittering, with their characteristically erratic flight.

Later on, two were high in the sky singing - glorious!

After a wonderfully carefree day off yesterday, it was rather a blow to hear that a case of bluetongue has been identified near Poole, so Dorset (just 1.5 miles from here) is now a "protection zone".

Of course, the sunny weather is a big worry for farmers, as there have been a lot of midges coaxed out of hibernation by the warmth. It has always been said that there'll be a race this spring between availability of the vaccine and the taking hold of the disease in England. It seems as if the midges may have scored the first goal, sadly.

More info on the BBC news site.

Today was the day when I decided to "Carpe Diem" - after weeks of crouching over the computer at work, we went to Wheddon Cross on Exmoor to see the Snowdrop Valley on a glorious sunny day. And I was so glad we did.

It was quite early when we got there, and the mist was still clearing from the woods.

Following the path next to the River Avill, we saw carpets of these lovely white flowers all along the way. By now, a few others had arrived, and the paths were starting to fill up.

Close up, I saw some lovely red fungus on the woodland floor

and the mossy logs made a nice contrast to the bluer foliage of the flowers.

Everywhere we looked, sheets of dainty white carpeted the woodland. The wood was filling up by now, and everywhere I stopped, someone was waiting for me to get out of his photo!

One last view as we got back to the road, ready for the long walk back up to Wheddon, where we had a nice cuppa, cake and a sit down in the Village Hall.

(We left just in time to miss the coach-load of screeching children in fluorescent tabards who arrived - like a flock of parakeets - to spoil the breathless calm of the valley.)

The last few sunny days have really been wonderful. Last week, I heard the first lark singing (which I'll now be able to hear every day for months!). This morning, the arable field behind the garden was alive with the noisy chatter of a huge flock of fieldfares - winter visitors of the thrush family, very gregarious and with a distinctive starling-like call. This rather weedy photo shows just a few flying past in the distance: the light wings are very characteristic.

In the garden, the primroses are really getting going, and we also have a few snowdrops. I thought they looked lovely with the dew on.