Ducks Go a Dabbling

The ducklings are now so big I can’t tell them apart from Arthur and Martha.  Love this clip, reminds me of Wind in the Willows – Ducks Ditty:
All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

I cleaned the duck pond out today and filled it with clean water.  It’s only a plastic ornamental pond and not very big but the ducks love it – especially when it’s full of clean water.  Love this clip.

https://barbararainford.co.uk/ducks-are-a-dabbling

 

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Today’s Treasures – Snowdrops – Tiny Pearls of Springtime

Today’s Treasures – Snowdrops – Tiny Pearls of Springtime

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The days are getting longer and the first flowers of the year are peeping through Autumn’s fallen leaves – snowdrops – tiny pearls of springtime, creeping towards the light; frosts may wither them but their fragile stems soon revive in the sunshine, they shake their petals free of winter and their tiny white bells tremble in the spring breeze.

Snowdrop Walks mark the start of the season for many of our historic houses and there are lots of early spring walks through snowdrop-dappled woodland.  Rode Hall, just over the North Shropshire border, has a wonderful display of snowdrops set in enchanting woodland.

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The snowdrop trail begins alongside neatly manicured lawns overlooked by a picturesque combination of unusual mature trees, through formal rose gardens, heavenly scented in summer but now lying dormant waiting for the first rays of the summer sun.

Through the gap in the hedge, a whole new vista opens out and you enter a wild woodland star spangled with snowdrops roaming unchecked, under the trees, along the brook, scrambling around the shrubs and bushes that decorate the landscape, and you can find a bench, or perch on a  stone bridge, and merge with the magic of the trees, serenaded by robins and blackbirds and soothed by the sound of the stream bubbling over stones, watched by myriads of tiny snowdrop faces, studying their reflections in the water.

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Rode Hall is open from Saturday, 4th February to Sunday 5th March (except Mondays) for snowdrop escapades for all the family (including dogs – on leads).  The tearoom is open serving light lunches and you can warm up by the logburner with a welcome pot of tea and homemade cakes.  The art exhibition in the barn is well worth a visit, showcasing creations by local artists – and not all of the paintings feature snowdrops!  www.rodehall.co.uk

In the Druid calendar Snowdrops heralded Spring and first appear at Imbolc – celebrated on 31st January and 2nd February (Candlemas Day).

There are snowdrops walks all over Shropshire, including Combermere Abbey, Attingham Park, and Dudmaston Hall.

The Snowdrop Fairy

Deep sleeps the Winter
Cold, wet, and grey;
Surely all the world is dead;
Spring is far away.
Wait! the world shall waken;
It is not dead, for lo,
The Fair Maids of February
Stand in the snow!

Cicely Mary Barker

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Rats, they fought the dogs and killed the cats – and they eat baby rabbits too!

Rats, they fought the dogs and killed the cats and bit the babies in the cradles, and ate the cheeses out of the vats and licked the soup from the cooks’ own ladles…

Shropshire might not be as bad as Hamelin, but we don’t have a Pied Piper to lure the rats away and, in the past, I have had problems with rats eating tiny baby rabbits.  Finding half eaten babies in the morning is not one of my fonder memories!   After persevering with rat traps for ages, we finally had to resort to rat poison – you can buy packets of liquorice smelling poison that you don’t have to open but just place in the boxes.  The council used to come out but they don’t any more – although you can still get advice from your local council.  They provided us with safe rat poison boxes which are placed along the rat runs.  I keep an eye open for any rat droppings which act as a reminder to put poison down again.  It doesn’t matter how careful you are with never leaving food lying around, rats always find a way – and they cause so much damage eating holes in everything too.

Looking up the spelling of Hamelin, I found the poem – I didn’t know that Robert Browning wrote it and it has a different ending to the fairy tale I knew.  It’s one of the poems on this website if you want to read it for yourself.

http://barbararainford.co.uk/category/poems/

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Ducks are a-dabbling

Ducks are a-dabbling

The ducks have found the pond at the bottom of the field and now the stream is all flooded they can’t wait to rush off every morning to see what’s new.  When there was just Desmond (drake) and the geese, they would stay around the hen house but since the two ducks have joined them (Izzy and Oli) they have been more adventurous.

This picture reminds me of a poem from Kenneth Grahame’s ‘Wind in the Willows’:

DUCKS’ DITTY.’
All along the backwater,
Through the rushes tall,
Ducks are a-dabbling,
Up tails all!

Ducks’ tails, drakes’ tails,
Yellow feet a-quiver,
Yellow bills all out of sight
Busy in the river!

Slushy green undergrowth
Where the roach swim–
Here we keep our larder,
Cool and full and dim.

Everyone for what he likes!
WE like to be
Heads down, tails up,
Dabbling free!

High in the blue above
Swifts whirl and call–
WE are down a-dabbling
Up tails all!

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The Nasturtium Fairy

The Song of The Nasturtium Fairy

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Nasturtium the jolly,
O ho, O ho!
He holds up his brolly
Just so, just so!
(A shelter from showers,
A shade from the sun;)
‘Mid flame-coloured flowers
He grins at the fun.
Up fences he scrambles,
Sing hey, sing hey!
All summer he rambles
So gay, so gay –
Till the night-frost strikes chilly,
And Autumn leaves fall,
And he’s gone, willy-nilly,
Umbrella and all.

From ‘A Flower Fairy alphabet’ by Cicely Mary Barker

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Upon Westminster Bridge

Upon Westminster Bridge

This is Birmingham, first thing on a Sunday morning in March – the words of William Wordsworth always spring to mind when I look out on a city shadowed with hazy wisps of morning mist, buildings sparkling in the sunshine.

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Earth has not anything to show more fair;
Dull would he be who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
The city now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie,
Open unto the fields and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will;
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH