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As I headed to the trail cam last Wednesday, I heard a scurry-type sound in the bushes. Two of them actually.  As I rounded a bush, I saw a fox kit crouching low.

I crouched too.

Then I backed up slowly, slowly, and sat high on a banking looking down.

The little fox kit surprised me. He didn’t run back for the den. He didn’t hide. He continued to root around the tall grasses and piles of dead branches that had been left behind after the landowner did some tree cutting.

Every now and then, the kit would look at me.

Right in the eye.

When I didn’t move, he’d go back to rooting around.

He ate grass and found little caterpillars . . .

And while I don’t have images of it, I suspect he ate them for lunch.

I never did make it to the trail cam. I didn’t want to upset his home . . . or his backyard, so to speak.  I sure hope they stick around for a little bit though.

I like knowing they’re around.

After the second owlet branched from their nesting spot, we lost sight of them for awhile. My campers would stop by the office to ask, “Have you seen them? Are they okay?” To which I had no sure answer.

Until quite by accident, I stumbled across them in the most unlikely place – on a dead tree on the very edge of the lake!

Through tree branches, I watched and took photos.

They watched me, too.

Once, a large raptor flew overhead and I could tell the minute one of the owlets saw it.

I pointed my camera upward just in time to catch a glimpse of an osprey.  For the thousandth time, I wondered why on earth these young owlets, who could barely fly, were in such an open, exposed area.

When the danger passed, they went back to taking turns napping again.

The next day, they were gone yet again. Deeper into the forest this time, one of my employees tells me.   Thank goodness!  I’m not too sure I like the look that osprey was giving them!

While hiding behind a bush with my 500mm camera lens, I captured video of this fox kit chewing on grass.  I didn’t know they did that!  What great research to show students when I do school visits.

Today was Bank Holiday Monday and Stuart and I hiked from Robertsbridge rail station to Bodiam Castle in Sussex.



Bodiam's great, it's sort of how you imagine a castle to be when you're a kid. A real classic.



I just thought I'd post a few photos in case you're ever considering taking a trip there. You can even get a steam train from Tenterden station; maybe we'll try that some other time.








Old graffiti in one of the towers:



Yay bluebells!



Twitter tells this is a raft of some sort.

Sometimes I like play in the snow, when I’m stuck in writing my manuscript.

It helps me think.

And this winter, I’ve taken to making little snowman friends for my bird friends.

I think they get along famously.

The birds seem to like dinner anyway. Although they seem to think it’s take out.

But they always come back to visit.

And they bring new friends with them.

I’m sure I’ll be stuck more than once this winter.  It happens to all writers, especially in first drafts. Feeding the birds, watching and waiting for them to show up, is another way I clear my mind so I can think clearly and work out all the kinks and dead ends in my story.

But I have new friends to help me get unstuck now. This is going to be a fun winter with the camera!

Today, I found this Pileated Woodpecker flitting from tree to tree, looking for the carpenter ants it loves.

Watch closely to see how it flicks its tongue to snap up those ants.

I will be selling my wildlife calendars and notebooks through the Holiday Season for as long as supplies last.

In the past, I’ve used them for hostess and teacher gifts.  I’ve given the notebooks to kids with Storycubes or a writing prompt book.  Here are some pictures of the items I test printed.

Notebooks with line pages $15.00

Desk Calendars 8″ x 3″ $12.00

Wall Calendars 8×5″ x 11″ $17.00

The photos in both style calendars are as follows:

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

I’m also ordering 5.5″ x 4″  notecards, blank inside, with the bear, hummingbird, fox, eagle, and loon with chick, photos.  The price for 10 (2 of each image) will be $15.00.  Envelopes included.

For shipping, add $3.50.

To place an order:

1. Leave the Item(s), and number ordering in the comments below with your name only.
2. Tally your total due, remember to include shipping.  For more than 5 items shipping may be more.
3. I will reply to your comment when I’ve received payment and mailed your items, so you can expect delivery. Let me know if  you have any questions. And thank you for your orders!

We’ve gotten a lot of rain this past week. And for the life of me, I don’t know why it didn’t dawn on me that the Nature Trails would be flooded but …

… they were.

We were able to cross smaller sections of water, Kevin took his walking sandals off, I did not and my feet are soaking wet in the picture above. But by the time we reached this section of the trail, we had to turn back.

We were supposed to be walking, not wading.

No. This doesn’t mean I’m back into walking. This does mean that I NEED to get back into walking. My poochy belly has baby poochies.

It sounds cute, I can assure you, it’s not cute.

I bought an armband for my Samsung Galaxy S5 the other day. That’s what you see on my elephant arms in the picture above. That was the first time I tried it out and so far, I like it. My phone didn’t completely fit inside it, probably because I have an Otterbox case on it to protect it. (Those cases are freaking expensive! But it would be more expensive to replace my phone … so my extravagant purchase is justified, I suppose). But I like that it doesn’t completely fit inside – I was worried it would get too hot and burn up. My last phone case (different phone) did that. It didn’t ruin the phone, but it got so hot that I didn’t feel comfortable using it anymore.

I’ve been researching hiking trails in our area. I’m sort of on a hiking trails kick. I actually saw a really cool one in Ponca AR, but I’m not sure I can talk Kevin into driving 1 1/2 hours to get there and back. We’ll see. I also saw one in Branson MO too, but again, not sure I can talk the old man into driving down to it. In fact, there are quite a few things I’d like to do at Big Cedar Lodge. Horseback riding, for instance. I’ve never been and would like to try it, at least once.

Maybe one of these years (months ..?)

As I walked to the lake yesterday (without boots!) I could hear the unmistakeable cry of an eagle.  I hurried, hoping to see the adults switch places on the nest.  Or maybe get a glimpse of them bringing food back.

But when I got there, the nesting eagle was alone.  Every couple of minutes, it threw back its head to give the squeaky, danger-in-the-area call.

I kept waiting for the mate to fly in, as they usually do, to holler in duet against the danger.  For twenty minutes, I waited, with one eye on the sky.

The eagle continued to cry, even though I couldn’t see what had upset it so. The loons weren’t in the area.  Nor crows or seagulls.  The osprey didn’t appear to be hunting either.

Suddenly, I heard the flapping of a large wingspan.  Looking straight up, I realized a juvenile eaglet had been over my head, hidden in the branches of a big pine the whole time!  It flew down the shoreline, only to circle around and come back again.

I never did get a good picture of the juvenile, as he soared over the trees I was standing under. I would have kept camera-hunting him, but the black clouds had arrived to let loose a steady stream of big, fat raindrops.

I still have no proof of the eggs hatching, but this eagle did seem to be sitting a little higher on the nest.  I’ll check again tomorrow to see what I can see!

Today, my husband and I walked from the Eastern Prom (ME), to the Old Port along a bike/walk path.  Casco Bay was on one side of us, the Narrow Gauge Railway on the other. The sun shone down, the birds were singing, kids rode bikes, joggers passed by and the seagulls called out.

It was a glorious day!

Mockingbird singing a happy song from a low branch as people passed by.

Sailing school is in session!

The Narrow Gauge Railway had quite a few passengers.

My husband geo-cached, but I could hear the call of the osprey.  So I searched high and low. Finally, I found them. They were quite a ways away, but I had my camera on me.

Check out this nest!  All the rope mixed in with the sticks.

The one on the nest was hollering like crazy, and I soon figured out why.  Another osprey wanted the nest.

They dove and danced in the air.

Until one of them claimed the platform for themselves.

Even so, the osprey who’d been kicked out, circled overhead for quite awhile, crying out to anyone who would listen.

Lucky for me, it was almost over my head

It looked to me, like he still wasn’t too happy about it.

Yesterday, the weather turned glorious! Warm breezes blew over the still frozen lake, as birds chirped from every corner of the forest.

I took a long walk along the shoreline, camera slung around my neck, ready to shoot.

And I wasn’t disappointed.

I was just in time to watch the eagles switch places sitting on the eggs.

And this time, the departing eagle flew right over my head!

Only two or three minutes passed before the eagle left on the nest hunkered down for their watch over the little ones.

Lately, there’s been a pair of seagulls who soar high overhead the small patch of open water on the lake.  The eagles don’t like this, not at all!  The one on the nest will call out, and the mate flies in to help protect the family.

Such good parents!

April vacation arrives soon. And with it, my walks will increase.  My notes from 2014 tell me that the eaglets were born right around April 18th, so you can bet I’ll be down at the lake as often as I can!

And I’ll keep you posted too.

December 2014

March 2015

Can you see the diffference?  And today, there were even more branches on the nest!  Ice fisherman told me the eagles had added to it all morning long.

The eagles are getting ready to lay their eggs!

I’ve snowshoed down every day, hoping to see the tell-tale sign, of one eagle, nestled in the nest.  When she does, we’ll only see the very top of her white head. Last year, she was sitting on eggs March 8th.

Until then, the eagles continue to visit the nest and add to it.

Last week, I was fortunate enough to escape to Florida for a few days.  Some of that time, was spent taking my son on college campus tours.

But the rest of the time was spent walking Sanibel beaches and paths with my camera.

Soaking up sunshine.

In my bare feet.

Pelicans were the bird of the week for me.  Every time I turned around, they were there.

But I also saw an Anhinga, drying its wings by the side of the road.  They dive like a cormorant, but their markings are more stunning.

Quite to my surprise, I caught a great photo of a Pileated Woodpecker, who was skirting the woods near the beach.

I took sunrise photos

And sunset photos, all in the same day.

But I think my very favorite photos, were those of a little Western Sandpiper, taking a salt water bath . . .

Because he looked like he was enjoying it so . . .

I haven’t even begun to wade through the hundreds of photos I’d taken while on Sanibel.  Stop back again, because I’m sure to have another batch to share . . .

Loving Christmas break from school for many reasons, but mostly for the many long walks through the woods I’m allowed.

Santa brought me a new trail camera, so I’ve put the old one down by the beaver hut, since they’re so elusive and it’s pretty obvious they’ve been working hard on the den lately.  Of course, once I put it there, I’m not content to just let it sit, I have to hike down every day to see what images it’s caught.

While I was there yesterday, I heard the call of the eagle.  The dead tree they like to sit in is very close to the beaver hut, but can’t be seen by line of sight.  Even if I hadn’t heard them, I would have known they were there, because I could see cars stopping on the causeway to get a look.

So I waited.  And waited. And after fifteen minutes, I got my wish.  I’m sure my gasp of surprise could be heard across the lake!

This adult was headed toward the nest, quite a ways from the beaver hut!  They were adding to the nest!

I could see a speck of white on the nest, which told me the other adult was waiting patiently for this addition.  Or perhaps its an offering?  A sign they were agreeing to reconnect?

But alas, halfway to the nest, the eagle began to drift downward, the weight of the stick was too much.

Once again, I gave thanks for my long lens.  Those of you who are familiar with Lower Range Pond, know how great the distance is from from the beaver hut to the golf course side.  I was able to watch as the eagle tried to keep a hold of its prize.

But alas, he couldn’t do it.   I picked up a four foot stick that lay on top the beaver hut and felt the weight of it in my hand.  I was amazed the eagle carried a stick that large for as far as it did!

He bit it.  He moved it back and forth.

He thought about it for quite a bit.

When the second adult called from the nest, he decided to abandon it in favor of joining his mate.

I hurried down the trail, hoping to catch them both on the nest with my camera, and managed to take this one shot.

I know from experience that mating doesn’t happen until March.  But this is a sure sign the process has begun.  And even though I’ve seen, documented and reported the ritual many, many times, I still get teary when I realize they’re going to start another family in my backyard.

Walking It Off was the title Doug Peacock gave to his 2005 book about returning home from the trauma of the Vietnam War. The only solace the broken Army medic could find was hiking the Montana wilderness in the company of grizzly bears. Wild places proved strangely healing — echoing a wounded wilderness within.

Cheryl Strayed sought a similar remedy in her decision to hike the Pacific Crest Trail alone in 1995. Her mother had just died of cancer. Her marriage had collapsed. She’d been seeking escape (and self-punishment?) in heroin and random sex. Nothing worked for her. A thousand-mile trek on the desert and mountain trails of California and Oregon suddenly seemed like a good idea.

Her book, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail (2012), has now been made into a film by director Jean-Marc Vallée (Dallas Buyers Club). Reese Witherspoon plays Cheryl Strayed in the movie. Laura Dern is her mother. The film version of a book is seldom as good as the original, but in this case both are effective in reminding us that “mistakes are the portals of discovery,” as James Joyce once said. Wilderness wandering — with its blisters, missed trails, and soggy sleeping bags — teaches this truth with supreme artistry. With its endless opportunities for fucking up (as Cheryl would say), it mirrors a lifetime of failure for one’s regretful review. It forces us to find resources we never knew we had.

As she impulsively hits the trail, Strayed commits all the sins that backpackers try to avoid: Packing far more than she needs, wearing boots that are too small and not broken in, sleeping in bear country with food in her tent, forgetting that a gallon of water weighs 8.3 pounds (when you need considerably more than a gallon a day on desert trails). All these are necessary mistakes, as are all the mistakes in our lives. We won’t get to where we finally need to go without making mistakes.

That’s why wilderness backpacking can serve, in so many ways, as a spiritual practice. It teaches the importance of paying attention, traveling light, savoring beauty, and not wasting your time blaming yourself over what can’t be fixed. “We grow spiritually much more by doing it wrong than by doing it right,” says Franciscan teacher Richard Rohr. The mistakes that Cheryl Strayed makes on the trail — and her ability to survive them, with the help of others — suggest the possibility of her finding healing for the larger mistakes she’s made in her life.

The wilderness is her teacher. Its combination of astonishing beauty and uncaring indifference prove as healing as they are unnerving. She’s been wholly absorbed in the intensity of her own pain and anger. But the desert doesn’t give a shit. Its habit of ignoring all that bothers her is curiously freeing, inviting her outside of herself. She’s able to imagine new possibilities by the time she reaches the end of the trail at the Bridge of the Gods. As Andrew Harvey says, “We are saved in the end by the things that ignore us.” All Cheryl Strayed has to do is walk for miles, “with no reason other than to witness the accumulation of trees and meadows, mountains and deserts, streams and rocks, rivers and grasses, sunrises and sunsets.”

“You can quit any time,” she keeps telling herself. But she’s already been quitting too many things in her life. Something in the wild feeds her soul, enabling her to go on. She had started with a desire to “walk myself back to the woman my mother thought I was.” Walking back into her family roots was important. But even more important, and a gift she finally receives in the end, is walking her way back beyond all the mistakes she has made. “What if I were to forgive myself?” she asks at one point on the trail. And, on even deeper reflection, “What if all those things I did were what got me here? What if I was never redeemed? What if I already was?” In the end she’s able to review the agonizing memories of her life and regret nothing, letting it all pour out into widening canyons beyond the trail.

That’s the ability of wilderness to absorb and heal pain. It’s been attested to by wilderness saints throughout the centuries. From the Desert Fathers and Mothers to Hildegard of Bingen to John Muir, they discovered a wild glory, a disarming indifference, and an uncommon grace that brought them to life in a new way. “Empty yourself of everything,” wrote Lao-tzu in the Tao Te Ching. “Let the mind rest at peace. The ten thousand things rise and fall while the Self watches their return.” Wilderness, as Cheryl Strayed learned, is one of the best places for doing this.

The post Wilderness and redemption in Cheryl Strayed’s Wild appeared first on OUPblog.

        

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It was late twilight, and I was walking the red-blazed trail that follows the shoreline, when  I saw two figures moving toward me from the middle of the lake.   I hid behind some brush thinking they were ducks, but wanting a closer look.

Mind you, I had no monopod. The camera lens was fully extended. Not the most ideal conditions for taking wildlife photos.

As they got closer I gasped in amazement.  The very creatures I’d been trying to capture on camera since late summer, in person and on the trail camera were moving toward me!

I snapped several photos and had to edit them heavily, but this is what I got!

Oh, how I wish they’d come out to play in the daytime!

I’ve been reading Hiking Through which is a great book about a man who lost his wife, quit his job, and set out to hike the Appalachian Trail. I so want to do that (sans the losing my wife part).

I have always viewed hiking the Appalachian Trail as a journey I probably will never be able to take. But I’d like to. I love hiking and camping but have never been able to partake much since my family hates it. Oh, they like pitching a massive tent in a state park campsite as long as we have sleeping pads, entertainment, and can get close to the bathrooms. We also can’t “rough it” too long – one night, maybe two max. My wife doesn’t care for it much at all, but has done it for me and the kids. Maybe someday.

The worse camping I’ve endured was during my Army days. I was stationed in Ft Sill, Oklahoma during the summer. I don’t think they believe in shade in that state. I’m not sure if there is a religious opposition to it or an aversion to trees, but the sun has free reign there. And reign it does. In the summer it feels like a preview to hell. The kind of place you don’t stay in (at least in that season). You just soldier through.

Regardless of if we are hiking or not, we are all on a journey. We move, we grow, we push on, we persevere. Everyone’s journey necessarily involves some hard times – they can’t be avoided, unfortunately. In the book, the author talked about being on top of a mountain in Virginia when the roughest storm he had ever seen surprised him. He grabbed onto a tree to wait it out and literally thought he might die. Hopefully, your hard time isn’t that bad. But it might be that bad to you.

I can’t know the emotional depth of your bad time and you can’t know mine. Every one is unique to the person and situation. I know one thing, the only way to get from Georgia to Maine is to keep walking on.

I stumbled on that Churchill gem recently and love it. I don’t know of another quote so small yet so profound.

Keep going.

If I plop down and focus on the misery of my surroundings, they will engulf me in their flames. I have to keep going.

I am hiking through my hell. If you haven’t seen one yet, you most likely will. They have a way of sneaking up on you. When it gets hot, I encourage you to pick up your pack and keep going. Camping out in hell does no one any good!

This is an atypically somber post from me. I feel compelled, therefore, to leave you with my own pearl of wisdom:

It is okay to roast a wienie over hell’s fire, just make sure you have a long stick.

Late yesterday afternoon the sun peeked out of the clouds, just before the it dipped below the treetops.  I waffled on taking a walk with the camera.  It was getting dark.  It was chilly.  I had things I should be doing.

But I went.  Because I hadn’t taken a walk in like, forever.

And I discovered something new . . .

I was standing still, very still, watching a pair of robins feasting on fall berries, when I heard the sound of water moving.  As if something was swimming. I tiptoed between the crunchy leaves until I had a clear view through the bushes and gasped.

I’d found muskrat’s getting their den ready for winter.  Right. Off. Shore.

I watched the pair for forty minutes or more, swimming out into the lake a few feet, then coming back to the hut to drop things on top of it.

I wish the light had been better.

When I pushed down on the camera button, it sound like Cli . . . . . ick.

There were two of them, Muskrat Susie and Muskrat Sam perhaps?  (Okay, that dates me just a little bit)

You can bet I’ll be going lakeside again tomorrow. This time, I’ll go a little earlier AND bring my monopod to stabilize the camera in low light.

I want to catch some sharp clear pictures of these two before they winter up.

And since I’m about to embark on Cooper’s third adventure, the research wouldn’t hurt either.

This is the last weekend of the 2013 camping season.  Where has the time gone?  As always, there’s a mixed bag of emotions involved.  I’m sad to see close friends, my parents and my campers leave .. .

but glad to get weekends off to walk the property . . .

Sad not to have groups of people around my campfire . . .

but glad to have family time again . . .

Sad not to have little campers stand at the counter and talk to me about books, wildlife, and other kid-like interests . . .

but very, very glad to gain some writing time!

Cooper and Packrat’s second book has a working title now. Cooper and Packrat: Mystery of the Eagle’s Nest. It makes it all the more real somehow to have settled on that.  I’m 95% done with the revisions to it, the last of these based on a talented friend’s critique. It should be in my editor’s hands by the end of the month. She’s going to send me some revision notes (Yikes!) and I’ll revise again.

And probably again.

And maybe one more quick revision.

Then I’ll start research for a new book!

Buuuuut, I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I’ve been assisting the very knowledgeable   Shannon Shanning  Maine’s 2013 Teacher of the Year) as she creates a curriculum guide for Mystery on Pine Lake.  It’s incredible!  A  chapter by chapter guide for educators, complete with the common core standards it covers.  I’m putting the finishing  touches on it now and will post it under the Teacher heading very soon.

You’ll also be glad to hear the trail camera is going out next week, too.  Last year I caught the fox family, some squirrels, a fischer and a neighbor (walking the trail). This year I hope to catch much more, as I’ve been watching for signs and I’m more aware of where things are happening on the outer reaches of the property.

With the camp closing, I’m going to have more time to post here, too.  Come back often so I can update you on where I’ll be with Cooper and Packrat and what’s happening with book two.

Whew, it’s been awhile since I posted, but Cooper’s second adventure needed to be written in spite of a busy campground and school starting. Every spare minute went to his and Packrat’s story.   I’m happy to report it’s done.

Okay, it’s not totally done.  The first draft is done.  Before I dig into the many revisions to come, and while it’s being read by a keen eye for feedback, I finally got a chance to take my camera on the trails.

I’d been itching to go since I’d had a wildlife tip from one of my young campers, “Where were you all day, Tami!” he’d said, early Sunday morning.  “It was RIGHT THERE!”

The blue heron he was talking about wasn’t quite “right there” by the time I got lakeside.  I followed the trail, in hopes of seeing something, anything.  But then I stumbled upon him wading silently amongst the lily pads . . .

I quickly crouched down to hide behind a small bush.  He’d seen me though, and we stayed still, staring at each other for at least ten minutes.  Him measuring me.  Me willing him to stay put long enough to take a couple pictures.

Stay, he did.

He even started preening, feather by feather.

I took over two hundred photos of this gorgeous juvenile heron.

When I had enough, I thanked him quietly.  Then we both left.

I hope I meet him again sometime.

Earlier this summer we ran a competition around Robert Macfarlane’s THE OLD WAYS for one lucky wayfarer to follow in his footsteps and win a summer trekking around the UK and blogging about their adventures. After a hard-fought battle, Sarah Thomas was crowned as our winner. Now that her journey is at the halfway mark, we thought we’d check in with her to see how she’s finding the experience so far (and to find out more about her adventures, visit ajourneyonfoot.com, where she’s chronicling the whole thing).

Dear Readers, you are not . . .

I repeat, NOT . . .

going to believe the amazing, awesome experience I had wandering the property today.  Honestly, I couldn’t have put it all together better myself.

I have to say that this was supposed to be a quick walk to the lake to give Cookie some exercise.  Down and back, I’d told myself, as I’d planned to work all afternoon on tweaking my school visit presentation.  It needs to be done so I can practice on a 7th grade English class Tuesday.

It didn’t get done.  And here’s why . . .

I headed down the usual lakeside path to check on my eagles.   When I first trained the camera on the nest, I sighed in disappointment.  No eagles.

Then, I saw movement on the ice, and there, halfway across the lake was the eagle feasting on a fish.

I wonder if he stole it, or it was a gift from, one of the ice fisherman on the lake.

He flew off, but I found him perched along the edge of the golf course.

I tried to wait for him to return.  But the wind was whipping down the lake across the ice, and the wind chill was ferocious.  My fingers were so cold, they hurt inside my mittens.  I decided I’d been lucky enough with the camera for one day.  I called to Cookie, “Home”!

She started down the second half of the trail, then turned to look at me hopefully.

“No!” I called sternly, nodding up the camp road.  “Straight home.”

She took one last look at the trail, sighed, and followed like the good girl she is.

When I reached the house, I let her in, then decided what the heck, I should get the trail camera photo card. “Put the coffee on, please,” I called to hubby.  “I’ll be right back.”

I’d set up the trail camera behind the house, which is lower and more wooded than the campground’s marked path. “Warmer too,” I thought, letting my fingers out of the mittens. I took my time, looking around for any signs of the owl or pileated woodpecker.  I found the trail camera still trained on the den of what I think might be a fischer, collected the camera card and put a new one in.

Those of you who read my blog, but not my Facebook page, wouldn’t know that late last week I found what I think is an owl perch.  The base of the tree is littered with 1 inch long, smooth, oval shaped pellets.  I figured, why not swing by it, and take the long way home?

Alas, no owls were roosting there, or anywhere I could see.  I remembered the coffee waiting for me, and headed for home.

Just as I stepped out of the woods and into the circle of campsites, I heard crazy chickadee calls. Lots of them.  Right off the back of site 126.  I tried to see what was going on, having remembered reading that owls and other large birds of prey are often harassed by smaller birds, when he flew!  A large, silent, gray swoop between the trees up toward the main road of the campground.

I followed slowly, cringing with every crunch of my boots in the snow.   I searched the trees, not daring to hope . . .

And then I saw it . . .

Isn’t he gorgeous!!

I met David at the house door with a huge grin!  I couldn’t believe my luck!  I must have taken forty pictures!

As we sipped coffee and I told David of my travels, I popped the trail camera card into my laptop.  To my surprise, this is what I found . . .

Here’s the den I’ve been watching.  I think it’s home to a fisher . . . or that’s what past photos, (not very clear because the camera was further away) have indicated.

Obviously, this fox is interested in the den too!  There’s six photos total of him around the hole, but not going in.  I think he’s stalking whatever lives there.  I’ve left the camera in place, and time will tell.

I feel so fortunate to be able to wander my property and study great animals, such as these.  I will never take it for granted . . .

Yesterday Stuart and I went hiking in Kent, on part of the London LOOP, and spent half an hour on a bench drawing this tree. I haven't done one of my tree drawings for awhile, and I'm feeling a bit rusty at it. So I didn't try to get too much detail, and did it in pen (no pencil), just tried to get a rough feel for lumps and bumps of the tree. Not too bad, but I really need more practice.



And here are our sketches, in situ, looking over Keston Vale in Kent. Stuart did one, too. Hurrah!



Here's Stuart's pencil sketch:




This tree looks cool, but the fallen one next to it, the Wilberforce Oak, is way more famous. There's a plaque behind it, explaining that William Wilberforce wrote a diary entry in 1788, mentioning it: At length, I well remember after a conversation with Mr. Pitt in the open air at the root of an old tree at Holwood, just above the steep descent into the vale of Keston, I resolved to give notice on a fit occasion in the House of Commons of my intention to bring forward the abolition of the slave-trade".

A family walked up to it and the dad enthused, "This tree is where Wilberforce and Pitt decided to abolish slavery!" And his son looked at the site and said, sceptically, "Like, they built a whole bench to it?"



I loved this angel grave in Farnborough churchyard. So wonderfully over-the-top melodramatic. I posted it on Facebook and Rob Davies remarked: It reminds me of my daughter when at the age of five, got so excited at her birthday party she threw herself on the floor in a mock faint ...and we just left her.
Julia Scheele commented: I keep on thinking about teenage girls throwing themselves dramatically on their beds in a crying strop cause they're not allowed to go to the party. "This is so unfaaaaaaiiiiirrrr! All the OTHER girls are allowed to go on DATES! My life is OVER! I HATE you!"
Jenny Page wrote: Perhaps this angel has just lost her Oyster card.
And FPI's Joe Gordon posted a link to his album of cemetery photos.



Check out this amazing yew tree, also in Farnborough churchyard, planted in the 1640's.



I like how this photo of Clockhouse Farm came out, very moody.



We trotted through some formal gardens at High Elms House, formerly owned by Sir John Lubbock, First Lord Avebury:



And then found ourselves in countryside that looked like something out of fiction.



Okay, okay, WHO named this road? I am sure I am not the first immature person to have my photo taken there.



And, at last, Stuart and I found it, the source of the Ravensbourne River. I was sort of hoping it would be a big moment, like discovering the source of the Nile. I'd seen some guys in fab clothing do it when my dad took me as a kid to see Mountains of the Moon. (It was R-rated, so I felt very grown up.)



But our discovery was a slight let down, and we fought no battles. ...Oh, well.



But a bit further downstream, we discovered Keston Ponds, with their slightly Lothlorian feel, so that made it all worthwhile.



We started our walk from Petts Wood station and ended in Hayes, where there were four of these 700-year-old oaks. Pretty cool.