Harrowing: Three Visits

 I've come to understand there are ups and downs when observing the natural world.  So today I take with me a different mindset: curiosity without judgement -- a hard balance to strike.

The weather's cooler, and windy which I know will add an extra challenge to my list of jobs.  The first thing I notice is compressed long grass and weeds and poppies; a tractor has been in the field again.  Following the tracks up the tiny rise I see that the field has been harrowed.  The ground is churned up and turned over, and lying scattered on the surface a what looks like dry stalks.  The contrast between prolific growth on the field margins and the plot in the middle could not be greater.  I wonder what will be planted there.

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I carry out my list of jobs: observations first, as usual, the folding and scrumpling of two metres of paper strips prepared at home, and then sketches of various wildflowers and grasses using walnut ink.

All through this time I'm noticing a range of bees, butterflies and other insects; the fact that convolvulus, sandwort and  hairy tare are twisting their ways round the other plants, slowly choking them while the poppies bravely continue flowering.  The hedgerow plants stretch out their arms towards the sun, but there's no bird song today. 

Another week and it's now July, a day of sunshine and shadows, a breeze moving the grass and rain threatening.  The full hedgerow has seed heads: dog rose hips and haws, hard and green.  Plants everywhere continue to grow energetically:docks in majestically tall clumps, Queen Anne's lace higher still and the spikiness of dandelion and thistle leaves is more pronounced: the green of everything is  deepening.  These observations are a sharp contrast with the harrowed area which is delineated and waiting.  

Since talking to Sian I've bought a lovely rolled up sketchpad; the papers are made of rag. Today I plan another walking record and to do some sketching.

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I've used charcoal, which I love on the rough paper and will spray later.  These drawings, I feel, are much freer, less self-conscious.

Another visit, it's now the second week in July, the day's warm, heavy with the threat of rain though it comes to nothing.  Underfoot the ground is wet, moisture clinging to every surface, the product of great downpours over the last week.  I'm lucky it's not raining now, though my feet and trousers are quickly dampened.

On the field are more new tractor markings, not only crisscrossing, but round the perimeter.  Green growth has begun to sprout, grass maybe but I don't think any thing has been planted.

In the field margins the grasses continue to rampage, some bent over with the weight of moisture.  In the odd place clumps of grass are pressed down, maybe by animals.  There's a noise in the hedge bottom but nothing emerges.  Hidden too are the moles that have left these fresh brown heaps, a trail of dots across the field.  And all the while bees and small flies and butterflies flit from flower to flower and doves coo.

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