Glorious Ness

As Saturday was amazingly sunny and warm, a visit to Ness Botanic Garden on the Wirral seemed like a great idea. It's not an area I'm very familiar with, squeezed between the Dee and the Mersey, but the countryside on the way was charming.

At first it looked like a scratch and sniff blog would be ideal. This rose smelt divine, in an old fashioned kind of way.

This is not the sharpest photo but you'll have to imagine the delicious scent of chocolate from this Cosmos!













The garden is owned by the University of Liverpool and was established in the early 1900s to provide a home for specimen plants brought back from China and other far flung places by intrepid plant hunters, as was all the rage at the time. Some of the trees are especially beautiful.









I have no idea what this might be, it had black flower buds with blue flowers, a very beautiful small tree.















This acer is showing its vivid Autumn colours.

The crab apple was absolutely loaded with fruit and prompted some debate about the merits of crab apple jelly...

This tree doesn't look very special but turns out to be one of few remaining specimens of the Wollemi Pine, a 200 million year old tree, once thought to be extinct but recently found in Australia. One of the oldest known tree species, the Wollemis Pine was around when dinosaurs roamed the earth. The precise location of its discovery in Wollemis National Park remains a secret to deter specimen hunters.














One extra special touch: once the gardens close at 5.30,  visitors can continue to wander around freely and let themselves out at any time before dusk. Perhaps no-one else realised this, as they all left; it felt like Ness in all its glory was our own private garden.

After the flood

An overnight stay in Tewkesbury enabled me to get acquainted with a town I'd never visited, but knew of as the scene of a dreadful flood in 2007. Two months worth of rain fell in 14 hours and 95% of homes locally were without water at some point over that time.

Notice how the abbey sits on the highest ground, such as it is. And a very beautiful abbey it is too.














My walk took me across the fields which are submerged at the top of the picture above. The mill (below, right) can be seen stranded (top centre) above:

 

The Severn and the Avon join together here, flowing on South as the Severn, through Gloucester to the sea.. It's very flat countryside, with the small Bredon Hilll looking quite substantial as a result. The plump sheep were clearly not the rugged upland Lake District ones I've seen a lot of over the past few years:

A surprising feeling

I realise that I had forgotten what it feels like to be cold. That's not to say we had the most amazing summer ever, but feeling chilly came as a shock.

I was out today walking after rain, thinking the clouds had passed over; enjoying the cool, fresh feeling on my face, keeping my hands inside my sleeves, walking briskly to generate some heat. No actual brown leaves on trees yet, although there were a few on the ground, but a clear and definite Autumnal feel to the morning.

Then the clouds came back and it began to rain, quite heavily, just as I was collecting dandelion leaves for the (now 3) rabbits. Wearing a light down jacket, there was very limited protection from the rain. Grimacing, I hunkered down and headed for home, and then I remembered a saying I'd seen on a mug just a few days ago. Something like 'life isn't about keeping dry, it's about finding ways to have fun in the rain'. Darn, I wish I'd bought the mug, it was better expressed than that.

So I straightened up, came out of my impression of a tortoise retreating into its shell, and faced the rain without wincing. As someone said recently, it's only water after all. Then that wise man Epictetus came into my mind: 'men are not distressed by things, but by the views which they take of things' (or something very like that). What a difference it made when I changed my view of that rain from 'oh no!' to 'oh, ok'. It was that simple.

Making the most of early Autumn sunshine

Such a beautiful bright sunny morning as this one demands that I spend some time outdoors. A quick text finds a friend who concurs, and we walk a familiar route along the Salt Line, a former railway line converted into a trail.

The sunlight filtering through the leaf canopy picks out a tiny frog at risk of obliteration by the many walkers, cyclists and horse riders who use the trail and we rescue (frognap?!) the little thing, taking it down towards the nearby fishing pond.

As we approach, we disturb the heron who frequents the pond. It's a fantastic sight as he makes a languid take off and disappears over the trees. The little frog, who's been leaping about in my cupped hands whilst captive, basks in the sun for a while before leaping into the damp grass. I hope I did the right thing...

Summer in the city? Time for an open air dip, says guest blogger Dave

What could be finer than a cooling sunset swim on a hot summer’s day in the city? The German capital Berlin has a brilliantly organised network of outdoor bathing spots, as well as miles of lakes and rivers offering a wilder swimming experience.

A short bike ride from where I live in east Berlin is the Weissensee, or white lake. Generations of Berliners have enjoyed its clear waters since the first organised swimming facilities were built in the late 19^th century.

 

And not just for leisure – over the last century and a bit, the site has hosted countless competitive swimming events, and was seen as a valuable training resource during the post-war German Democratic Republic, the old East Germany.

The lake itself forms pretty much a perfect circle around a kilometre across. A circuit takes around 45 minutes at my rather slow speed and the water quality is excellent, thanks to a natural spring which feeds the lake, and man-made protection against rainwater run-off from the surrounding streets.

It’s a strange sensation swimming in the Weissensee’s placid waters as dusk falls. Jets from the city’s Tegel airport pass overhead every few minutes, though thankfully not too low. The roar of traffic is muted by the trees fringing the lake, but ever present. And trams clanking down the high street remind you you’re still in the big city. Not exactly wild swimming, but definitely one up from doing laps of an indoor pool.  

Circuit complete, it’s time for a cold beer and a hot sausage. We are in Germany after all.

Lifeguards are on hand when it’s busy and you’re supposed to pay €4.50 to swim. In practice it’s usually free. One quirk: swimming costumes are de rigueur at the Weissensee, unlike many of Berlin’s bathing spots, where the FKK reigns supreme. That’s the Frei Körper Kultur – the, ahem, body beautiful…..