Planting Trees

 I was set a very good example by my lovely Dad when it comes to planting trees and saving the planet. Before I was born, my family moved into a newly built house with virgin garden. Dad decided to plant three poplar trees at the far end of the garden to screen off the other houses. Poplars grow extremely tall, they are also protected by law.  The result is that the trees Dad planted are still in situ and are now highly visible from the main road. Well done Dad!

While studying for my BA in Writing English for Business in 2010, I hit a pitfall. I had to create a project around a business issue. Because I worked for a government department at the time, I was unable to carry this out. During this time, I went to Wyre Estuary Country Park to help with The Big Garden Bird Watch.  After the event, I was speaking to the Head Ranger, who told me that the park had ambitions to plant a thousand trees on the drumlin.  We discussed the fact that they only wanted to plant native British trees. 

I immediately offered to help with the campaign to raise sufficient funds. I set to work to research the four native trees as well as the method by which trees improve the quality of the water table. They had chosen Rowan (Mountain Ash), Sessile Oak, Ash and Silver Birch.  I designed and built a website for the project and a really informative poster and flyer. 

After submission, along with my dissertation, I was given a First Class BA(Hons) but was also given an award for the project.  Naturally, I was delighted but even more so when I was told that Doreen Lofthouse, a local entrepreneur, had seen the website and pledged the funding for one thousand trees. I am so proud when I go to the park and walk down the drumlin among those trees. Now established for twelve years they have completely changed the park landscape. 

Ode to a Tree

I bathe in your shadow,

striped by filtered light.

the gentle breeze bending

 as it curves around us.

A strange couple,

me just seven and a half.,

you more than a century.

What knowledge

passed from one to the other?

A child and a tree.  

Thanks for reading. Adele

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What Is Northern Soul?

That sounds like the answer to a question on Jeopardy! (America's favourite quiz show, starring Alex Trebek) only what might the question be?

A seagull blitzed me yesterday, the little tinker, smack on the left shoulder. Don't ask me what sort of gull it was - possibly black-headed, more probably Common, definitely bad-assed. I was wearing a thin blue t-shirt at the time. Bad-assed seagull shit is warm, weighty, quite gritty and it absolutely reeks of fish. I walked the mile and a half home with this deposit emblazoned, congealing and whiffing on my shoulder. I acted as if nothing had happened. That's Northern Soul!

It's only the second time I've suffered a direct hit in nearly 3 years of living in the jewel of the north; quite a low incidence given the squadrons of gulls constantly wheeling overhead. (On the previous occasion, coincidentally, I was also wearing a thin blue t-shirt. You may wish to file that information away.) I'm told it's a very lucky strike when this Blackpool blitz happens. I made a wish. Pity the poor gull if the wish comes true.

Now I wouldn't like you to think that being shat on by a gull is the most exciting thing that's happened to me all week, but I'm not at liberty to tell you about the several more exciting things, so blitzing will just have to suffice, I'm afraid. And today's blog is perforce quite short as, like Lady Curt, I'm heading out of town early to miss the Bank Holiday traffic, only I shall be turning right (i.e. south) not left (i.e north) and heading for the Peak District.

I absolutely love living in Blackpool, but it's good to get out of town occasionally... and then it's exciting heading back to the coast of a Saturday evening with the tower a welcoming beacon, three piers punctuating the Irish Sea, the expansive sense of openness and the breath-taking sunsets.

Moody magnificence - high tide and tangerine skies looking to south pier from the promenade

One day I shall complete a poem that does justice to the full experience of living in the jewel of the north: "This is the town/up on the gold coast..." etc.  It's a work in process. 3 years isn't time enough.

In the meantime, a couple of poetic offerings to fill the gap. First a hastily dashed off terse verse of my own:

Northern Soule
He's made of one part grit,
One part wit
And there's shit in the tread
Of his northern sole.

Finally for today, I'll sign off with a few words from Ash, a favourite northern rock & roll combo:

Tonight there's no denying, no there's no denying
there's something magic in the air.
Emotional disorder came from out of nowhere
and took me unaware.
The patterns of the oceans, lost in her emotions,
you know that I don't care....
On nights when the north wind blows through your heart,
dream of a new age...

                                                [from 'There's a Star' on Free All Angels, 2001]

Thanks for reading. Dream of a new age, S ;-)

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