or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser.
I am not on YouTube or social media
[ 4 minute read ]
Go past the tree that isn't there anymore
Did you know that you shouldn't castrate a farm animal when the moon is declining, or if you kill a pig at that time, the meat will shrink in the boiling?
Nor me. In my 1972 book, 'Encyclopedia of Superstitions', 'It is customary almost everywhere in Britain to turn over silver in the pocket when the new moon is first seen.'
How many of us know when there is a new moon? Or if it is waning? We are just not the same as people were back in 1972, I guess.
A while ago, a woman was looking at a tree in the city near to me. I know one or two types and I like to think I am helpful. Because I have never polled anyone on that I am still guessing.
'Hello. I couldn't help seeing you paying close attention to the tree. Are you wondering what it is?'
'Yes, it's unusual. I haven't seen one before.'
'It's a Rowan.'
Since then, I have looked in my 'How to identify trees' book and think maybe I made that up. However, it is the conversation that it led to that I liked on that day.
We were both disappointed with ourselves because we couldn't identify trees that we see every day so we sheepishly hung our heads in shame, but 'invisibly and secretly held hands in a team effort to share the guilt'. I recounted to her an anecdote of when I asked for directions on a remote Lincolnshire road. I can't remember where I needed to go to now. (Lincolnshire is in England)
'Hello, would you tell me how to get to ....., please'
'Oh yes. Of course. let me see. No. Ah yes! Maybe not. Okay. Keep going straight until you come to a large house with a black door. Mrs Wright lives there, well she used to and since she died the black door has been painted over. I don't know what colour it is now. Turn left after the house and then right. That is where the Post Office used to be. It is just a house now. Bob lives there after his dad died. You will know it is the right place to turn because there used to be a Horse Chestnut tree growing there. Keep going until you pass a five bar gate that leads into a field with a horse in it. I expect Rachel will be on the horse so you won't see it there, so watch out for it on the road. After the field you will come to a white house and that is where you want to be.'
I thanked the helpful local and drove on, smiling to myself. 'Wow!'
The woman in the city looking at the Rowan tree that probably wasn't a rowan tree smiled.
'Wouldn't it be great if we all knew our trees?' I said. 'We could say, "Turn left at the ash tree and when you get to the lime tree turn right but first go past the house with the Wisteria on it."'
She wistfully agreed, even though I had given a rather twee example. We went our different ways; me towards where she had been, and she towards where I had been, but only geographically. I wish it could be different for a day or two.
There are a few things going on here that I think we no longer have in our lives. The book of superstitions was published in 1972. It seems that there was an expectation that knowing the moon phases was common among people; the directions I got in Lincolnshire were plainly from someone who knew the area intimately. Even if the stuttering start didn't give away the shuffling of huge amounts of information, the history of the area was quite evident of knowledge of people's longevity in the spaces he described. And towards the end, when I obliquely suggested that we all ignore our natural surroundings, and this was echoed by the woman not looking at a rowan tree, I gave an impression that we had lost something in our selves.
Even though I longed to know the trees I came across right from being a child, bad eyesight prevented me from seeing leaf shapes. But, the biggest bar to learning was not having conversations with the older folk in my village who could identify trees and shrubs as a matter of course. I presume they knew their trees because they had conversations in which trees were as significant as roads and houses. 'The ash tree lost a limb in the wind last night so you night want to take the high road out of the village.'
These days, finding out about trees is a singular pursuit with, for me, a book, and for others, a SmartPhone with a camera and the internet. I, however, would like to smell the damp person telling me about the tree, and be mindful of their abrupt and impatient mannerisms. I want to experience the immediacy of the encounter and have a growing anticipation that it will soon end when the older person gets hungry or cold or something, and suddenly turns away and leaves.
I once saw someone striding purposefully across a cow pasture near a river; a field I know very well. Tourist, I thought. No local walks like that in a field.
Where is the moon and the tree?
All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551
or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser.
I am not on YouTube or social media
[ 4 minute read ]
Go past the tree that isn't there anymore
Did you know that you shouldn't castrate a farm animal when the moon is declining, or if you kill a pig at that time, the meat will shrink in the boiling?
Nor me. In my 1972 book, 'Encyclopedia of Superstitions', 'It is customary almost everywhere in Britain to turn over silver in the pocket when the new moon is first seen.'
How many of us know when there is a new moon? Or if it is waning? We are just not the same as people were back in 1972, I guess.
A while ago, a woman was looking at a tree in the city near to me. I know one or two types and I like to think I am helpful. Because I have never polled anyone on that I am still guessing.
'Hello. I couldn't help seeing you paying close attention to the tree. Are you wondering what it is?'
'Yes, it's unusual. I haven't seen one before.'
'It's a Rowan.'
Since then, I have looked in my 'How to identify trees' book and think maybe I made that up. However, it is the conversation that it led to that I liked on that day.
We were both disappointed with ourselves because we couldn't identify trees that we see every day so we sheepishly hung our heads in shame, but 'invisibly and secretly held hands in a team effort to share the guilt'. I recounted to her an anecdote of when I asked for directions on a remote Lincolnshire road. I can't remember where I needed to go to now. (Lincolnshire is in England)
'Hello, would you tell me how to get to ....., please'
'Oh yes. Of course. let me see. No. Ah yes! Maybe not. Okay. Keep going straight until you come to a large house with a black door. Mrs Wright lives there, well she used to and since she died the black door has been painted over. I don't know what colour it is now. Turn left after the house and then right. That is where the Post Office used to be. It is just a house now. Bob lives there after his dad died. You will know it is the right place to turn because there used to be a Horse Chestnut tree growing there. Keep going until you pass a five bar gate that leads into a field with a horse in it. I expect Rachel will be on the horse so you won't see it there, so watch out for it on the road. After the field you will come to a white house and that is where you want to be.'
I thanked the helpful local and drove on, smiling to myself. 'Wow!'
The woman in the city looking at the Rowan tree that probably wasn't a rowan tree smiled.
'Wouldn't it be great if we all knew our trees?' I said. 'We could say, "Turn left at the ash tree and when you get to the lime tree turn right but first go past the house with the Wisteria on it."'
She wistfully agreed, even though I had given a rather twee example. We went our different ways; me towards where she had been, and she towards where I had been, but only geographically. I wish it could be different for a day or two.
There are a few things going on here that I think we no longer have in our lives. The book of superstitions was published in 1972. It seems that there was an expectation that knowing the moon phases was common among people; the directions I got in Lincolnshire were plainly from someone who knew the area intimately. Even if the stuttering start didn't give away the shuffling of huge amounts of information, the history of the area was quite evident of knowledge of people's longevity in the spaces he described. And towards the end, when I obliquely suggested that we all ignore our natural surroundings, and this was echoed by the woman not looking at a rowan tree, I gave an impression that we had lost something in our selves.
Even though I longed to know the trees I came across right from being a child, bad eyesight prevented me from seeing leaf shapes. But, the biggest bar to learning was not having conversations with the older folk in my village who could identify trees and shrubs as a matter of course. I presume they knew their trees because they had conversations in which trees were as significant as roads and houses. 'The ash tree lost a limb in the wind last night so you night want to take the high road out of the village.'
These days, finding out about trees is a singular pursuit with, for me, a book, and for others, a SmartPhone with a camera and the internet. I, however, would like to smell the damp person telling me about the tree, and be mindful of their abrupt and impatient mannerisms. I want to experience the immediacy of the encounter and have a growing anticipation that it will soon end when the older person gets hungry or cold or something, and suddenly turns away and leaves.
I once saw someone striding purposefully across a cow pasture near a river; a field I know very well. Tourist, I thought. No local walks like that in a field.