Tag: flora
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Teeth of the Lion: Nature’s Yellow Peril
Raisdale is not known for its dandelions—Teeth of the Lion. But this is a splendid crop. Beloved by children for their time-telling attribute and wish-granting parachute seeds, as if horology and magic come naturally to plants. Its garish yellow flowers chase the sun like sycophants and offer pollinators an early-season breakfast. Every part of it…
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Yorkshire’s Pride: The Enduring Allure of Roseberry Topping
It has been some time since I inflicted a post about Roseberry Topping upon the world, the conical-shaped hill that looms over this northeastern corner of what is the historical county of Yorkshire, albeit a recycling of previous posts. Local pride being what it is, they have long called it “t’ highest hill i’ all…
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Mother Shimble’s Snick-needles
The famous Bluebells of Newton and Cliff Rigg Woods are having a lie-in. Give them a week, perhaps, before they are at their best. Meanwhile, the true prima donna of the woodland floor is the Greater Stitchwort, cluttering the place with its endless sprinkling of white, star-shaped flowers that seem to think themselves terribly precious.…
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The Cuckoo’s Shoe
Yesterday I posted about the Cuckoo. Today, naturally, it is the Cuckoo’s Shoe — not, alas, footwear for birds, but yet another whimsical provincial name, this time for the Dog Violet. A harmless enough little flower, though my encounter this morning has sent me spiralling into yet more botanical trivia. The woodland floor is having…
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Furze: Fodder, Folklore, and the Smell of Coconut
A sudden change in the weather, as if the sky has grown bored. No more sun-drenched optimism; just a grey sheet of disinterest overhead. Still, Roseberry manages to look charming, despite being surpassed by the only plant capable of making scrubland smell like a tropical cocktail — gorse. Its yellow blooms, reeking of coconut and…
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Lesser Celandine: Poetry, Pollinators, and Piles
Lesser celandine is a welcome sight, provided one enjoys squinting at small yellow flowers. In a hailstorm, it folds itself up, retreating like a weary thing, as Wordsworth put it in The Lesser Celandine. Wordsworth is better known for his poem about daffodils, but he was apparently more enamoured with this unassuming plant, composing three…
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Lent—A Season of Daffodils, Fasting, and Fuzzy Maths
Another year, another excuse to photograph some daffodils—sorry, Lenten Lilies, as they are so charmingly called in Yorkshire. Whether these particular specimens on the bank of the River Leven in Great Ayton are the pure, wild, English variety is highly doubtful, but that won’t be such a tragedy. Now, in case anyone was unaware, this…
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Kildale Moor Revisited
Ah yes, for the second day in a row, I found myself wandering around Kildale Moor, once again staring down at Sleddale Slack—though, to keep things fresh, I chose a slightly different vantage point. Variety is the spice of life, after all. Off to the right, perched on the high ground, is Percy Rigg, home…
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Where are all the Holly Berries?
Two years ago, I posted a photo of a holly tree, heavy with bright red berries, a cheerful sight that now belongs to history. That tree has since been unceremoniously axed, part of the grand plan to reduce tree cover on Roseberry Common to a mere 10%. Why? To prevent the Common from succeeding into…
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Roseberry’s Kissing Oaks
When two tree trunks or branches rub against one another long enough to wear away their bark and expose the cambium — the cellular plant tissue — they sometimes fuse into a single entity, forming what is charmingly called a natural graft. This process, termed “inosculation,” is derived from the Latin for “to kiss,” as…