Showing posts with label THISTLES. Show all posts
Showing posts with label THISTLES. Show all posts

Thursday, 1 February 2018

STREET PLANT POST FOR FEBRUARY - ICE

Dandelion style plant in snow
These kind of plants . . .
I tend to bracket them with dandelions because they have yellow flowers.
But what are they really?
My neck twinges, my knees ache and the small of my back is complaining. I'd thought it would be fun to take photographs of street plants against the almost-full super-moon (even though it wasn't blood-red here). But it rained. Then it snowed. Abandon plan.

New plan - to photograph street plants against the warming sky as the sun came up this morning.

The snow was no longer snow. It had melted and frozen and hardened and slipperified. At the end of our street was a triangular puddle which had frozen hard with a sort of mountain ridge up the middle, dissecting the base and the apex. 'This,' I thought, 'is what the earth looked like when it was formed; when molten rocks pushed up against each other and rose and were made firm. Here,' I thought, 'in this ex-puddle, is a mini-Himalayas and I only left my house two minutes ago!' Thus it was, that marvelling at the wonders of winter - wham! I was down.

Thistle in snow
There are many kinds of thistle.
I doubt this one will grow tall enough to judge properly
before the council mows it along with the grass.
But maybe someone can give it a good (or tentative) ID?
Falling down, one finds, is very much easier than standing up. Informal ice-rinks in public places can plunge one into embarrassment. I crawled around a bit till I found a way to stand, stood, and looked at the prickly, frozen wasteland which stretched ahead. For all that I am devoted to my blog. For all that I had expected my dawn expedition to turn into an early-day street plant post . . . I decided a few photos are not worth dying for, slithered gingerly round in a circle . . . and came home.




Later . . .

The ice is melting. I set out. Sometimes the 'ing' on the end of a word is crucial. Bits of ice may have melted but others were still solid. So . . . down I go again, this time onto my side. And I land in a melted bit. It's becoming a habit this. Free ice-skating lessons! I stand as if I don't mind a thing and go home to change.

Later . . .

Row of plants in snow. (Some kind of willow herb?)
The leaves of this diagonal row of plants are familiar.
But what are they?
Some kind of willow herb?
Or . . . ?
Off I go again. Ahead of me a woman is treading warily, carefully hanging on to some railings, looking round anxiously for the next hand-hold. She launches out unsteadily and reaches a bollard. I take heart. She is making progress. So should I.

I set off up the hill. Half way across the icy expanse of a side road I get stuck. A taxi comes along. The driver slithers backwards into a parking bay. Good, I can proceed. Gingerly I reach the pavement. But the pavement is yet another ice-field and I can't get onto it. Now the taxi is coming back! Oh, help! The pavement has a concrete edging; I find I can stand there without slipping. But no-where else. In a semi-panic I pirouette so I'm facing the main road and proceed to walk pigeon-steps along the pavement's rim till ice gives way to the melt water of a council-salted route.

But despite dripping roofs and gurgling gutters, there are still icy patches. This just isn't working.

Feeling like a tanker that just ploughs ahead once it's on its way, I slide with difficulty to a halt at the edge of a small patch of waste ground. I do not go nose-first into the mix of ice and snow and mush. Progress!

Dandelion style flower in snow
I'm not even sure if this is some kind of dandelion
or some kind of something else.
Anyone?
Photographing street plants on rough ground feels like cheating. I like to find them in surprising places and wasteland is not surprising. Urban waste patches are more like fallow land on a farm than 'proper wild'. But how many times am I prepared to fall? No more!!!!!!!!!! And am I not being a bit snooty? Too pernickety about where I'm prepared to find inspiration? So that is where I landed up. And now . . . (oh! my arm aches!) . . .

For more about Street Plant Blogging.

The Street Plant link box has closed for this month but you can still read February Street Plant Posts on other blogs by clicking on the links below.
There will be a new link box from 1st - 7th March. Get thinking and looking! See if you can join us with your own Street Plant Post then.