Brampton, Norfolk

  • Winter crowns

    a sharp February hail storm heads south

     

     

     

     

     

    Hail from a passing squall stung our faces as we walked upstream from Oxnead. A reminder that we cannot take the arrival of the weak Spring sunshine for granted. As we pressed on the clouds moved southwards and the sun light broke through and created a dramatic contrast. Colour leaped from the highlighted trees and the shapes of their bare winter crowns gained new depth. Around the village the variety of trees gives texture to the landscape. a sycamore, so oftenThe reflection in the Bure damned as a species, shows as a beautiful dome marking the edge of the ploughed lands and the start of the marsh. A Scots Pine sits over a gentle curve of the Bure, its reflection set with the pristine clarity of a Japanese print. Below the Hall Beech, Oak and the spiralling bark of the Chestnut provide an arboretum’s grandeur.

  • Thaw and reflection

    The weather softens after a fortnight of snow and frosts.But the hard spell that we have just experienced served to expose the variety of wildlife within the parish. Hunger and the serious business of courtship pushed dog fox and vixen into the daylight. The urban fox has become a common sight in Norwich, but the country fox is a a much more wary creature altogether. Their travels and territories are defined by river and railway line and the thaw releases the strong scent in many places. A sharp frosty starlit night is punctuated by their barks and screams as boundaries are set.

    Elsewhere, Jenny reports whole families of hunting otter in the early morning light. On the arable fields the destructive power of foraging Roe Deer show up as snowy excavations. Teal spring out from out from under the reed fringed bank of the Bure and Grey Geese graze on the whatever passes for exposed vegetation on the Common. In the garden flocks of finches cluster in a frenzy of shuttle visits around the feeders. The wintering Little Egret manage to contrast in shades of white with the decaying snow.

    A short burst of sunshine and the presence of Celandines, Snowdrops and the early shoots of Daffodils in the churchyard promise the approach of Spring. The colour green seems to suddenly return from the overnight thaw.

  • Looking forward in mid January

    In mid January I am looking for change. Having ushered the new year in, I always feel it is time to look for those hints that Spring is not so far away. Last weekend the majestic wind blown song from an Oxnead Mistle Thrush sufficed.

    Yesterday, the resonant drumming of a Great Spotted Woodpecker on a Brampton Hall Oak echoed along the Bure. It is a sound that I always connect with the emergence of Daffodils and the stirring of Primroses. Indeed, in the churchyard, the first leaves of some of the wild stock daffodils are inching above the sward. Even in that state they manage to lift away that winter feeling.

    I nervously take a look at the beehives. Nervously, because they had a tough year in 2012 and there must always be question marks over the quality and quantity of their food reserves. I am encouraged that the clusters of each the colonies seem to be making the right noise as I tidy up around the hives. But there is a long way to go yet and the losses are often later in the winter or into the early spring, so we have sugar solution ready in reserve for that point in time.

  • White heron

    A small white heron is a regular winter visitor to Brampton’s grazing meadows. The Little Egret used to be relatively uncommon in Norfolk and it’s visits in the 1960’s caused excitement in the bird watching fraternity. Now it seems to have suffer the curse of the commonplace – it is no longer rare enough to create the same level of excitement. However, it is a welcome guest to the water meadows here. It’s white plumage standing out in the Wintery greys and greens of the Meadows along the Mermaid river. The Egret’s yellow feet contrast strongly with it’s mainly black legs. It can be seen resting in a tall Ash tree or stealthily fishing in the river margins. Occasionally a second Egret appears on the scene. This usually signals the coming of Spring and the time to move back to the coast, perhaps to the breeding colony at Holkham.

     

  • Birdsong returns to the village, briefly

    This morning, for seemingly the first time in weeks, bird song returned to the garden. Firstly, a hardy and optimistic Song Thrush took up a favourite perch high in a Maple and practiced his lines. Then Robins duetted. All was noise and song for about half an hour until the rains returned.

    Every field is beyond saturation point. We watch the River Bure wondering how much more run-off water it can take. Puddles are too large to step around and the rain has an edge of cold which makes us scurry the dogs around before seeking sanctuary in the house.

  • Carol singing 2012

    On Christmas Eve the Brampton Carol Singers abandoned their warm cottages in order to sing their way around the village. The choir of ten sang innumerable carols on their three hours tour and due to the generosity of villages raised a significant amount in favour of their chosen charity, Quidenham Children’s Hospice. In fact theory are still collecting and the final total will not be know for a while. Grateful thanks to all of you who were generous and hospitable during the evening. The evening ended with a short service at St Peter’s Church at which the now well-rehearsed Carols were given a further airing.

  • Winter solstice

    Even as another smear of rain blows in our faces and the Winter mood appears to darken further, there are signs of life and the hint of preparation. The Ash’s black buds glisten and promise something for the future. Bullfinches work the new hedges at Low Farm and the contact calls of a distant group of Golden Plover drift through the murk.

    In the village, the scent of wood smoke drifts along the Street. Cottages are decorated and floral decorations have appeared in the church for Christmas, everyone clings on to the light on the shortest day.

  • Brightness of sound

    The stars shone with absolute clarity on Monday night. As I let the dogs out into the garden the bright spark of Jupiter dominated the sky. With a pair of binoculars I could clearly make two of Jupiter’s attendant moons before the cold drove me back indoors. These dry cold nights are the most rewarding for star gazers, so many more stars and galaxies flow into vision. But it is not just the stars which are clear, the sound world itself also becomes sharper and brighter.

    It was not until the small hours that the shrill call of a vixen came like a sharp jab through an open window. Foxes are very vocal at this time of the year, their territorial part scream part bark can come as a surprise to the unaware. The vixen travels over considerable distances calling constantly as they map out the night time geography of their patch. As I lay in bed listening the sound map of the railway line and the vixen’s wider circuit was delivered by the regular repetitive call. This carried on until the air could no longer transmit the most distant call.

  • Iron frost and duck

    We woke up to an iron frost. As we walked out on the Common, the Bure was alive with wild duck. So many in fact that the book of collective nouns was taken off the shelf. A “spring” of Teal above Oxnead Bridge are as good as their word and take off with near vertical suddenness, only to alight again 50 yards further away. A little further upstream the frosty silence is gently broken by haunting cries announced small herd of Curlew at the top of Limekiln Farm. Further still, at least a score of duck wheeled around the Island Marsh – these proved to be Wigeon. Wigeon cause delight in their nouns; a bunch or a coil or a knob, all seem to sum them up beautifully. They circle at low levels before quickly settling below Burgh Mill.

  • A view in Winter

    Wigeon arrive on the marsh as the village slumbers in it’s blanket of snow. A small flock of these fast-flying duck circle us as we scan the riverside snow for footprints. The meandering trail of a morning fox provided evidence of his thoughts – out for an unsuspecting Moorhen or duck – the trail followed any little clue to and fro to the water’s edge.  Smaller creatures, mostly voles, scurried their tubby ways from sedge to bolthole. Swans which looked so white under normal conditions reveal themselves to be a rich cream against the backdrop of snow covered marshes. Snipe are here in numbers; they spring away and follow crazy
    zig-zag flight patterns emitting their wispy call. As we open the Church for Sunday a Woodcock flies rapidly at head-height  through the churchyard, full of bombast and intent.

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