‘The Wild’ makes me think of vast landscapes of wilderness, untouched by the hands of humans. Of mountains, forests, savannah or oceans, where wild creatures live their lives without interference. However today there is hardly a place left on this fine planet unmanaged in some way by our species. Even in the deepest, darkest depths of the oceans, plastic rubbish is found. Even the atmosphere, the very air that all of life on earth breathes, has been altered by us.

Our nature reserves, seemingly wild, are not completely autonomous. They are planned and managed, reeds cut, pools created and maintained, scrub eaten by introduced animals or cleared mechanically, the natural succession of habitats held still, frozen in time. I’m not saying this is bad, in fact it’s incredibly important in many circumstances, but thinking about our definition of wild, these reserves become museum pieces, enclosed and preserved in fear of loss. It’s important to remember that the real wild is dynamic, and landscapes, and the species that live there, change over time in a complex system. In the UK we’ve convinced ourselves that we don’t have enough space with all us humans around to simply allow these natural processes to take place, so we contain it, and only let wild happen in its allocated space.

Wild though, is a feeling, not necessarily a place. There is wild in the Wren song at the bottom of the garden, and I fling my window open wide on a Spring morning to allow the sweet trilling into my home. That song once echoed through the woodland which covered the UK thousands of years ago. It rang out from the scrubby edge where the aurochs grazed, ancient landscapes in which our ancestors lived their own wild lives, and still the Wren sings.

For a child with a fistful of grain, there is wild in the ducks at the park. Awe and delight at observing, or interacting with, a different species. A reminder that we’re not alone, that we share our world with others, with their own life stories, so different to ours. A reminder that we are of the wild too. In this sense, the wild is all around us, in our gardens and cities, and in the wider managed countryside too.

There is wild in the Peregrine who flashes through the city sky, wild in the crashing waves at the beach, wild in the grasshopper singing on the road verge, wild in the gulls following the plough. The moss growing on the fence post, the plants pushing through cracks in the paving, birds nesting in the eaves, solitary bees in soft mortar, and moles in the lawn. We live alongside the wild, and in the act of noticing we feel a little wilder ourselves, a sense of belonging and kinship. Connectedness to place, to time, to history, and maybe if we try to make it a little better, if we plant the flowers to feed the bees, we are connected to the future too.

‘Of the wild’ started as an Instagram account, during a time I felt natures wild call particularly strongly. The ‘Beast from the East’ had swept across the country, bringing great drifts of snow, and for the first time ever, the weather had prevented me physically from getting to work, it was an awakening to the power of nature and just how wild our world really is. I stomped through the thick white blanket in wild delight, alone, alive, and feeling slightly feral. I waded through the soft powder to a little common not far from home, and watched a Snipe probing the only unfrozen ground, near a small stream slowly flowing, a dark stripe across the monochrome world. I think I started that account to try and show how the wild really is all around us, but the tangle of stems that arose was a little too rough for the Insta-perfect algorithm, and it turned into more of a personal account. Discovering Substack though rekindled the idea of sharing stories and photos of reconnection with the natural world, it may yet end up a tangled mess again, but my one aim is simply to help people notice the wild things just a little more, and to notice that they have noticed. What grows from there belongs to them, be it awe, connection, curiosity or motivation.

There is such talent here on Substack, that I sometimes feel a little out of my depth, but I hope my words will resonate with you in some way. So come with me, as I forage for photos, locally and further afield. All images and words are mine, never AI, so I apologise in advance for any errors. I’ll show you what I’ve seen, and I very much hope you’ll join me.

Here’s a Green-winged orchid from a recent shoot, from a little meadow surrounded by arable fields, a beautiful little oasis.

Thanks so much for reading, please do leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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Of The Wild is a free publication, however if you enjoyed this article and would like to express your support, you can now buy me a coffee over on Ko-fi.

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Birdsong fills the air as our feathered friends establish territories and attract partners. One song is rare these days1, and carries an almost mythical quality, the sort of sound that makes you stop, open mouthed with delight at it’s sheer beauty. I’m talking of course about the Nightingale. I haven’t heard one in years, so I set off to Suffolk Wildlife Trust’s Lackford Lakes in the hopes of finding this shy songster. They are famed for singing throughout the night, although in reality they also sing at dawn and dusk and even during the day when the mood takes them. On arrival, at what felt like a rather late 9am, a few sips of coffee were hastily gulped before stepping out of the car. I needn’t have worried however as I was greeted by a wonderful spring soundscape, Blackcap, Chiffchaff, Song Thrush, Blackbird and more, and yes, there it was! A rich fluting melody spilled from the surrounding scrub. A low warbling trill and complex combination of golden notes wafted through the cool morning air. The little russet brown bird is an expert composer, incorporating a pregnant pause for effect, to make you strain your ears and whisper ‘encore!’ Listening, perhaps to make sure the audience is paying attention, before launching into the next sweet phrase of music. In all, the Merlin app recorded 12 species singing in the short space of two minutes, just from the carpark. As more cars arrived, tyres scrunching on gravel rather drowning out the glorious concert, I moved on, but could still hear little snippets of Nightingale song.

Down in the woodland, a cute little masked bandit defied gravity in the trees, flitting here and there and often upside down, the Nuthatch. These attractive woodland specialists, powder blue and strawberry blonde, are a delight to watch. Interestingly, this one hopped down to a patch of moss at the base of the tree and rubbed his face on the soft green carpet in the sunshine, a grooming behaviour perhaps, although I couldn’t help wondering if maybe it just felt nice!

Another songster, less shy than the secretive Nightingale, with a volume disproportionate to it’s diminutive size, bursts into song from the undergrowth. A power ballad to the Nightingale’s classical symphony. I have always admired the Wren, small but mighty, and my childhood alarm clock - one used to sing every morning in the hedge next to my bedroom window.

I didn’t lay eyes on the Nightingale, and wasn’t expecting to, but it was wonderful to hear. It was the sort of spring day with warm bright sunshine that makes you breathe a sigh of relief, and was just what I needed. Although Spring is my favourite season, this year it has been marred with deep sadness.

This next part is extremely difficult to write, for my dear companion of 17 and a half years has reached the final moments of her life.

She was a foundling. A tiny starving feral kitten, who turned up on Boxing Day in my Mum’s rural garden. Fearful but hungry, it took a week or so of tempting her out of her hiding place in the yew bush with daily kitten food offerings before she accepted me. From that morning, when I first carefully lifted her scruffy little form into my fluffy dressing gown, and she began to purr and purr and purr, we have rarely been apart.

She grew into a wise and devoted cat, legendary in our family for being quite the character, vocal, intelligent, feisty and playful. Together we learned an array of tricks, including our favourite, the ‘your feet on mine’ trick, and I would carry her around perched on my arm or around my shoulders. She was amazingly clever, able to open doors, casually and without hardly breaking her sassy stride, with a single paw, somehow just knowing whether to push or pull. I will miss her trust, the privilege of her warm weight resting against me, purring directly into my ear to wake me in the mornings or lovingly snuggling close every evening.

The vet is confident that she is not in any pain, which is a blessing, but her old body is tired and worn out. Like the Velveteen Rabbit, she is adored, a little shabby, and so very real. By the time this letter goes live, we will probably have said our final goodnight, but as I write at my desk, she is sat in her customary position, on my lap, with her front paws on my arm, leaning close and reaching up now and then for forehead kisses. I’ve written thousands of words like this, processed countless photos, she’s been with me every step of the way, through bad times and good. I’m fighting back the tears because I don’t want to drop my salty sadness into her soft coat.

She is one in a billion, my heart and soul cat, thank you my love for all these wonderful years, you will be missed terribly and remembered forever. Now the whole world knows just how special you are, my best girl. Our wonderful, unique, Christmas cat.

If I am absent here for a time I apologise in advance, I will return when I’ve taken some time to process this end of an era. Hug your pets a little closer tonight, for time is always shorter than you imagine.

Thanks so much for reading, I’ll be back with more wildlife and nature very soon.

All the best,

Dawn.

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Of The Wild is a free publication, however if you enjoyed this article and would like to express your support, you can now buy me a coffee over on Ko-fi.

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He raised his regal scaly snout at the vibration of the thudding hooves. Unfurling and tasting the air. Time to move. There was once many of his kind in these lands, fire dragons to the west, water dragons to the east, but he was alone now. His sinuous armoured body curved elegantly through the heather to the safety of the spiky gorse. Peering out, even his misty old eyes could see the glint of light in the mare’s wind ruffled mane. She courteously lowered her soft nose as if sensing his presence. Stepping carefully through the heath she tiptoed past. After waiting some moments to ensure the hooves of the whole herd had moved away, he returned slowly to his favourite basking spot. Flattening his body to absorb the warm spring sun and dreaming. Of what do little dragons dream? Perhaps of being coiled tight around the castle, spitting fury and rage at any Knights who dare challenge him? Or, perhaps not, for this tiny dragon would fit comfortably into my two cupped hands (don’t try it).

This wee dragon is an Adder, one of UK’s three native snakes. Much maligned and misunderstood, many people are fearful of this little reptile. When I see images posted online, the comments often seem to range from “eww” to “evil”. I find this rather sad, because they are fascinating creatures. To me, they carry an air of ancient wisdom and mystery in the gleam of their eyes, yet in character they are incredibly shy and secretive. Normally they prefer to gracefully slip away from any threat, or rely on their very effective camouflage to remain hidden. It certainly does take a while to get your eye in and spot one, like a magic eye book they slowly resolve into vision from between the heather stems and if you blink or look away they might become invisible once more.

Adders are really interesting biologically, the most northerly of the viper species, they are even found in the Arctic Circle in Scandinavia. When you consider that they are exotherms, relying on environmental warmth to function, it really is quite astounding.

Growing to 60cm in length Adders are one of our smaller snakes, the Grass snake being the largest, which can grow up to around 150cm. Female Adders ‘give birth’ to live young, having incubated her eggs internally, an adaptation to the cooler environment and the heathland habitats in which they live.

If I haven’t yet convinced you to love these little dragons, then take a look at the beautiful snake below. This is ‘Graphite’ a gorgeous melanistic Adder from RSPB Minsmere, where they are much studied and individually named. If you ask for a gentleman called Steve he will show you Graphite and the even darker ‘Rylan’ and will happily tell you all about them. It gives me much hope to find people coming to see these special creatures, just as fascinated as I am.

Dark steely grey with the classic black zigzag stripe and a dash of blue on his sides, what a stunning little chap!

On to the ponies! These are part of Norfolk Wildlife Trust’s herd of Dartmoor ponies, the largest herd outside of Devon. This rare and endangered breed makes an excellent conservation steward, browsing the scrub to maintain the open heathland habitats.

The Adder population has declined in recent years, primarily due to habitat loss, as these site faithful and habitat specific creatures cannot readily move into new areas. Habitat fragmentation reduces the gene pool making small isolated populations unsustainable. They are also highly sensitive to disturbance, if repeatedly disturbed they cannot bask for long enough which affects their condition for breeding. On that note, all of my photos here were taken with my long lens at a distance, and all Adders remained, still basking, when I moved away.

If you’d like to spot Adders yourself, I highly recommend a visit to Minsmere where the friendly volunteers can point them out without disturbing them.

Thanks for reading and a warm welcome to my recent new subscribers, I’m so happy you’re here and I hope you enjoy my writing. I aim to publish a new letter once a month, but sometimes more depending on what I’ve been up to. March was a quiet month photographically, so I’m keen to get out and about in April!

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Further Reading:

Learn more about Adders: https://www.arc-trust.org/adder

Learn more about Norfolk’s conservation ponies: https://www.norfolkwildlifetrust.org.uk/ponies

Visit RSPB Minsmere: https://www.rspb.org.uk/days-out/reserves/minsmere

I’ve been here in all conditions, blazing hot sun, shivering snow, sparkling rain, and plenty in between. I’ve seen soft glimmering sunrises and glowing sunsets.

In the areas where black peat yields softly to boots, it is easy to walk quietly, but listen for the whispering in the reeds and pause. You never know who might be there, Reed Bunting, Bearded tit, or the soft eyes of a Roe doe, if you feel the breeze in your face she may linger and allow a photo.

Sometimes I feel I know this place, I can tell you where the frost stays all day or where the lizards bask, but I will never know all it’s secrets. Still it has plenty of mysteries to offer. I wonder if it knows me, my tendency to walk the paths anti-clockwise, and to always pause at the bridges.

I long for the early summer sunrise, the incessant reeling song of the Grasshopper warbler spilled without pause for breath. The scratchy jazz tune of the Sedge warbler, which always brings me back here, and reminds me of my repeated attempts to capture a photo of this little songster over the years.

This place has allowed me to witness some strange things too, the lonely escapee Prairie dog, and a runaway Rhea. Lost creatures somehow drawn to the quiet peace, maybe that’s why I’m here too, a stray from the modern world seeking a connection with the wild.

I’ve had some of my most memorable moments with nature here too. One summer evening I found myself surrounded by a swarm of Swifts, swirling high and skimming low, racing through the sky together with such pure joyful abandon that the energy was catching, and I felt I could hop up into the air to join them. More recently, I was watching a Red Kite, deep in Marsh Harrier territory. The female harrier kept tabs on the kite from a distance, but then her mate flew in, bravely attempting to escort the intruder away from his patch, luckily right in my direction.

One winter I walked to the soggy boggy end where the Waveney River rises, a slow seeping beginning, so different from the lively body of water it eventually becomes. I was surprised to see a small brown creature bobbing atop a reed stem, not a bird as I initially thought from a distance, but a Harvest mouse! I quickly snapped a photo, then begged the wee scrap to hide fast, for the keen Kestrel would surely be looking for a meal.

This place is the largest valley fen in England, and a really important wetland not just nationally, but on a European level too. The rare Fen Raft spider roams the peaty pools, weaving together place and time with silk threads and sedge grass. They don’t know how special they are, but I do, spotting one is difficult, which makes it all the more magical when you do finally see one. They stitch their stories to this haunting landscape, my own story a single thread woven through it, and beyond, still spooling onwards.

I don’t visit often enough now, sometimes I wonder, if I visited, day after day, what secrets would be revealed, what more could I learn? I’m sure it would take a lifetime or more to unravel all the mysteries of the fen.

All photos in this letter were taken on the fen over the years. If you’re in the area I highly recommend a visit, it’s one of my favourite places!

Find out more here: Redgrave and Lopham Fen

As a side note, it’s interesting to compare some of my old photos to my newer work, I can definitely see an improvement, although my older images seem a bit more artistic, something to think about this year I think!

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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I’m feeling it too though, now ready to begin the year, plans are forming for photography trips and holidays, for the house and the garden. Someone hide the seed catalogues!

I’ve noticed, despite the lack of sun, that the birds are more active too. Blue tits and Great tits chasing flirtatiously around the hawthorn tree and inspecting the nest boxes. The Robin singing brightly with renewed enthusiasm.

I went in search of Snowdrops to a local arboretum, and was amazed, not just by the sight of the pale carpet of nodding flowers laid out on either side of the path, but by the sheer number of people! I’ve never seen it so busy here, was it the small café or lovely muddy walks drawing people out on a Sunday afternoon, are people realising how important reconnecting to the outside world is, or are there just greater numbers of people? In any case it was nice to see families, dogs and children all enjoying themselves, and a hot chocolate was quite the treat after sitting on the cold path photographing these little beauties.

Did you know, Snowdrops are not actually native to the UK? They come from mainland Europe, and were probably introduced in the 16th century. As with many of our flowers, much folklore surrounds them. On one hand, a symbol of hope, purity, and the returning light, but on the other, a harbinger of doom, and very bad luck indeed to pick a flower and bring it indoors.

There’s no doubt that the sight of these pearly flowers en masse certainly does bring a smile at this gloomy time of year, lighting up the woodland floor and gleaming in the distance through the dark trees. Up close their delicate green markings are intriguing.

My partner, a watercolour artist, painted the scene and fended off curious passersby whilst I photographed.

You can see more of Richard’s work over on Instagram.

I’m looking forward to the longer days, and noticing the difference already, I just hope we might see the sun soon!

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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Further reading:

https://www.creativecountryside.com/blog/the-folklore-of-snowdrops

https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/trees-woods-and-wildlife/plants/wild-flowers/snowdrop/

I briefly imagined dropping from that window myself, wings hugged close for speed, then spreading them free to arc up through the glum cloud, away from the stuffy office.

January involved some pretty intense training at work, but the sight of that powerful Sparrowhawk darting through the car park was enough to remind me that no matter where you are, nature is close at hand, we just need to look, and be open enough to see.

Our gardens are one place where nature can be wholly accessible, no entrance fee, no travel, no opening hours involved. We can invite nature in with our actions, which can be as simple as providing a dish of water or a single bird feeder, or more complex, like choosing to grow specific wildlife friendly plants, or creating mini habitats, ponds and wild areas. It doesn’t have to happen all at once, and it can certainly evolve over time.

I believe it’s really important to see what you already have and work from there. Just to take some time in your outside space, to have a look and appreciate the wildlife already present. Then think about what might be missing, is there enough shelter, or nesting opportunities, is the space accessible or connected to the wider area? Once you know what you’d like to achieve, you can start taking small steps to get there, maybe make a gap or two under the fence to allow wildlife in, build up a little log pile in a quiet corner, or install a nest box. Have a look around a local garden centre for some plants - quick tip - when you visit a garden centre in spring and summer, keep an eye out for the plants that the bees and butterflies are actually using there - they will show you which plants and varieties they prefer. Then work from there, and repeat the process. If you already have a variety of nectar producing plants for example, what about adding caterpillar food plants to support the whole lifecycle. Gardens are always a work in progress, and making small changes and additions for wildlife really can make a big difference. In the UK our domestic gardens cover 502,757 hectares1, that’s (potentially) a lovely big nature reserve!

It was the RSPB’s Big Garden Birdwatch last weekend, I’ve taken part for many years now and always welcome the excuse to sit and watch the garden for an hour. It’s really easy and fun to take part, you don’t need to be an expert. It’s not a competition, and it’s important to remember that in science, a nil result is still a result - the Long-tailed tits that didn’t appear in your hour may well be over at your neighbours down the road, hopefully they are counting too, this helps to give an indication of population densities, so don’t worry if you feel like you are ‘missing’ some birds in your count!

I spent an enjoyable and relaxing hour perched upstairs to get a good view, with a nice hot coffee, here are my results:

Blackbird: 2

Blue tit: 2

Goldfinch: 2

Great tit: 1

Greenfinch: 3

Robin: 1

Much quieter than normal. It has got me thinking about what I can do to improve the space for wildlife this year. It’s only a tiny garden, but I already have a hedgehog house, log pile/brash heap (ever expanding), solitary bee house, nest box (used in alternating years by Great and Blue tits) and I grow a mix of native and non-native plants to provide nectar, pollen and seed. I’m lacking in the water department, with no pond, but I’m hesitant to install a full pond in a garden that I might not be care taker of long term, perhaps I could create a boggy area instead? I’d also like to grow some caterpillar friendly plants too, so time for some research!

Later I sat in my hide, (well ok it’s just the shed actually), with my camera to try and photograph some of my visitors:

This little Wren popped out of the undergrowth to perch in the willow tree, I’m always amazed by how these tiny birds survive the winter. After about an hour I decided to head back indoors for a cuppa. Strangely quiet in the garden, and I’m not sure why, perhaps the local Sparrowhawk had been around, or maybe the birds are finding better offerings elsewhere?

Did you take part in the birdwatch? Leave a comment and let me know what species you saw!

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Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

The ‘daft days’, ‘Twixtmas’, is the worst. Those odd days between Christmas and the New Year when no one knows what day of the week it is, the house is a mess and everyone’s eaten either too much cheese or too much chocolate, or possibly both. Dog sits firmly on my chest berating me, but I stare deeply into his eyes, trying to understand. I’m watching one of my favourite photographers on YouTube. Leaning around his heavy weight, this is allowed, I want to rest, but he just compares my lack to their achievements, and judges me. Rest can be found in movement too though, dog knows that, and so do I. A stroll around the village and dog reduces to the size of a Labrador, faithfully trotting alongside me. The day I have an hours lay in, instead of two, he bounces like a gentle Whippet out of the door ready to explore with me. I take him to the beach where he searches the dunes like a Spaniel, chasing gulls. On the drive home curled quietly satisfied next to my camera, a Miniature Schnauzer. The next day I tidy the house, put things away, spend some time sorting, plan gently some photography trips, and still enjoy fancy coffee made at home, a sweet treat and some more YouTube inspiration, I turn and discover dog, a soft furred Chihuahua snuggled snoozing on the sofa. Almost cute.

Sadly, it’s not joy and celebration for everyone at this time of year, sometimes it’s just survival. Personally I have to fight to rest, and one day I’ll have to try and face the reasons why. In the meantime, I know that walking, and planning a gentle routine helps me. Focusing on just one small thing at a time instead of being overwhelmed and paralysed by the whole. Maybe just gather the recycling and put it out, or find a spot to store a new book. Top up the bird feeder and chat to the Robin. Plan and make a nice meal. One by one, tiny actions to keep the movement going, mentally as well as physically. It’s easy to get stuck in the ‘I should be achieving more’ thoughts, because time is limited before the return to work, but using that time to rest is just as important, if not more important than achieving huge impossible goals right now. There will be plenty of time for that, later in the year, when the sun’s energy returns. Right now, with energy and daylight low, the plants all asleep, it’s time to pause. Follow the lead of nature, slow down, and rest.

I did go out to search for Short-eared owls and get some fresh air, and although it was amazing to see these beautiful birds, they didn’t come close enough for photos, and I didn’t chase after them. Here’s me waiting for them in the marram. (It was very cold!)

Here’s a distant Shortie fly by:

Somehow this season always catches me off guard. I know full well that keeping some semblance of routine going is the best way for me to get through the shortest, darkest days of the year, but every time it seems to trip me up. It’s like falling off the edge of the world. There I was head down, working hard, organising the busy last days at work, then the last day comes and the ground falls away. No more numbers to chase or phones to answer, no more disasters to avert. I’m glad of it, I’ve been looking forward to it, but it takes some time to slow down, and I’m wondering if next year I can put the brakes on a little more slowly, a little more gently. Let myself have a winter, just be a bit more gentle with myself. It’s difficult in this fast paced world, but I will try!

Once the dog had calmed down I managed to reflect a little on my photography for this coming year. There are actually some locations I wish to revisit, having visited for my 40 species project, but swept up in the project I didn’t have time to return last year. I’m actually feeling a bit uninspired right now, but instead of resisting and panicking, I’m allowing it, and just going with the flow. Creativity ebbs and flows throughout the year and no doubt it will be back. Taking it gently I spent the morning over in one of my favourite places, near an old orchard. I think I just watched for longer than I photographed, smiling despite lying prone on the frozen ground, at the antics of madam boss Blackbird who kept chasing everyone else away.

She was later joined by this handsome Greenfinch, who found some fallen sycamore seeds to nibble.

I’m hoping the rest of January will be gentle, as I write we’ve actually had some snow, and I am really hoping it sticks around long enough for me to get out there!

What about you - what helps you get through the dark winter days? And what would you like to see from me in 2026? I’m thinking of sharing more from behind the scenes and about how I get my photos, and some longer photo walks in nature as well, let me know what you think! Happy New Year to you all!

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Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Christmas for me always signals a time of rest, having worked in the agricultural service industry for the last 17 years, the week long Christmas shutdown is a welcome and much needed break. I normally spend at least some of it adventuring out and about with my camera, dare I wish for frost or maybe even snow?! Here’s a photo of a Hare in the snow from 2021.

Thank you so much for your support this year, wishing you all a relaxing and peaceful festive season!

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Whilst you might recognise names like Niépce, Daguerre, William Henry Fox Talbot, and George Eastman, the fathers of photography, do you know the names Julia Margaret Cameron, Anna Atkins or Emma Louisa Turner? These women (and others) are also pioneers in photography, paving the way for us. But it wasn’t always easy for them.

Anna Atkins (1799 - 1871) produced the very first book to be illustrated with photographic images. Published in 1843, ‘Photographs of British Algae: Cyanotype Impressions’ comprised an exquisite collection of cyanotypes of seaweeds, within a year of the process being invented by Sir John Herschel. She went on to produce three volumes of this book, but only 17 copies are known to exist now. Thought to be the first, or one of the first (along with Constance Fox Talbot) female photographers. If you’ve never had a go at making cyanotypes, do give it a try. You can purchase kits with pre-treated paper, or the chemicals to mix, as Anna would have done. Created by placing your subject of top of light sensitised paper (or medium of your choice), and letting the sun work it’s magic, the exposed material turns a rich and beautiful blue, with the shaded parts remaining pale. I had a kit, many years ago and naturally my subject of choice was a fern:

Emma Louisa Turner (1867 - 1940) was a pioneer of bird photography, whose image of a nestling Bittern taken in Norfolk in 1911 provided proof of the rare species return after becoming locally extinct decades before. She travelled widely, was awarded a Gold Medal by the Royal Photographic Society and was one of the first 15 women to be elected as a fellow of the Linnaean Society. She has special ties to Norfolk, spending part of her year at Hickling on a houseboat of her own design, photographing birds with a dry-plate camera. If you visit Hickling Broad, now managed by Norfolk Wildlife Trust, you can find out more about this fearless and inspirational woman.

My main focus for this piece however is Julia Margaret Cameron. After visiting Dimbola Museum on the Isle of Wight, I realised I had an embarrassing lack of knowledge about the history of photography.

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Julia Margaret Cameron (1815 - 1879) took up photography aged 48, after being gifted a camera by her daughter. She developed a unique artistic style, and photographed celebrities of the day, such as Tennyson and Darwin. Yet she was criticised for her work, her characteristic soft focus portraits and artistic images deemed ‘amateurish’. I have a real bugbear with this word. Taken to mean ‘inferior’, ‘incompetent’ or ‘unprofessional’ reduces the true meaning to an insult. It comes from the French and Latin word amator, therefore ‘amateur’ actually means ‘for the love of’ or ‘one who loves’. Equally important, valid, and noble, in my eyes, as being a professional.

The museum displays a wide range of Julia’s work, she persisted despite negativity, turning a chicken coop into a studio, and coal-house into a darkroom. She was prolific in capturing photos of important and famous Victorians, and creating images inspired by art and mythology. She was elected to the Photographic Society of London and exhibited yearly. She also showed her work in Europe, and sold her prints. She was the first ‘artist in residence’ at the South Kensington Museum, which is now the Victoria and Albert Museum. Her pioneering artistic work which we now may consider to be among the first ‘fine-art’ photographs, received contentious and rather slating reviews at the time. I admire her determination to continue producing her work, in her style, being true to herself, no matter what others were saying. Her images were ahead of their time, and the amount of work required to make them is not to be under estimated. In the beginning the craft of photography was a world away from today - whip your phone out and tap a button, or squeeze the shutter release on your auto focusing, auto metering, DSLR. So different in fact that I wonder if it should be called something else. Cameras made of wood, huge negatives made of glass, and just the right mix of chemicals. No light meter, not even a roll of 36 shots. I’ve used an old large format camera before, I remember hefting the bulky equipment down to the little river near campus, two shots, the exposure a guess. The thrill of watching an image slowly appear in the darkroom. I hope that’s still part of the syllabus. I loved that darkroom, the warm cave of magic. I digress. I wonder what Julia would make of modern photography?

Despite receiving negative reviews at the time, Julia’s work signified the beginning of photography as a creative and artistic medium as well as for the purpose of record taking. I have nothing but admiration for her. I suspect, but will never know for sure that comments about her like “She was an amateur, but worse than that, she was a female amateur,” were born of jealousy, from counterparts who secretly wished they had thought of those artistic ideas first!

I hope I can take a leaf out of her book, see the value in my own work, and maybe bring a little more artistry to my own practice too.

Dimbola Museum does a fantastic job of celebrating her life, and work. Here are a few phone snaps from the museum:

A photo of yours truly in the style of Julia, thanks to a fun little set up at the museum:

If you’re in the area, Dimbola Museum is well worth a visit, I really was captivated by this place, it is a real gem - fascinating and inspiring in equal measure. The tearoom is great, and the staff lovely to chat to, I cannot recommend the place highly enough.

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Further Reading:

Julia Margaret Cameron: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julia_Margaret_Cameron

Dimbola Museum: https://dimbola.co.uk/

Anna Atkins: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Atkins

Emma Louisa Turner: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emma_Louisa_Turner

The Early Birder, by James Parry: chrome-extension://efaidnbmnnnibpcajpcglclefindmkaj/https://www.jamesvparry.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/CF125_WildPeople_EmmaTurner.pdf

BTO - Emma Turner: https://www.bto.org/about/history/archives/emma-turner

NWT Hickling Broad: https://www.norfolkwildlifetrust.org.uk/HicklingBroad

Many years ago, I attempted to make a calendar of my photos, but I was so disappointed with the test print that I consigned it to a drawer and never thought about it again. I won’t mention the company I used back then, as it was so long ago it wouldn’t be a fair review. So when a friend of mine insisted that they wanted a calendar from me this year, I hesitated. Would my images be worthy of display for a whole year? How could I ensure a high print quality? It feels very exposing (pardon the photography pun) to package up 12 favourite photos and hope other people like them too. Or perhaps, that’s just my natural shyness and lack of marketing skill showing?

Anyway, I do like a challenge, so the research for a quality, reputable printing company began. Eventually I settled on Mixam, which I had seen mentioned by a fellow Substacker, they have plenty of options and are able to print a short run too, which is great if you only want to test out a small batch. You can design directly on their website, or upload your own. With a little more time I might have designed it from scratch, however despite finding their online system a bit clunky, I did get used to it, and one of their templates proved to be, with some tweaking, exactly what I wanted. Clear and simple, with room to write.

You can download a PDF proof to check everything looks as it should, and I was relieved to see the images looked as hoped. A little bit of editing later, mostly because I’m a font snob and really like typography, it was complete. The online designer is a bit restrictive in this sense, if I was designing from scratch I would certainly have picked my favourite fonts instead. So the only thing left to do was to place the order, which was a nice smooth process.

I waited rather anxiously for them to arrive, there’s always that horrible nagging feeling that, although proof read thoroughly and double checked before placing the order, that I might have spelt ‘January’ wrong, or something daft like that!

To my relief, they arrived in perfect condition and I am really pleased with the printing. The images are crisp and the colours punchy, the recycled silk paper thick and lustrous.

What would I do differently next time? Well I would definitely consider designing from scratch, I’m pleased with how this turned out layout wise, however I would prefer to have full control of the typography. I’m no stranger to InDesign, but time is a big restricting factor for me at the moment. The other thing I would do is add a caption for each image, I think a little background or behind the scenes info would make it more engaging. I would certainly use Mixam again as the process was very smooth and their options for size and format suited my vision.

The biggest learning curve for me was setting up the shop on my website. I’ve used WordPress since the very start of my online presence, for its full customisation and near infinite options, however it’s not always for the faint hearted. It often seems like you’re one bad plugin install, or one inexperienced edit of code away from losing it all, or being faced with the dreaded 503 error. Yes, expletives were said, yes I don’t mind admitting tears were shed. Particularly when one naughty plugin decided to prevent me from logging in completely, i.e. I couldn’t get in to turn the darn thing off, and was therefore locked out forever, resulting in a tearful fumbling around in the back end (don’t laugh) of my site to disable it. Sob. If you’ve ever dabbled with the code of your website you know how nerve wracking it can be, one comma in the wrong place can end in disaster. Anyway, I am rather pleased actually that I managed to resolve the issue and get everything working, even if I did need a lie down afterwards!

What really stands out for me though, are my kind and lovely friends and followers. I’m embarrassed to admit that you have more belief in me and my work, than I do myself. (Get it together Dawn.) I really am so grateful for you all, your comments and encouragement to make this idea a reality have been amazing. I honestly can’t thank you enough for your support, it means the world to me. You are all brilliant, thank you!

At the time of writing, I only have two calendars left, so I’d better do the marketing bit and say - be quick if you’d like one! You can buy a calendar here.

Have you turned your work into a calendar before? What was your experience? Did you pick up any tips or tricks? Should I make another calendar for 2027?

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

As we follow the path below, the echo sounds. There, in the reeds, the bird with a twang of a Norfolk accent, ‘ping’ ‘twing’ bounce flutter across, Bearded Reedling we exclaim in delight! I wait, eyes straining to see into the tangle of stems, but the calls become distant and they leave me standing there imageless.

Onwards. Three hunched shaggy beasts graze amidst swaying feather tops. The hides, low and thick thatched. The wooden interior spattered with the white evidence of summer residents. The Swallow nests, empty and dusty now, quiet.

Look through the window. A winter Wigeon, the first I’ve seen this year, plucks quietly at the grass. In the water, sleeping Shoveler rest, colours muted by the thick white cloud above.

On the far ridge a line forms. From my studies of this species behaviour I deduce there’s something special to see. Grey Phalarope, Jack Snipe, we’re told, too small and distant for my lens to handle, they will remain a secret of the marsh.

Let’s explore this path, towards the next hide. It rises gently yet is muddied by the boots of the nature pilgrims who follow this trail. There’s a dancer in the sky. The Norfolk Hawk is hunting, the Marsh Harrier, defying gravity he pauses mid-air, just as a cloud releases the sun. I drop the tripod I’m carrying and lift the camera, trust the autofocus, hold my breath, capture the light. The harrier stoops and drops to earth, but quickly rises again empty clawed.

I want to stay, rooted to this spot, in case he returns. There’s more to see however. Standing sentinel next to the steps onto the East Bank, a Black Headed Gull, with makeup softly smudged into winter plumage. May we pass?

He watches unconcerned, yet silent. Along the ridge, views over the marshes expand, more Wigeon graze here, elegant Egrets over there. Pools, mud, vegetation, at first inspection all brown, but actually teeming with life. The friendly birders try to point out the Jack Snipe, hidden in stripy camouflage. I walk away from the crowd, I find it overbearing. I crave the freedom of solitariness and the calmness of experiencing nature on my own terms. I remember seeing a Jack Snipe last year in my home village, erupting from a ditch as I walked past, a whir of feathers, but not a sound uttered, before dropping into the adjacent field, pausing briefly before magically disappearing into a single tuft of grass. I was lucky to see the tiny wader, and sketched it in my notebook when I got home.

Back now to the hide, the evening sun increasingly golden, hoping for a quiet moment in the shelter, but no, I peeked around the door, took a deep breath and entered. It was crowded, people standing as the benches were full. Walking to the end and trying to see out, I was thinking of just turning and leaving again, but a gentleman pointed out a Whinchat, and mentioned a Water Pipit, which I couldn’t see. The Whinchat was hanging around with some Stonechats, but only the female Stonechat came close enough for a photo.

The Marsh Harriers were hunting again.

As more people shuffled into the remaining space in the hide, we made our escape, walking back out to the air and afternoon light. Just a few paces out I glance up to the blue, and spot three birds flying directly over, brownish, oddly shaped, I can’t believe my eyes, a trio of Glossy Ibis! I swing the camera up, three shots, blurry, blurry, sharp. Phew, not the greatest photo, but a record nonetheless, the first time I’ve seen these interesting waders. These roughly Curlew sized birds, copper brown and iridescent green, were once considered very scarce migrants here, but they have been visiting the UK in increasing numbers and a pair successfully bred in 2022. I suspect they will be one of the next colonisers, with milder winters due to climate change supporting their expansion in range.

There’s a change in the atmosphere now, as the day rolls slowly towards dusk, the golden light gilding the edges of the world. There’s a tension in the air as the day shift begins to prepare for night survival. Heading back along the trail, we come across a Swan family, hauled out on the grass, attending to their feathers and dozing in the last of the sunshine. The youngsters are well grown now, nearly the same size as their parents, but still in soft grey plumage. I crouch down and poke my lens through the gap in the gate. At their level and in their world, I quietly ask them about their day and tell them how handsome they are. A couple of the cygnets waddle slowly closer with heavy, determined steps, then flop down next to me, their gentle trust makes me smile, and I wonder how they see me, just an unnatural oddity in their world, or do they see the real animal that humans are? Still a part of nature, even when we forget it. I appreciate their companionship for a time, before bidding them a good night and standing to leave.

A distant sound catches my ear. Quiet at first, like music on the breeze, but building quickly to a clamorous crescendo as geese in full song flock overhead, each bird a dark note on the score of the sky. These are Pink-footed geese, the entire population of Iceland and eastern Greenland migrates to spend the winter in the UK. Here in North Norfolk they feed on sugar beet tops in the fields and commute in noisy skeins to and from their roosting sites. Smaller and neater than the Greylag, with a more melodic call, the sound of winter. We stare upwards in awe as they flow across the sky in their thousands, before swirling down towards earth like wind blown autumn leaf fall.

Take a look at the video, and turn the sound up!

From a day out at: Cley Marshes

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

In autumn the unseen becomes visible, the mysterious hidden network of threads and filaments underground, forging connections between roots, recycling nutrients, choose this moment to burst out into the open, and announce their presence in astonishing colour and variety.

Where spring has glow, autumn has gleam. Polished conkers shine mahogany, fragrant ripe apples, and golden drifts of leaves bright against stormy skies, puddles throwing sparkling reflections to the world. The glitz and glam of the final show before the curtain falls.

There’s nothing quite as eye catching as the Fly Agaric. Scarlet red, with soft white spots, emerging seemingly overnight from the woodland floor, pushing through the leaf litter and sitting there smugly, turning the forest into a fairy tale.

As a passer-by commented whilst I was laying on the soft damp earth photographing these, they are the classic ‘Super Mario’ mushroom. They won’t make you ‘power-up’, sadly, but will make you very ill, being highly toxic, causing hallucinations as well as gastric distress if consumed.

The Fly Agaric, or Amanita is closely associated with birch and pine trees in woodland and heathland, and can be found from August to November. The iconic mushroom we see is actually the fruiting body of the fungus whose filaments, hyphae, spread below ground exchanging nutrients with the roots of the trees. The mushroom needs just the right conditions to grow and release spores to reproduce.

This mushroom was actually used as an insecticide, hence the common name Fly Agaric - it contains a substance called ibotenic acid, which both attracts and kills flies.

Despite being highly toxic, it was consumed in ceremonial rituals in Siberian Europe and Asia. It is said that shamans would dress in red coats trimmed with white fur to collect Fly Agarics before returning to the village and entering the yurt via the smoke hole in the roof. So fascinatingly intertwined with the origins of Christmas, I love these ancient legends, which again indicate how closely our ancestors lived to nature.

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Further Reading:

https://www.fs.usda.gov/wildflowers/ethnobotany/Mind_and_Spirit/flyagaric.shtml

https://www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/trees-woods-and-wildlife/fungi-and-lichens/fly-agaric/

https://www.shroomer.com/amanita-muscaria/

Twenty something years later, I was more than overdue a rematch. This year, our annual classic car holiday took me back to the Isle of Wight, where the squirrels eluded me, all those years ago. This time, fully aware of my ability to hyper focus for hours when it comes to photography, we dedicated a whole day to finding some squirrels. The weather was well and truly against us, torrential rain and fifty mile an hour winds, conducive for neither photography nor cruising a 1980 MG Midget around the island, so chances were slim. One morning however, dawned brighter and just a little breezy, but full of opportunity.

Having done my research I had a list of potential locations in mind - native Red Squirrels inhabit most of the island, but certain places seem better for watching them. Parkhurst Forest, where the ‘ferry missing’ incident occurred all that time ago, Alverstone Mead, and Borthwood Copse are all mentioned online as good spots. First port of call for us however was Bouldnor Forest, not far from where we were staying. Reportedly the most studied squirrels on the island, and with magnificent scenic views from the coastal path. It was a lovely walk, and the views were indeed great, but after quietly pacing the trail staring up hopefully into the empty trees, I had to call it. We found some nibbled pine cones, but not a glimpse of tuft or tail was to be seen. Time was getting on now, squirrels are most active at the beginning and end of the day. Pushing the gnawing disappointment aside, we moved on to the next location. Not on my original list, but from the visitors book in our accommodation, where someone had written, ‘we saw loads of squirrels here!’ Fingers crossed.

This was the ‘wildcard’ location for me, a bit of a risk, but there would still be just enough time left in the day to visit another site, should it be a failure. I’m sure locals will smile and nod knowingly, when I mention this place. Quarr Abbey, a monastery home to a group of Benedictine monks, with heritage and history in abundance. Open to the public with visitors centre, farm shop, cafe and fantastic art gallery. Also open is a woodland trail and wildlife hide.

Seconds after pulling into the car park, a huge coach full of people arrived. You can imagine my disappointment, my heart just sank. Normally the amount of wildlife you see is inversely proportional to the number of humans around. Feebly attempting to stay positive, we decided to pause for a moment for coffee and cake, (we were on holiday after all), check out the woodland and then move to the next spot.

Well we never made it to the next location. Entering the woodland, still lush and steamy from the previous days downpour, soft loamy ground underfoot and the very first autumn leaves beginning to fall. We quickly found the wooden hide. I hesitated, there were missing planks and at first glance it looked like it was not being maintained, but the twitter of small birds was all around, and they were bravely perching on the hide itself to pick up the various offerings of seed that had been left out. Something russet moved, on the far side of the hide ledge, there! A squirrel! He turned and gave us a slightly guilty look, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t, then he skipped quickly away with the nut he’d retrieved.

I set up a short distance from the hide and soon he was back, and what a delight to watch. The squirrels on the Isle of Wight are thought to be a remnant population of the original native squirrels once found throughout the country, as there have been no reintroductions here. Undeniably cute and charming I could have just watched for hours. Many people came and went, and while normally I prefer my experiences with wildlife to be a solitary pursuit, it was actually wonderful to see adults and children alike entranced and delighted by these charismatic creatures.

After watching for a time, I noticed the squirrels using a fallen log as a highway into the woodland, so I set up there and waited. A flash of red whizzed past, oops missed, my finger didn’t even make it to the shutter, they are so quick! This is why hours and hours are needed for wildlife photography! After a little patience I managed to capture some images.

One little chap even came over to have a really close look at me.

After what seemed like minutes for me, but was apparently several hours later I was found, tucked up against a tree in a sea of ivy, eye to the viewfinder, and it was suggested that a (very) late lunch might be in order. Of course I hung it out for half an hour more, before dragging myself away from my new furry friends. They didn’t care of course and continued bewitching the other human visitors with their agility and general adorableness.

Suffice to say I was absolutely chuffed to bits to both watch and photograph these beauties, I’ve been trying to catch up with Red Squirrels for a long time. I could easily have spent the entire holiday camped out at the abbey with my camera, but I did manage a bit of sightseeing too!

More info:

Wight Squirrel Project: https://www.wightsquirrels.co.uk/index.html

Quarr Abbey: https://quarrabbey.org

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

I imagine time passes differently for you. My little red car flashes by so quickly maybe you don’t notice me. Or maybe you do, maybe you notice the one that slows a fraction, my concerned human eyes peering up at you out of the strange metal and glass box. If I was free from this cage could I sit amongst your branches as the birds do, lean in and listen to you breathe.

A month later and four crows perch solemnly on your bones. Still, a scattering of leaves cling to your lower western flank, you may be ailing, but you quietly keep surviving. Resilience, hope, and trust that the future holds something better. Lessons for us all.

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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First I came across these tiny Brown Argus butterflies in a local meadow, they really are so pretty. About the size of your thumbnail, and so beautifully patterned that their name doesn’t really do them justice.

They flick through the long grass stems with a silvery glint, but when perched are tricky to spot. They favour grassland habitats, and are widespread in southern and central England. We often focus on the more visible adult form, but the caterpillars are of course an important life stage. They need native rock-rose and cranesbills to feed on. If you’re planning a butterfly garden, it’s important to think about food plants for the caterpillars as well as nectar rich flowers for the butterflies.

In late evening the butterflies settled down to roost, resting on the grass tops and wafting gently in the breeze like tiny little flags. Descending into their macro world I wait for stillness, watching the ants roaming and a ladybird pirouette as it decides which route through the grassy forest to take. Up close the wide dark eyes fringed with pastel lashes, and velvet wings of these butterflies makes them undeniably cute.

From little to large, and a new species to me, the Silver-washed Fritillary. What a stunning creature, big and bold and fast flying, a real contrast to the dainty wee Brown Argus!

They power along the ride, soaring down to nectar on the purple thistle flowers. These large butterflies are found in broadleaved woodland, their caterpillars feeding on dog-violet on the shady woodland floor.

Their rich russet colouring seems to glow in the dim light of the woodland, but with wings folded you can see a splash of silver and green on their underside.

Also this month I’ve been playing with art and creativity, I’ve always loved making and it has become a bit of a stress reliever for me. I really wanted some natural art for the house, and after a lot of research and searching, I decided to make my own. I really love the elegance of ferns and wanted to capture that on paper. First I tried drawing, but soon got frustrated at all the fiddly bits! So I tried printing, a real fern frond from the garden, carefully inked and pressed onto natural Lokta paper, to leave a fascinating impression which captures the texture and form of each fern. It comes out slightly differently every time, so I just carried on making them. Then I raided Mum’s garden for more fronds (thanks Mum!) and made some more!

In the end I made so many that I have popped the extras into my old Etsy Shop, so if you’d like a piece of unique art for your home, please do take a look. I’ll probably make some more in the future as it’s so much fun (and a great excuse to get more ferns for the garden!)

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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Tip and spill the air from her wings, sink lower, act casual, she’s distant and they do not suspect. Lower still, hold the treeline, disappear from view. Ready. Set. She makes her move, skimming low over the reed tufts. Approaching at a stealthy angle to buy her more time.

Wings pumping, she picks up speed, faster, blurring, flat out she cuts through the air above, ducks panic and scatter splash but do not fly, lord Lapwing, the guardian, flies bravely up to challenge her. Brakes on, tail spread, she rises up to avoid him, turning distracted, opportunity missed. She risks a circuit above the water, still looking for prey, as the Lapwing dives screaming at her. She dodges. His round wings thrum loud as he curves angrily past, their flight paths twist around each other in a dance, like the matador and the cape. Wings flashing black and white, the Lapwing shrieks again, flying vertically up in a show of athleticism, swearing noisily at the predator who has invaded his space. She relents, dips away, keeping one eye on the furious little wader.

She’ll try again. She has to. Her children need to feed.

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Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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They say, to become a ‘local’ in Norfolk, you need to live here for 60 years first. Well, I’m definitely not there yet, but I have lived in the East of the UK all my life. So, a journey west always feels like a big adventure. Leaving the flatlands and heading into the sunset, after miles of boring grey motorway, the landscape begins to change. A curving hill here, a sloping valley there, the road now winding and twisting. Hedges full of Foxgloves, verges with actual rocks on them! Ascending on a narrowing track, shaded by oaks, glimpses of a vertiginous drop below. Wales. I feel drawn to this place, an ancestral pull perhaps, as one side of my distant family came from here. Or perhaps it’s just the contrast, the novelty. The East Anglian sky, famously huge, stretches vastly above the open landscape, the wide freedom of a 360-degree view. Wales, however, nestles between mountains, cupping the verdant valley below as gently as a human hand holding a nestling. Hills rise steep to cliffs, birds floating so high alongside that staring upwards makes me dizzy. Every turn in the road, over every hillside, is a brand new view, a new composition, framed by bare rock or bracken.

We stayed in a treehouse, truly as delightful as it sounds. Looking out into deciduous woodland, with a little rocky stream burbling merrily below. The neighbours were about as cute as neighbours can be.

The quirky off grid cabin had no Wi-fi, and no TV and it was the most wonderful feeling, to fully disconnect from the digital world. I left my phone on ‘airplane’ mode to save battery power, and the constant background noise faded. Like a noise you can only hear once it’s turned off. I was suddenly awake, present in the real world of trees swaying, lambs bleating, and life becoming mindful again. Lighting the stove to brew tea was an event, lighting the wood burner for warmth was a connection to realness, to self-care, to existence. Stirring the pot for dinner, whilst flames flicker and birds sing, slows time to the pace of now. Even picking up the camera to record it, at times seemed too invasive, so I tried sketching instead.

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We travelled the nearby coastline, first Aberystwyth, in all its Victorian splendour, the wide seafront and soaring gulls. A Herring gull swooped past, banking against the breeze, left wing quivering from holding the fast steep curve, at the limits of his feathery aerodynamics, at eye level, before pulling up above us, realising no treats were on offer perhaps, I couldn’t resist a ‘hi Jonathan’ as he sailed away. Further up the coast, the town of Borth, resulted in both a lovely lunch and discovering this amazing cottage, painted with the Hokusai wave.

With the lifeguard station recording a 15^oC for air temperature, and 13^oC for sea temperature, a quick dip was in order. Further to the north, a quiet beach, cobbled at the top and sandy below, the waves foaming up the shallow shore. At first, too cold, it’s been a while! Gradually I acclimatised and before long was splashing about in the shallows like a nervous seal. The water was clear and each wave brought a champagne froth of white bubbles, sparkling in the sun, powerful and playful, washing my stresses away. The glimpse of a jellyfish, ultramarine blue in the middle, had us slowly retreat back to the shore, wading slowly through the sun warmed wavelets. Basking on the hot pebbles like a lizard, before the necessary difficulty of changing out of a damp swimsuit into warm dry clothes began. Strugglingly under a towel flapping in the wind trying to preserve some decency, wondering why this somehow used to seem easier. Glancing up I realised the entire beach was empty, the fishermen and walkers gone. Modesty let go of for a brief moment, along with the towel, and it was much easier to whisk my jeans back on!

Then, of course, there was the wildlife. I hadn’t really intended to do anything more than enjoy a peaceful holiday, however the wildlife of Wales proved irresistible, and provided a couple of firsts for me. The temperate rainforest habitats found only in the west mean an entirely different cast of characters compared with home. The first new bird for me, found along the drive to our accomodation had me squeal with excitement. The Common Redstart, a handsome little bird, similar in size to the Robin, with rich russet plumage, Welsh slate grey on the back, silver forehead and a ninja style black mask. They quiver their handsome red tails as they hop after insects. Although at first glance they seem similar to Robins, they are actually a member of the flycatcher family and migrate here for the summer, spending the winter in central Africa. They are oak woodland specialists, although this lovely chap was happy to pose outside the Gilfach Nature Reserve visitor centre.

The other first for me was the beautiful Pied Flycatcher. Velvet black and shining white, like a spot of dappled light flitting between the trees. Another summer visitor to the woodlands of the west. As the name suggests, they are insectivorous, catching prey by sitting on a perch and darting after nearby insects.

Much walking was done, including a wander up to ‘Bird Rock’ home to the only inland nesting colony of Cormorants. Carrying the big lens I was soon flagging, the ground rising up to meet each heavy foot step, but worth it for the views. On the descent, actually more precarious than going up, I noticed a flash of red on a nearby gate - another Redstart! I tucked myself against the stone wall and watched as the Redstart flitted around a line of oaks bounding the sheep fields. Swallows swooped past, low to the hill then high again as the ground curved away beneath them. Not to anthropomorphise, but it looked for all the world like great fun. Another glimpse of a little black and white bird - Pied Flycatcher, using a distant barbed wire fence as perch, waiting for insects to buzz past. Over the nearby rise a lamb appeared, summited the mound with a head toss and leapt into the air. His sibling followed and they began a gentle play fight, bounding around and shoving each other affectionately.

I was hooked of course, and wanted nothing more than to stay and keep photographing, but far too soon it was time to head back. I can’t wait to see all these little gems again, I hope another trip won’t be too far away.

I’ll leave you with a few more of my holiday snaps, I hope you’ve enjoyed this slightly longer than normal newsletter, let me know in the comments.

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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Propelled by a deadline, I was able to get out and about with my camera much more than the previous year, although fitting it all in around the day job was sometimes tricky. I had planned on achieving my goal by the end of 2024, however I was way off target by then, and wrote one of my first Substacks about it. Instead of beating myself up, I took the more compassionate approach and gave myself an extension, until my 41st birthday, today!

So, did I make it?

YES! That’s 40 images, of 40 different species, the majority of which are from Norfolk and Suffolk.

At the moment I’m feeling more a sense of relief than achievement, no doubt my long suffering partner is too, although I always bought lunch at every one of my ‘wild goose chases’, but I couldn’t have done it without his support and encouragement.

Curiously I was thinking that by the end of the project I would have discovered my ‘style’ but when I look at the images all together like this, the only theme I see is the colourfulness. Certainly not a carefully curated, Insta ready, Lightroom preset coated set, just moments I saw, as I saw them. What do you see?

For those who like a list, (me too) here are the 40 species I photographed:

1. Wigeon

2. Teal

3. Long-tailed tit

4. Fulmar

5. Adder

6. Roe deer

7. Bluebell

8. Great tit

9. Green winged orchid

10. Sedge warbler

11. Fen raft spider

12. Common lizard

13. Banded demoiselle

14. Buff-tailed bumblebee

15. Kittiwake

16. Linnet

17. Sanderling

18. European wall lizard

19. Fallow deer

20. Comma butterfly

21. Red Kite

22. Amethyst deceiver

23. Purple Sandpiper

24. Pochard

25. Whooper Swan

26. Oystercatcher

27. Turnstone

28. Redshank

29. Snow Bunting

30. Honeybee

31. Brown Hare

32. Red-legged Partridge

33. Kingfisher

34. Grey Heron

35. Swallow

36. Wood Anemone

37. Avocet

38. Blackbird

39. Marsh Harrier

40. Swallowtail butterfly

Phew! Those last few were incredibly difficult, trying to find and photograph, and photograph well. You never know what nature has in store, and relinquishing control to the vagaries of the weather, the light, the behaviour of the wild things, was a painful and difficult lesson. Frustration, stress, and a mild sense of panic at my own deadline, especially if a shot or opportunity was missed was regularly experienced, often jeopardising my creativity. Putting the effort and hours in, but ultimately, going with the flow, and working with the conditions, meant eventually it all came together.

I had some amazing and surprising encounters with wildlife, and I have many stories to tell. For instance, after several attempts to see and photograph my final species, the spectacular Swallowtail butterfly, found only in the Norfolk Broads, I revisited one of my favourite reserves - RSPB Strumpshaw Fen. After a walk around and some unsuccessful time in the hide, hoping for closer Marsh Harriers, we stopped off at a picnic table for a break. As I got up to go and get a coffee, I turned and spotted this beautiful insect feeding in the little garden outside the main reception. Forgetting the coffee I sat back down and was able to photograph this incredibly rare species. What a stunning way to finish my project!

Apart from feeling rather relieved, I have a very strong feeling that I don’t want to stop. Maybe doing this project has instilled a habit in me, or maybe I realise just how much I love photography and wildlife. It’s an essential part of my life. I’m not going to start another deadlined project any time soon (someone remind me not to try and photograph 50 species when I turn 50!), but I am intent on keeping the momentum going and heading out into nature with my camera whenever I can.

I’m looking forward to sharing my stories with you here, so please do subscribe if you would like to read more.

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Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

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They are chasing dinner, but I’m chasing the light. Rounded fluffs of cloud graze the sky in a huge flock, moving steadily, alternately shading the ground below, and then letting the sun stream through, a patchwork of illumination, in continuous motion. Mesmerising. Perched high in the hide, the brisk wind batters the windows, searching for gaps in the structure to rush in and chill my fingers, whilst outside the haze of heat rising from the fen threatens to ruin the background of my images, a shimmering dancing bokeh. Over the reeds a Marsh Harrier plays with the breeze, stall turn with feathertips spread, soar high, dive low. The largest of the harriers in the UK, with a long tail, slow and graceful in flight with wings held in a perfect dihedral, tippy and buoyant in the air, pouncing into the reeds after prey. The female is a beautiful chocolate brown with cream markings on her head and forewings, the males are patterned chocolate and grey, quite striking with bright yellow eyes and legs. Here in East Anglia we perhaps take them a little for granted, often they can be seen over broad, marsh and fen, but in reality they are still quite rare. The population crashed when the fens and wetlands were drained for agriculture, and Victorian egg collecting and habitat destruction led to them becoming extinct in England. A few continental birds tried, but due to pesticides, no birds bred in the UK by 1961. After the pesticides were banned, numbers have slowly risen and they grace the big skies here once again. The harrier drifts away to the horizon as a cloud drops the final curtain, shading the reedbed, the performance over, well worth the wait.

In the shelter of the woodland, fragrance drifts through the coppiced hazel. A soft blue sea carpets the earth, gently nodding flowers all frills and fuss. It’s Bluebell season. Research suggests that experiencing a feeling of awe can slow our perception of time, calm our nervous system, and even boost our immune system. Perhaps that’s why people are drawn to this glorious sight in Spring. I’m not the only one here, there are couples, families, dog walkers. We all smile and nod as we pass in shared wonder. ‘Beautiful isn’t it’, we comment. I feel a sense of hope too, in a world gone mad, that people really do care about the natural world.

There’s something else here too. Delicate white blooms like little stars, shining from the leaf litter. The Wood Anemone. Whilst Bluebells have plenty of deep and dark folklore attached to them - they were believed to be used in witches potions and it was said that if you hear the Bluebells ringing you would be visited by a malicious fairy and would die! The Wood Anemone has it’s own array of myth and lore associated with it. Also known as the windflower and a favourite of faeries, who hide in the closed flowers when it rains, and overnight. The Ancient Greeks and Romans all had their own legends too, like the flowers springing up where Aphrodite’s tears fell over the death of her lover Adonis. I love all the folklore surrounding our wildlife, a sure sign of our species past deep connection to nature. Slowing spreading by rhizomes Wood Anemones are an indicator of ancient woodland, additionally awe inspiring, they may only spread 6 feet in 100 years!

In Spring, the flow of life seems to become visible, with new birds arriving and plants everywhere growing. It all comes flooding past me, like I am a rock in the stream. My creativity flows. Words bubble up to describe it all but gush through too quickly for me to pin them to the page. Pouring through my fingers, unable to fully grasp, I grab highlights and remember snatches. I wonder where it comes from, and searching internally I think, from my lungs. The thin permeable membrane between the nature outside and my spirit within. Each breath a conversation with trees. If I write from my heart I write of deep aching love for ancient oaks, rooted, clutching the earth, leaves held aloft to the sky, home to diversity of life and time itself, recorded and mapped in every ring of cells.

But the ebb will come, the tap runs dry, not life, that just carries on, but my creativity. High and dry upon the rock, stalled. I can’t let go and dive in, frozen by worry, or distraction, or maybe even tiredness. Just like the seasons roll around, everything ebbs and flows. If I can just let go and float for a moment, just wait, it will start to flow again. It’s all about trusting the process, and being ready and open to the possibilities. So I’ll rest for a moment in the mayglow, breathe, and wait, and see what happens next.

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.

Sources:

Hawk and Owl Trust - Marsh Harrier

Wood Anemone Faery Flower

Wood Anemone -Woodlands.co.uk

Windflower - tears of Aphrodite

Plantlife

The birds are singing again, beautiful Blackbird melodies reach gently through my bedroom window and lift me from sleep. A Wren’s power ballad is the finale before I must get up. At the start of the month, a Yellowhammer was singing close by, unusual for my village location.

Browns and greys are gradually transformed by a furze of bright green, noticeably more quickly in sunny sheltered spots. The summer birds are already arriving, the sweet bouncing call of the Chiffchaff, and a stream of silvery Blackcap notes tumble from the growing vegetation. From my kitchen window I can see a trio of newly dressed trees. To the left, my neighbours Hawthorn that we released from a strangle of Virginia creeper a couple of years ago and is now flourishing, leaves a bright green gold in the sun. In the centre of the view, a weeping Silver Birch, a deeper shade, each leaf bronzed at sunrise. Behind and to the right, is the Willow, a cool viridian, the tree I have a love hate relationship with. An old overgrown pollard, creaking and squealing with crowded and crossed branches when I first arrived. Two winters ago we re-pollarded it, satisfyingly hard work in the cold weather, resulting in a stack of firewood that once fully dried burnt bright and hot in the woodburner, and…. a visit to A&E. As dusk fell, and the wood was sorted and stacked, a breeze swept up a sharp crumb of sawdust directly into my eye, I still wince at the memory of the intense pain, and panic, as the tiny piece of wood scratched and scored at the softest of tissues that it should never have been in contact with. Eventually it had to be carefully removed at A&E, and I think I may have declared undying appreciation to the surprised young doctor who succeeded in extracting the shard. The relief! And luckily no lasting damage done. So the thought of having to trim this beast of a beautiful tree again fills me with cold dread, every time I look at it!

I’ve been visiting the Hares every week. I’ve seen up to 5 in this field, they chase and groom and sometimes roll in the sun. Sometimes they come over for a look at me too.

The supporting cast provides some entertainment when the Hares are dozing. The Red-legged Partridges have been very active, getting paired up and establishing their territories. Although introduced in the 1700’s for shooting, and released in their millions each year, they do breed in the wild too. This chap walked right up the footpath towards me, and then right past. It just goes to show that sitting still can give more opportunities to watch wildlife than trying to sneak up on things!

I’m really enjoying this quiet little spot, even on days when the Hares are distant, there’s so much wildlife around that I never leave disappointed. Whether it’s the bachelor group of Pheasants squaring up to each other, or a beautiful Blackcap singing from the hedgerow above me, there’s always something happening. This lovely Roe deer buck casually wandered across in front of me the other morning. He’s looking at bit scruffy at the moment, losing his thick winter coat and shedding the velvet from his newly grown antlers. Soon he’ll be sporting his russet summer pelage and I have everything crossed that I’ll see him again.

Exhibition News!

I am very excited to announce that I will be exhibiting my work in Santiago’s Art Café in Botesdale, Suffolk. It’s actually my first exhibition in many, many years, so I’m really looking forward to it. There’s something about seeing photos printed that is so refreshing in our increasingly digital world, and that was one of the catalysts for me, I wanted to make something real. It’s all so easy online to quickly flick through so much imagery that it starts to lose all meaning, whereas a physical print invites you to slow down and study it, at the size it’s meant to be viewed at, instead of on a teeny tiny phone screen!

Also, the coffee is fantastic, and the setting is lovely, so if you get a chance please do pop in and take a look. The exhibition will run from May 6th until the end of July, at Santiago’s Art Café, Chilvers, Market Place, Botesdale, Suffolk IP22 1BT.

As well as the home patch I’ve also been venturing further afield this month, in search of subjects for my ongoing ‘40 Species’ project. RSPB Lakenheath Fen is a gem of a reserve, transformed from carrot fields from 1995 and now home to Bittern, Cranes, Otters, Kingfishers, and so much more. It just goes to prove that if you restore the habitat the wildlife returns. Despite it being a rather grey day, we had excellent views of a Kingfisher, hunting for food and perching right in front of the hide. Kingfishers are such vibrant little birds and always magic to see.

I’ll leave it there for this month, the end of my project is fast approaching and at the time of writing I still have 5 species left to find and photograph - can I do it? We’ll all have to wait and find out, me included!

Thanks so much for reading, please do like, share and leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you!

Until next time,

Dawn.