FRIDAY NOVEMBER 1
MISTY mornings and damp evenings often set the tone for November, so it was perhaps unsurprising that after all the hi-jinks of Halloween, many local photographers found haunting and atmospheric shots felt the most appropriate way to welcome in the new month.
Our calendar entry for November includes more than three dozen shots across the five counties which comprise our extraordinary Chilterns landscape, capturing the wildlife, flora and sunsets that help to make it such a magical time of year.
In the run up to Halloween, a field of cobwebs near Princes Risborough caught the eye of Anne Rixon, transformed into a delicate sea of gold.
But a glorious picture which seemed to capture the magic of All Saints’ Day was Sue Craigs Erwin’s misty woodland scene which got widespread exposure through the Chesham Wildlife group and the Oxford Mail and Watford Observer camera clubs.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 2
FOR Graham Parkinson, there’s nothing to beat the glorious autumnal colours of our fabulous fungi, and his macro lens captured an array of stunning shapes and textures during a trip to Davenport Wood at Marlow.
It’s hard to pick a favourite from the selection, but few fungi are more startling than the bright yellow coral-like branches of the stagshorn.
The beautiful inedible fungus jumps out of the leaf litter, looking like a freshly set fire emerging from conifer stumps or roots, and is also known in the States as jelly antler fungus.
The enduring fascination of fungi lies in their enormous variety, with thousands of different species offering an unlimited array of shapes and colours to be detected among the foliage.
Not that the uninitiated will want to get too close, perhaps: some of them are deadly and boast spine-tingling names like the destroying angel, funeral bell and death cap.
SUNDAY NOVEMBER 3
FOR some, getting out and about in nature is all about the wildlife, even if so many of our native creatures are quite difficult to spot.
The undergrowth may be barer at this time of year, but that doesn’t always help, and the abundant leaf litter provides plenty of hiding places on the ground.
But larger mammals stand out against the bracken and even familiar farmyard friends can have their own beauty in this autumnal landscape, the sheep looking well insulated against the chillier of the season’s winds.
And when the skies oblige, there’s nothing like an early morning glow to lend a mystical feel to the most comfortable of silhouettes.
MONDAY NOVEMBER 4
IT’S the tail end of the deer rutting season, when stags are fighting for territory, and that can mean some pretty dramatic displays by competing males pumped full of testosterone.
The rut begins in September and lasts until around early November, during which time stags engage in a series of behaviours aimed at showing off to the hinds and establishing their dominance.
If they’re not roaring fiercely or stamping the hround, they could end up literally locking antlers to fight for the right to mate with all the hinds in a “harem”.
Fights are ferocious and decisive and the winner takes all, but although the rut can be an amazing natural spectacle to witness, visitors to local deer parks are warned not to get too close to the competing stags.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 5
AT one point in The Essex Serpent, Sarah Perry writes: “A vixen drew near and turned her gaslight eyes upon him, then drew back and sat surveying him a while.”
“Gaslight eyes” is a gloriously poetic phrase to capture the extraordinary stare of a curious fox and that remarkable bright amber glow we associate with the mammals.
Perhaps it also has echoes of the “eyeshine” we associated with noctural creatures whose glowing eyes may be the first thing we see reflected in a torch or headlight at night.
The tapetum lucidum is a layer of tissue immediately behind the retina which reflects visible light back through the retina, increasing the light available to the photoreceptors.
When light shines into the eye of an animal having this “bright tapestry”, the pupil or the eye, appears to glow, emitting a range of colours from white and yellow to red, blue, pink and green.
This unique adaptation allows for excellent night vision for nocturnal predators.
According to the Walking Mountains Science Center in America, generally mountain lions and bears have eyeshine in the yellow-to-red range. Deer and elk eyeshine is white, but moose eyeshine tends to be red. Rabbits and pikas have red eyeshine. Blue eyeshine is seen in other mammals, including horses. Foxes and domestic cats and dogs usually have green eyeshine, but cat eyeshine can also be orange to red.
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 6
LONDON poet and journalist Thomas Hood was no fan of November, it seems.
Back in 1844 at the conclusion of his poem No! he penned the words:
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member—
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,—
November!
But perhaps we need to remember that Hood was more familiar with the all-encompassing London smog of the mid-19th century rather than the clear air of the Chilterns: and indeed he was to die there from dropsy the following year.
So to combat his vision of a landscape with “No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue”, we’re published a trio of November views which rather give the lie to the idea of the month being one of smog and gloom!
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 7
IF Thomas Hood preferred to conjure up a somewhat bleak portrait of November, one Georgian poet had a distinctly more upbeat vision of the natural world.
Elizabeth Craven’s fascinating life was full of travel, love-affairs and scandals. Born into the upper class, she was pushed into marriage at 16 to Lord Craven and became a celebrated society hostess and beauty, as well as mother to seven children.
She went on to write a variety of poems, stories and plays, moving from Berkshire to France following separation from her husband in 1780 and living in seclusion there before travelling extensively all over Europe.
Later she went to live in Germany as the companion and eventually second wife of the Margrave of Ansbach before returning to England and mixing with the more rakish of the Regency set.
In her old age, she moved to Naples where she passed her time sailing, gardening and writing her memoirs, though a number of enigmatic gateposts at Hamstead Marshall near Newbury in Berkshire still stand as a reminder of the Craven family’s estates in the area.
But what’s all this got to do with the Chilterns countryside, you ask? Perhaps because we know Elizabeth Craven best for her most famous poem, one which remains popular at funerals today.
It’s a song of gratitude which begins:
I thank thee God, that I have lived
In this great world and known its many joys:
The songs of birds, the strong sweet scent of hay,
And cooling breezes in the secret dusk;
The flaming sunsets at the close of day,
Hills and the lovely, heather-covered moors;
Music at night, and moonlight on the sea,
The beat of waves upon the rocky shore
And wild white spray, flung high in ecstasy;
The faithful eyes of dogs, and treasured books,
The love of Kin and fellowship of friends
And all that makes life dear and beautiful.
Even on the bleakest of November days, it’s easy for us to relate to the “many joys” of which she writes and perhaps add our own favourites to her list of things that make life “dear and beautiful”.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 8
MIST and fog get a bad press in literature, and we have dozens of words capturing the dank, dreary and drizzly associations of such weather.
Around the country we get mizzle and mirk, smirr, fret and haar: and none of them sound particularly healthy.
In many novels, not least Susan Hill’s The Woman In Black, fog and mist roll in to warn us of impending doom. Her fog creeps in and out of alleyways and passages, “seething through cracks and crannies like sour breath”, a yellow, filthy, evil-smelling fog, menacing and sinister, disguising the familiar world and confusing the people in it.
For her, it’s as if people were “having their eyes covered and being turned about, in a game of Blind Man’s Buff”, whereas Dickens in Bleak House envisions people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds.
But if authors like Dickens have helped us to associate such images with the smog of Victorian London or the bleak expanses of the Kent coast or Essex marshes, other writers paint a gentler and more kindly picture of such weather conditions.
In his 1948 poem The Smoky Smirr o Rain, George Campbell Hay writes evocatively:
The hills aroond war silent wi the mist alang the braes.
The woods war derk an’ quiet wi dewy, glintin’ sprays.
The thrushes didna raise for me, as I gaed by alane,
but a wee, wae cheep at passin’ in the smoky smirr o rain.
Unlike the fog’s sinister associations in The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, Hay’s morning mist drifts gentle down, cool and kind and whispering, till land and sea disappear and all becomes “still an’ saft an’ silent in the smoky smirr o rain”.
Much as we love the delicious shiver of darker associations and images, of Gothic novels where the grey pall recalls the wild moors of Wuthering Heights or the chilling howl of the Hound of the Baskervilles, we can relate to Hay’s softly silent world too.
When the edges of the landscape close in on us in a fine grey blur, sounds are muted and the air is damp, it may be that we feel blissfully calm and at peace with our silent surroundings, rather than fearing an approaching monster in the mist….
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 9
SOMETIMES a sneaky snapshot of a cheeky squirrel is enough to brighten the greyest of days.
This ubiquitous woodland mammal may not be universally loved, but their incredible agility and cheerful demeanour often endear them to photographers struggling to capture more fast-moving, elusive or nocturnal wildlife, like weasels and stoats, bats and owls.
November’s glorious autumnal colours provide a spectacular backdrop on a sunny day, of course, but even some of our largest wild animals can blend into the background quite convincingly, and are alert to the sound of approaching footsteps.
Wildlife photographers rely on a subtle combination of patience, skill and luck to produce their most spectacular shots, but for Phil Laybourne, one particular animal has been at the top of his bucket list for some time: the European polecat (Mustela putorius), part of the weasel family.
Detested by poachers and persecuted to the brink of extinction, polecats are roughly the size of their domesticated cousins, ferrets, but are nowadays a protected species in the UK under the Wildlife and Countryside Act 1981 and have been making something of a comeback in recent years.
Part of the mustelidae family which includes species such the stoat, weasel, pine marten, otter and badger, as Phil’s startling portrait shows, polecats have a distinct bandit-like appearance, with white stripes across their dark faces.
They boast a two-tone coat with dark brown guard hairs covering a buff-coloured underfur, with a short, dark tail and rounded ears. Living in lowland wooded habitats, marshes and along riverbanks, they prey particularly on rabbits and have one litter a year in early summer.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 10
NOVEMBER is a month of remembrance, of poppies and poppy-strewn memorials, of old soldiers and wreath-laying ceremonies, of sombre thoughts of past battles and lost loved ones.
And in the wake of all the noise and light of bonfire night celebrations, Remembrance Sunday events across the world recall Armistice Day 1918, the end of hostilities in World War I.
In countless brief, non-religious commemorations, wreaths are laid, the Last Post sounded and two minutes’ silence observed.
At the heart of these Royal British Legion events lies the reciting of the Exhortation, the best-known stanza of a poem written by British poet Laurence Binyon and published in The Times in 1914:
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.
Down on the North Cornish coast a couple of plaques commemorate the spot near Pentire Point, north of Polzeath, where Binyon composed the poem while sitting on the cliff-top looking out to sea a few weeks after the first British casualties of the war, at Mons.
In 1945 the second Sunday of November was adopted as a day of remembrance for both World Wars.
Over time, despite concerns at the occasion being hijacked by politicians and others to justify or promote military engagement, Binyon’s words have been claimed as a tribute to all casualties of war, regardless of state, with the events, wreaths and memorials offering an opportunity for silent personal reflection about all that is lost in times of war.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 11
AFTER all the noise and light of bonfire night and diwali celebrations, as the plaintive Armistice Day notes of the Last Post die away it’s time to get out into the damp woods and soak up the sights and sounds of nature’s most spectacular fireworks show of the year.
For this fortnight in mid-November our woodlands are at their finest, clothed in a glorious array of yellow, gold and russet hues before the bright colours begin to fade and a spate of windy weather strips the branches bare.
It’s at this time of the year that our beech woods come into their full glory, with the gold and yellow foliage standing out against the wrinkled textures of the bark and littering paths in a riot of wonderful tints.
Mosses, lichens and intriguing fungi begin to disappear among the leaf litter, while youngsters and puppies rustle along the paths and more curious souls perhaps try to spot the difference between the leaves of the oak, hazel, birch or field maple.
Is that a lime or hornbeam, elm, larch or sycamore? Even if leaf fall occurs earlier than usual, as in 2010, 2015 and 2020 when there was a sudden rush of colour at the end of October, some foliage may still last till late November or even December.
Of course when it comes the realisation that autumn colours are gone and the leaves are bare is always a sombre moment. But for now, it’s time to make the most of that glorious fireworks display, when even on a cloudy day the trees themselves seem to be radiating light and dozens of different shades of colour delight the senses.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12
AFTER so many dark, dank, dreary November days, clearer skies and plummeting temperatures can offer a dramatic change of perspective.
And what better way of boosting our spirits than watching the sun come up?
In a world where staring at our mobile phones takes a huge toll on our physical and mental health, escaping into nature to watch the sun rise can be a transformative experience, helping to boost our mood and immune systems, not to mention inspiring us with a feeling of awe and helping us to see the world in a different light.
Sunlight is good for our soul, they say: and perhaps setting the alarm a little earlier could be just the boost we need to help banish those November blues.
WEDNESDAY NOVEMBER 13
WHEN the skies finally clear of mirk and smirr, there’s no sight more cheering than a red kite soaring on the thermals against a deep blue sky.
Beloved by poets, ramblers and dog walkers but detested by gamekeepers and once persecuted to the brink of extinction, today their shrill, distinctive whistle has become synonymous with country life in the Chilterns.
The graceful wings and distinctive forked tail cast a familiar shadow as they turn to catch the wind, several of them at a time wheeling effortlessly above the ridge, russet bodies catching the sun, sharp yellow bills glinting as those eyes scan the fields and hedgerows far below.
The poet David Cooke captures their place in history in the first stanza of Red Kites:
Plague birds, exquisite and focused,
who scavenged Shakespeare’s unspeakable
streets, they have drifted back
from the borderlands of extinction
on tense, splayed wings.
Given that they generally prefer scavenging for carrion, including roadkill, rather than hunting, the persecution seems even more misguided and unnecessary, but many are grateful that they are back in our skies again, soaring and serene, and in such numbers.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 14
NOWHERE does the past feel more vividly present in our daily lives than on the banks of the Thames.
The pattern of the river we know today would have been familiar to settlers thousands of years ago, and generations of invaders and settlers built their castles, forts and palaces along its banks.
Phil Laybourne’s glorious portrait of Cock Marsh by Cookham lies far from the Roman city of Londinium, but this National Trust-owned land is a perfect place for a circular wander through a picturesque and unspoilt landscape of meadows and grassland slopes with panoramic views over the valley.
Here, shrouded in early morning mist, it’s easy to recall how the terraces above the Thames were colonised by nomadic hunter-gatherers of the Old Stone Age tens of thousands of years ago.
Habitation here has continued ever since, evident from Bronze Age tumuli and huge amounts of Roman pottery removed from the foot of Winter Hill in 1906, which is thought to have once been the site of a ferry across the river.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 15
IT MAY lack the scale and sheer spectacle of New England in the Fall, but autumn in the Chilterns lacks none of the vibrancy or splendour of displays “across the pond”.
Here, in countless woodland settings from Burnham Beeches to Penn and on towards the Vale of Oxford and the Cotswolds, or sleepy villages in Hertfordshire and Bedforshire, the annual display brings an extraordinary range of colours to the landscape.
In America, the leaf fall attracts travellers from across the world to the pretty villages and rugged landscapes of Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine and parts of Massachusetts.
There, they call it “leaf peeping”, when the crowds descend to view and photograph the dramatic colour changes in the autumn foliage, or set off on hiking trips to capture the colours at close hand.
In Japan, there’s a similar tradition called momijigari of going to visit scenic areas where the maple leaves have turned red in autumn.
We may not have a specific word for such outings in the Chilterns, but perhaps there should be.
We are blessed to live in an area of outstanding natural beauty which pretty much epitomises quintessential English countryside, the weathered brick and flint of ancient cottages, pubs and farmhouses providing a perfect backdrop for an autumn walk.
But then again, perhaps it’s just as well the crowds haven’t cottoned on to the seasonal beauty of the Chilterns.
In the States, fuelled by Instagram and social media influencers, some areas are inundated with bumper-to-bumper traffic, with hiking routes becoming dangerously overcrowded and locals complaining of inconsiderate tourists littering beauty spots and overunning small communities.
Whisper it quietly, then. When the skies clear, get out and savour the woodsmoke and simple pleasures of dogs and children rustling their way through the fallen leaves. We don’t need crowds to remind us just how beautiful our local landscape is.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 16
EVEN deep in the dark woods, the bare branches and piles of leaves are bathed in silver.
Overhead, the skies are clear, the air is cold and the final supermoon of the year is casting its glow into the furthest recesses of our footpath through the trees.
Our breath hangs warm in the chill evening air and the full Beaver Moon is now high in the sky, the last of four consecutive supermoons to brighten our night skies since August.
Teddy the labrador nuzzles among the leaf litter unaware. A startled muntjac thumps off through the bushes, unimpressed by our intrusion.
The gleam seems surreal, the gold and russet hues of the afternoon a distant memory now that the moon “walks the night in her silver shoon”. This is the world of which Walter de la Mare wrote:
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws and a silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
It’s called the Beaver Moon, probably because beavers are particularly active at this time of year as they prepare for the winter months ahead before sheltering in their lodges, or because this is when Native American fur trappers would set beaver traps before the swamps froze to ensure a supply of warm winter furs.
Supermoons occur when the moon is at its closest point to the Earth, when it appears bigger and brighter than usual, providing a treat for stargazers and photographers alike.
The next supermoon does not occur until October next year, so it could be worth catching it over the next night or two while we can.
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 17
THOUGHT the fungi season was over? Think again.
They may be lurking under leaf litter and hidden from view, but those metabolic marvels are definitely out there, using cocktails of potent enzymes and acids to break down some of the most stubborn substances on the planet.
They come in all shapes and sizes and a startling of array of colours and textures, but it’s only in recent years that we’ve begun to realise quite how remarkable these extraordinary life forms are.
Merlin Sheldrake helped to open our eyes to that world in his book Entangled Life, introducing us to a hugely diverse kingdom of organisms that support and sustain nearly all living systems.
When we think of fungi, we probably think of mushrooms. But mushrooms are only the fruiting bodies of fungi, where spores are produced and dispersed.
Fungi are everywhere around us, but largely hidden from view, undocumented and poorly understood despite, as Sheldrake argues, providing a key to understanding the planet on which we live.
Perhaps it’s time to give those intriguing life forms a second glance, then. They may not look much lurking among the leaf litter, but they have a genuinely intriguing story to tell about life on earth.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 18
ANOTHER day, another wet wander in the woods, another stunning range of fungi to delight the senses.
This time it’s the wood-rotting turkeytail, a bracket fungus which comes in a glorious array of colours and takes its name from its similarity to turkeys’ fan-like tail feathers.
Watching the dogs snuffling among the fallen leaves may make us wonder what wonderful scents they are discovering.
But then our own powers of smell are quite extraordinary too, even though we tend to take it for granted that we can tell the difference between, say, mustard and coal, or different fruits, herbs and flowers.
It’s said we have the capacity to detect a trillion different odours and can split complex mixtures into their constituent chemicals. But animals, plants and fungi do the same, changing their behaviour in response to the scent signals around them.
Truffle fungi use chemicals to communicate to animals their readiness to be eaten, for example, and the huge sums paid by top chefs for ripe truffles ensure that truffle hunting is a business steeped in dark tales of skulduggery.
So valuable are those white truffles of Piedmont or Perigord black truffles that all kinds of crimes have been committed by unscrupulous souls eager to cash in.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 19
THERE are flakes of snow falling and the temperature has plummeted, but there’s a final chance to reflect on the magical properties of those extraordinary organisms under our feet.
The rich autumn colours are still vibrant in the Chilterns, but cold air from the north is sweeping across the country and schools across Scotland, Wales and the north are closing in preparation for the anticiated snowfall.
There’s just time to savour some of those remarkable fungi before they disappear beneath the falling leaves, not to mention any potential snow and slush.
It’s at this time of year that Merlin Sheldrake takes us to the hills around Bologna at the height of the truffle season to find out at first hand about the secret world of those spore-producing organs.
Closer to home, we meet a dog walker deep in the woods using a ball coated in truffle oil to practise scent work with his faithful companion. Truffle hunting may be big business in France and Italy, but across the UK there are training workshops and experience days for those wanting to discover more about the subtle art.
For Sheldrake, part of the fascination of mycorrhizal fungi like truffles is not just the symbiotic relationship between fungus and plant roots, but the way this involves understanding the importance of subtle variations in soil, season and climate: a intellectually stimulating mix of disciplines from agriculture and forestry to microbiology, ecology and climate change.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 20
THE frost is penetrating and we walk under a canopy of branches where yellow leaves fall like rain.
A pair of blackbirds, brazen as ever, rootle among the crispy leaf litter oblivious to the proximity of our huge, curious black labrador.
Back at the kitchen door, a robin cocks his head expectantly. Folklorists recall a variety of superstitions surrounding Britain’s favourite garden bird, used by generations of parents as a warning to children that “Santa’s robin” was keeping a watchful eye over their behaviour in the run-up to Christmas, reporting regularly back to the North Pole.
Tame and friendly, the birds have had a place in our hearts for centuries, prompting one aggrieved magazine writer in the early 18th century to ask why people had “so good an esteem of this bird” given that the robin was “as malicious and envious a bird as any that flies”.
Yet the common belief was that of all wild birds, the robin was not to be harmed. As A E Bray put it in 1838: “Very few children in this town would hurt the redbreast, as it is considered unlucky to do so; this bird being entitled to kindness… above every other.”
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 21
IF plummeting temperatures bring an icy chill to the Chilterns countryside, the cold also lures wildlife into closer contact with their human neighbours.
Clear skies bring out the sun, offering photographers the prospect of capturing better portraits of more elusive garden visitors like nervous muntjac or a hungry red-legged partridge.
Pictured against ice-covered fields or snuffling through the fallen foliage, this is the time to catch a glimpse of an elusive fox or badger hunting for food, an owl swooping low at dusk or hungry birds silhouetted against bare branches.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 22
A GLORIOUSLY clear night sky may have been a delight for stargazers, but bone-chilling temperatures meant many ramblers were content to gather round the fire rather than venture out into the frosty fields to survey the heavens.
The correspondingly icy start meant slippery footpaths and chilly looking wildlife until the weak afternoon sun brought a little warmth and light back into the landscape.
The autumn colours are still evident, but the frosts have taken their toll on the trees and much of the colour is now on the ground, in great drifts of crisp leaves. And with storms forecast, we have perhaps now passed the peak days for “leaf peeping”.
As dusk falls amid the trunks of a soaring conifer plantation we hear the reassuringly rasping “koch koch” calls of a dozen pheasants taking refuge among the trees.
Our evening stroll is punctuated by their brief moments of panic: one male rushes out of the undergrowth in his chestnut tweed suit, white silk scarf and big red cheeks, jinking and twisting down the path like a ridiculously overdressed sprinter trying to avoid a hail of gunfire.
In the trees above, the mumbling and grumbling continues, punctuated by an occasional unearthly crow of alarm and drumming of wings as another victim is flushed and neighbours echo the call of alarm.
We leave them to their peace, roosting in the chilly branches as night falls fast, draining all remaining colour from the woods.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 21
AT DAWN, there are only the most modest signs that Storm Bert is on the way: grey clouds scudding across the sky and some ominous waving of upper branches.
The temperature is milder than it’s been of late, in the Chilterns at least. But from the north come warnings of heavy snow, strong winds and blizzards, with the prospect of flooding and widespread travel disruption.
By mid-afternoon the deluge is well and truly under way and the winds are getting up, with country parks and Burnham Beeches closed because of the dangers of falling branches. It won’t be a great day for pictures, but luckily we have yesterday’s to remind us of just how cold we’ve been. . .
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 24
STORM Bert is still rustling its way through the Chilterns woodlands, but while this windy weekend is stripping much of the natural colour from our trees, there are villages and towns across the region lighting up with Christmas trees and seasonal decorations.
Traditionalists may despair that the switching on of Christmas lights marks the start of a secular spending spree in the run-up to the holiday period, but for Christians Advent, which begins next Sunday, is the start of the liturgical year, a four-week-long period of reflection on the coming of Christ into the world at his birth.
Advent candles symbolise the four themes of hope, peace, love and joy associated with the arrival of Jesus and mark a time of shared meditation and prayer in Protestant, Roman Catholic, Orthodox and other Christian traditions.
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 25
AFTER the ravages of Storm Bert, what a delight to see the sun again and realise that the golden glow of autumn is not a distant memory quite yet.
The leaves of many trees may have been stripped bare, but others have withstood the winds and some species retain their leaves longer than others.
The result is still a wonderful spectrum of colour on a clear day, the russets and golds standing out against the evergreens.
All trees rely on leaves to capture carbon in the form of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere through photosynthesis and scientists are still finding out just why trees have evolved leaves of so many different shapes and structures.
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 26
WHY do conifers have thick needle-shape leaves whereas deciduous trees like maples have thin, flat leaves? Why are some leaves thicker than others?
We don’t know all the answers but it’s partly about capturing carbon as efficiently as possible according to local conditions.
In recent decades, scientists have discovered that leaf longevity is the cornerstone of two distinct strategies for trees: slow return on investment versus fast return.
In harsher environments, where nutrients are scarce and the growing season is short, those thin evergreen needles acquire carbon over the long term and improve nutrient conservation, whereas short-lived leaves favour rapid carbon acquisition
Where resources like sunlight, water, and nutrients are plentiful, deciduous species generally thrive and outcompete evergreens, growing quickly and shedding their leaves once the growing season ends.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 27
CHALK streams are fascinating. A distinctive feature of the Chilterns landscape, they are important habitats for wildlife and support a massive range of species, including some of our most threatened plants and animals such as water vole and brown trout.
Of all the world’s chalk streams, 85% are in Southern and Eastern England, making them one of the world’s rarest habitats, the most diverse of all English rivers and home to a profusion of invertebrates, fish, birds and mammals.
Despite being such rare ecosystems of global significance and having an intriguing history, supporting many thriving industries in the past, they are also under threat from a variety of dangers, from over-extraction to pollution, population growth, the HS2 project and invasive species.
Of the 283 English chalk streams, nine are in the Chilterns, among them the Wye, Chess and Misbourne, flowing south-eastwards down the chalk escarpment towards the River Colne and the Thames.
From ancient times, permanent settlements began to emerge clustered around the chalk streams and industries of all types have thrived over the millennia along the banks, from watercress beds to dozens of mills turning grain into flour and rags into paper.
Waterside locations have also been used for spiritual and religious activity since prehistoric times, from the Bronze Age burnt mounds on the Chess to Roman shrines and temples on the Ver and Hamble Brook.
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 28
FROM wind and rain to chilly nights and frosty mornings, November can be a fickle month. But when the sun finally breaks through the clouds or dawn breaks on a clear day, there’s nothing more uplifting.
Sunlight shapes how we feel about the world, and it bathes our landscape in a range of glorious colours, from the lilacs and oranges of a misty morning ramble to the rosy glow of a mid-afternoon outing.
And if it’s great for our health and wellbeing, even during winter, it’s good for our photography too, giving depth and contrast to our portraits of local wildlife.
Access to natural light during the day helps to improve our sleep, productivity and mood, but it seems we are spending longer and longer indoors: up to 90% of our days, according to one recent study. And as jobs become more automated and computer-focused, we are becoming even more severed from our natural environments.
How energising then to be out on the banks of a chalk stream on a frosty morning watching the mist rise on the water, escaping our screens and embracing the light.
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 29
THERE’S nothing to beat a glorious sunrise when it comes to boosting our spirits.
It may be bitterly cold outside, but when dawn banishes the dark, it brings a promise of hope and anticipation, of new beginnings and fresh adventures.
Back in Homer’s day, dawn was personified by the rosy-fingered goddess Eos (Aurora in Latin), rising from her marriage bed to bring light to us mortals.
But whether this is a moment for quiet reflection, joyful thanksgiving or thoughtful preparation for the day to come, lacing up our boots for that dawn outing can be good for the soul, as well as our health.
It’s a chance to soak up the sights and sounds of nature in a very intimate and personal way, while our neighbours are still asleep and the countryside has not yet woken to the busy thrum of morning traffic or the pressures and time constraints of the school run.
Wrapped up warm against the frost, walking in nature clears the mind of busy thoughts, each step part of a gentle rhythm keeping us in touch with the earth and alert to the sounds and movements of the wildlife braving the elements alongside us.
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30
LIGHT cheers us up in times of darkness. It reminds us that winter won’t last forever, and the sun will someday return.
Across ancient Europe, pagan peoples like the Anglo-Saxons celebrated the solar solstices and equinoxes, while the Celtic peoples marked the four midpoints between them.
Around the world, all the great winter holiday celebrations focus around light, and from the 1800s Christmas lights were added to the mix of candles, lamps, fireworks and roaring yule logs, reminding us of the divine connotations of the holiday season.
For early civilisations, the celebrations paid homage to the “invincible sun” that plays such a central role in our daily lives.
Hanukkah is also known as the festival of lamps and recalls how, following the reclaiming of the Temple of Jerusalem, a tiny cask of oil was made to last eight days — a token that God was still present with His people.
The Hindu festival of light, Diwali, is a time of music, feasting, family time and new beginnings while across the Pond, the seven candles in the kinara represent the seven principles of Kwanzaa, the holiday celebrated by African Americans, and people of the African diaspora, since 1966.
For Christians, the Star of Bethlehem may have inspired the custom of placing lights in Christmas trees, while Advent Sunday marks the start of the liturgical year, with advent candles symbolising the four themes of hope, peace, love and joy associated with the arrival of Jesus.
At a time of war and suffering, light represents the presence of divinity or enlightenment, a reminder of the first Biblical miracle recounted in Genesis, Chapter 1, Verse 3: “And there was light.”
We’re enormously grateful, as always, to the talented photographers who have allowed us to publish their pictures this month. If you would like to contribute any pictures, favourite moments or seasonal suggestions to our future calendar entries, join our Facebook group page or write to editor@thebeyonder.co.uk.
