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4.17 AVERAGE
4.17 AVERAGE
There is something exciting about reading somebodies diary or thoughts for a day, I don't know if Roger was considering publishing them or not but I'm glad they did. From the opening paragraph you can see why he is considered one of the great nature writers:
"1st January
I am lying full length on my belly on frozen snow and frosty tussocks in the railway wood blowing like a dragon into the wigwam of a fire at the core of a tangled blackthorn bonfire. I am clearing the blackthorn suckers that march out from the hedge like the army in Macbeth, the marching wood, threatening to overwhelm the whole wood in their dense, spiny thicket"
That was the first thing he wrote that year, it instantly grabs the readers attention and the book flows wonderfully after that. You get more thoughts, poems, memories from trips, a run-down on work carried out that day and regular updates on his cats. At times he can be very philosophical, asking those questions that have never crossed your mind.
For a while I was sensing a sadness to the writing, he came across as being lonely living so far away from friends and barely mentioning his family. Then once you realise that it is more a oneness with nature the whole books seems to brighten slightly.
Some favourite parts for me were rescuing a young hedgehog that was too weak to hibernate and his rants about so many outsiders moving in and not caring for the surrounding area, just spend their time driving around in their armoured 4WDs. Finally a weird moment, I read a paragraph just before going out and Roger sees a Speckled Wood Butterfly at his window, 45min I then saw my first ever Speckled Wood.
This is a brilliant book and if I ever get asked the question "Pick one writer from history you have dinner with then it would be Roger Deakin"
Blog post is here> https://felcherman.wordpress.com/2018/04/20/notes-from-walnut-tree-farm-by-roger-deakin/
"1st January
I am lying full length on my belly on frozen snow and frosty tussocks in the railway wood blowing like a dragon into the wigwam of a fire at the core of a tangled blackthorn bonfire. I am clearing the blackthorn suckers that march out from the hedge like the army in Macbeth, the marching wood, threatening to overwhelm the whole wood in their dense, spiny thicket"
That was the first thing he wrote that year, it instantly grabs the readers attention and the book flows wonderfully after that. You get more thoughts, poems, memories from trips, a run-down on work carried out that day and regular updates on his cats. At times he can be very philosophical, asking those questions that have never crossed your mind.
For a while I was sensing a sadness to the writing, he came across as being lonely living so far away from friends and barely mentioning his family. Then once you realise that it is more a oneness with nature the whole books seems to brighten slightly.
Some favourite parts for me were rescuing a young hedgehog that was too weak to hibernate and his rants about so many outsiders moving in and not caring for the surrounding area, just spend their time driving around in their armoured 4WDs. Finally a weird moment, I read a paragraph just before going out and Roger sees a Speckled Wood Butterfly at his window, 45min I then saw my first ever Speckled Wood.
This is a brilliant book and if I ever get asked the question "Pick one writer from history you have dinner with then it would be Roger Deakin"
Blog post is here> https://felcherman.wordpress.com/2018/04/20/notes-from-walnut-tree-farm-by-roger-deakin/
I have been reading this book slowly over this year, reading along with Roger Deakin and his seasons, observations and musings. A wonderful collection of thoughts and notes.
A delightful, but slow and sometimes aimless book. It's an odd form - entries from 6 years' worth of journals, compiled by the late author's partner into one composite year. That made for somewhat disjointed reading, in that every time I put the book down it took me a while to get back into its rhythm. On the other hand, that format combined with Deakin's lovely evocations of place and mood builds up a gorgeous and very alive portrait of where he lived and the passage of the seasons.