Look at the NBN Atlas map for the distribution of kingfishers, Alcedo atthis, in Wales, and if you zoom in, it’s obvious that although it’s a widely distributed species, there are currently no records for the hilly terrain around us. The majority of records follow the Teifi, Tywi and Cothi river valleys There are probably two reasons: firstly it’s a sparsely populated area, and probably not many residents, myself included, have bothered to send in sightings to the online database. More importantly, the upland streams flow too fast for much of the year to be easy fishing territory for them. Even though the streams hold suitable sized prey fish for many months of the year.

I’ve only seen kingfishers a handful of times on our stream or ponds, over the 30 years we’ve been here. The most recent sightings (July 31st 2022) were also at this time of the year, when the stream flows weren’t quite as low as currently. The only time I’ve ever managed any sort of an image was in August 2019 when I wrote about the illusion of its memorable blue-green iridescence, and how its feather microstructure creates this trick with reflected light. With young birds having fledged recently, adequate food availability is possibly an issue for kingfishers just now, so they may well be expanding their fiercely guarded feeding territories, which can extend over many km of riverbank.

Perhaps the unusual sighting of two herons flying in and settling, not on the stream bank, but in the lower branches of the fir trees beyond the stream’s course was a sign of another special event, to come. If I’d been alive to it at the time. After a few moments facing each other, one turned and looked the other way, perhaps in disgust, or after feeling intimidated.

As it was, I’d forgotten all about this strange double heron sighting, when, in yet another tedious spell of cutting, raking and bagging up green hay to both clear the lower meadow, and simultaneously inoculate the other long meadows with seeds, I was mentally zoned out.

Switched off by the monotony of repeated physical labour, dragging the first two filled bags, down the previously cut strip that borders the stream margin. I’d taken the camera down to record which section had just been cut, but left it lying on the cleared turf. Leaning into the task – 120 yards to the gate, then roughly the same distance the other side to tip them out. I reckoned in a session like this, after raking and bag filling I dragged perhaps a ton of grass 2 km, and then walked back the same distance with empty bags. Hmmmm.

Repeated goodness how many times this year already, I was musing on just how much tedious effort has gone into making our meadows more floriferous and diverse over the last 12 years. And how, like many other tasks we’ve tackled over the years, most would view this as a curious and pointless form of masochism.

It surely will be the case, that when we leave here, these fields will quickly revert to soft rush or encroaching brambles or blackthorn. Or the fields will even be viewed by others as suitable land for carbon off setting afforestation projects, to salve the consciences of frequent flyers. And be planted up with more serried ranks of conifers, whose fate awaits them at some point in the future whether wrought by machine, or natural forces.

And yet as the video below shows, all this effort has for now created fields of real aesthetic beauty and ecological diversity – at least for a few months of the year.

So the drudgery of the task was literally weighing heavily on my shoulders when, fortunately, I was looking ahead and not down at my feet, as I reached a short section of stream which flowed ahead of my line of sight.

An unremarkable stretch, though the undercut bank is now home to many, still uncut late flowering plants like knapweed, wild angelica and even a few whorled caraway. It was exactly at this moment that a kingfisher sped downstream. In two seconds it was gone, yet I was transfixed, and rooted to the spot for quite some time. The descriptive Welsh name for kingfisher is Glas y dorlan, which translates as “blue of the riverbank”, or “blue of the undercut bank”, or “blue of the hollow river bed”, depending on which option you choose for a translation. Notice there’s no mention of fish in this, just the colour, and location where one might see the bird.

Perhaps with the mental trigger that often seems to get switched on in me after such fleeting experiences, it seemed worthy of a poem, if only I could get inspired to find the words. Some days later, the first draft flowed. Here it is, and only after I’d honed it into the form below, did I think of checking out how other poets have been similarly inspired by this most beautiful, though often transient visitor to our consciousness. A good move, I think, to mitigate thoughts of plagiarism, and avoid stifling one’s own very limited way with words:

 

Kingfisher

Catch the snap. Turquoise-tricked etched memory

In words, which net the glimpse beyond the grave.

Blame the light, dueting dunnocks and dinking wren

On cobbled path outside front door, which drew me out.

 

Not a breath, barely a sound, a hill-locked silent sea of space,

Blank echo chamber. Loud tinnitus of humanity

Shut out, while phrases bounce, while eyes record this scene:

 

White gooseneck gaggle, all confused; skeletal shimmer, oat laced gold;

Tits flitting fast, long-tailed, dodge clustered gems –

Olympic Flame’s autumnal cue poor match, just now, for

Blood drenched, zig-zag falling stars

Their rain sluiced scabbard sheaths, weighed low.

 

Such vistas soon will morph, though memory traced

Their silent engrams lost, perhaps erased.

 

Flashed, you stopped me dead, my big bag haul was dropped,

Jaw fell. Jewelled spell. No sound at all from you or me,

I stood a while: the stream still flowed, drought-slow,

The uncut knapweed flowers still glowed. There was no trace, no hole,

No sign you left: no need, your streaked torpedo surely struck.

No disappearing beak, no blurring wings were tracked, no hurt.

Strange mystery beneath grey skies, plain semi-iridescent barbs.

Your blue-green metal, scribed for me, had pierced this beating heart.

 

Speckled robin lands, scans tabled lines, flies free.

Dark clouds drift south. Sun and dreams, so soon, leave me.

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Now, here are some more extracts and links for any kingfisher (and poetry) fans:

It was the Rainbow gave thee birth,
And left thee all her lovely hues;
And, as her mother’s name was Tears,
So runs it in my blood to choose
For haunts the lonely pools, and keep
In company with trees that weep….

‘The Kingfisher’ by W.H. Davies

 

The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world — so long as you don’t mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your whole life
that doesn’t have its splash of happiness?

The Kingfisher by Mary Oliver.

 

 

Kingfisher: the colour-giver, fire-bringer, flame-flicker, river’s quiver.
Ink-black bill, orange throat, and a quick blue back-gleaming feather-stream.
Neat and still it sits on the snag of a stick, until with…
Gold-flare, wing-fan, whipcrack the kingfisher – zingfisher, singfisher-
Flashes down too fast to follow, quick and quicker carves its hollow

Kingfisher – Robert Macfarlane

I should also include a part of Ted Hughes’ poem ‘The Kingfisher.’ Since it was my brother Mark’s introduction to Hughes’s writing over many years, that eventually got me dabbling in more concise word memories, or stories, or poems, of my own. Click here for an example of him reading from his own book, which captures his passion for Hughes, fish and rivers.

Yet I can only include this picture of part of the poem, which I took during a visit in September 2019 to the Poetry Trail at Stover Park in Devon, where many of his more well known nature-based poems, (apparently selected by his widow Carol Hughes) are reproduced in attractive physical form. Access to his work on-line is extremely restricted. It’s well worth a visit to follow this extensive and appealing trail if you are in the area, which I wrote about here. Or better, buy a copy of his focused book of poetry and photography, titled ‘River’ , which is where this poem was first published, I believe.

And finally on the Kingfisher theme, I’m including this YouTube discovery. I’ve been a fan of contemporary symphonic wind band compositions ever since our youngest son played in such a group for a few years at school. This piece is titled “Kingfishers Catch Fire II”, composed in 2007 by American composer John Mackey, and no doubt inspired by the Manley Hopkins poem of the same title. Played here by the Luther College Concert Band, conducted by Cory Near.

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The terrace garden has been ablaze with flowers through July. Flowers seem to have have grown much taller than usual and not been knocked back by any heavy bursts of rain throughout the whole month. I think another reason for the strong visual appeal is that the plants chosen for impact in this area, during this season, have multiplied and bulked up in recent years. Thus giving the benefit of colour repetition as one scans the scene.

I’m inclined to move a few more Agapanthus to dot around here this autumn, since I love the strong clear blue colour popping up amongst other vigorous plants – all the (few) existing Agapanthus have simply come from scattering seeds across the terrace over many years. It struck me how special it has been this year to sit at the table (which has also been possible on many occasions thanks to the weather) and have most of these flowers at, or above, eye level – something one rarely experiences earlier in the year, apart from the end of the Aquilegia and Nectaroscordum season.

Some lines came into my head…

…Cellophane flowers of yellow and green
Towering over your head…

…Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers
That grow so incredibly high…

For those who can’t place them, they’re from the Lennon/MacCartney song ‘Lucy in The Sky with Diamonds’. I’ve lived my whole life from when I first heard this, and the cover version by Elton John, convinced by the evidently erroneous story of its links with drug taking and  LSD.

In fact it was roughed out very quickly by Lennon and MacCartney after Lennon’s then 4 year old son Julian came home one day from nursery school with one of his colourful simple pictures titled – “Lucy – In the sky with diamonds”. Lucy was a fellow classmate. With the picture as a prompt, Lennon based his psychedelic themed lyrics on elements of the story of Alice In wonderland. Click here for some relevant quotes and more insights from the people who really know the background, together with a picture of Julian’s drawing. The colourful video animation below was created very many years later, and in view of what’s coming later in this post about memory, colour and creativity, I think it fits in well here.

And this story serves as a classic example of the dangers of critics reading too much hidden meaning into another mind’s creative meanderings. And the long term influence that such comments can have, for those who don’t know better.

I was left with the thought that since this year’s flowers are indeed incredibly high, or at least they seem so to be to me, perhaps gardeners would enjoy their gardens even more if they were hobbit sized?

Anyway, I’m sure I’m gradually shrinking in that direction. Google AI tells me that hobbits average about 3 feet six inches, or 1 metre.

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It was from this scene of strong colours, not a normal feature of our typically pastel shaded garden, that on July 16th, we headed North. Intrigued by what I’d gleaned over the years about Ted Hughes’ troubled life and prodigious imaginative creativity, I’d booked tickets for a special NGS event at Fairdene – the gallery and garden of Frieda Hughes (Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath’s daughter). Located just outside the small Powys town of Montgomery, I reckoned it would have to be special to justify the £25 pp ticket price – way more than we’ve ever paid to visit a garden before. It was just as well I’d spotted the N.G.S. newsletter email notification and ordered 3 tickets on the same day – apparently the 25 tickets for each of the 2 different days sold out very fast.

I’d heard from Mark that it was an amazing house, garden and featured some unique metalwork, but still hadn’t been prepared for the sensory and creativity overload that hit us on the day. Beginning as soon as we saw the recently built sinuous garden wall dotted with what looked like young pyracantha shrubs, and then the extraordinary organic metal gates as we drove into the recently created parking area. This was clearly a uniquely detailed and artistically driven tour de force.

We were welcomed by a small group of local friendly NGS helpers, who introduced Frieda to us.  We sat in the shade of a complex, organic metal tree, unlike anything we’ve ever seen before which holds up a glass and metal balcony to the upper storey level of the gallery (which houses Frieda’s art studios). And listened as she gave us a brief explanation as to how she came to work on the house and garden, in what many might describe as a labour of love – certainly of dogged, inspired effort and imagination.  She also explained how she now maintains it all herself with minimal help (one fellow lady gardener one day a week I think). She led a quick guided tour around the complex system of beds and pool, before we were left to wander at our leisure. Tea and cake was served later in a downstairs room of the gallery. We were, not unreasonably, asked not to take photos inside the gallery, or of the exterior of the main house, though the video below shows some more details of this.

She explained how the shapes of the beds she laid out and their planting were representations of images she had in her head.

It was thus much more than just an insight into a totally unique garden created out of a field in front of the elegant mansion, which Frieda Hughes has worked on for most of this century. Not just an extraordinary collection of acid etched ornate ironwork, constructed locally by a one-man band blacksmith, who’s had to develop his own techniques as he’s tackled commissions and designs which Frieda has handed him over the last decade. But also a stunning large private art gallery adjacent to the main house, which exclusively houses many of Hughes own works of art. She paints abstractly in oils and draws figuratively. Fiona took a few photos of the garden, which I’m including in this short piece, but they can only hint at its charms. It’s certainly a completely different style of gardening to our own, and visually very strong, with many large imported and carefully sited multi-ton rocks, and pruned trees which add to the atmosphere of the place. Large rocks have long held a fascination for Frieda.

And did I mention she writes her own very powerful poetry, and also several earlier children’s stories?

To gain a little more insight into many other aspects of Frieda’s drive and creativity, I’d suggest watching this short CBS commissioned YouTube where she talks about her latest book, ‘George – a Magpie memoir.’

You’ll see that the chance arrival of George into Frieda’s life preluded the subsequent gifting to her, over time, of many large and varied rescued owls, which now have their home at Fairdene. Housed both in a large outside aviary originally built for George, as well as in the kitchen of her own (private) house, attached to the art gallery. How she fits in the time to manage the owls, the garden, paint and write, as well as racing powerful motorbikes around the local roads, is beyond me. The visit made me think I waste far too much of my valuable time on trivia, rather than creating something worthwhile.

In addition to all of this, she has her own YouTube channel where you can listen to her reading some of her own poetry. Here are just three examples which I enjoyed, and the first two are included in the 2 books of her poetry I came home with, Alternative Values and Out of the Ashes.:

 

That all of this has happened to someone who’s lived an immensely emotionally and physically challenging life, adds to one’s sense of wonder – we have never been anywhere like it, and should she open the garden again next year, we would thoroughly recommend a trip.

But, was it worth the ticket price? I think you can guess my answer.

If you’re intrigued by any of this, and want to find a little more about a tiny fraction of her ‘backstory’, (and she is interviewed in this film), then this documentary has many  additional insights and recollections gathered into this one place:

She certainly deserves to be known for her own creativity and what she has created in this treasure trove garden and place. I think she admirably honours and yet has escaped from what could have been a stifling legacy of her famous parents, and her early years. I’m sure her multiple endeavours in her time at Fairdene would have brought them both great pleasure, were they still around to appreciate it all.

But maybe it has, and maybe they can.

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Having thought a lot more about memories and how they are generated and retained recently, it was after the discussion in our recent A.G.O.G. meeting (see below), that I encountered for the first time the word ‘engram’. A word which then made its way into my poem, as a variant of memory trace. But what is an engram?

This seems to be a simple, though AI generated, definition:

Engrams are defined as the physical changes in brain state that are induced by an event, serving as the memory trace. Once formed, engrams remain dormant until they are reactivated by the presentation of the original or a similar stimulus.

But notice the description of ‘physical changes in brain state‘. (Taken from this review paper.)

Imagine then how shocked I was to receive an email this morning titled “Eating the Engram – A brief history of memory — in cells, worms, and beyond the brain.” From someone I didn’t immediately recognise – Claire Evans. Should I open it, I asked my tech adviser, Fiona? It certainly sounded intriguing. Click on this safe link, and you can read Evans’ whole substack article, or indeed another piece she wrote recently for Quanta magazine, which explores similar ideas under the title “What can a cell remember?”

It’s a provocative exploration of what simple animals or even single cells are capable of. Whether they have a nervous system or not, many (all?) living cells seem to have the capability to ‘remember’ and ‘react’ to previous encounters in ways similar to the classical Pavlovian response of trained dogs salivating to a bell being rung before food is actually presented. The research Evans discusses includes experiments showing that chopping up pieces of planarian flatworms which had previously been trained to associate bright lights with an electrical shock, and then feeding the chopped pieces to ‘naive’ worms led to them acquiring the same memory: that bright lights equated to a noxious stimulus. Shocking knowledge for us too, perhaps.

A day later, the latest issue 105 of Cam magazine arrived, in which there was a feature titled ‘Remember this’ written by Lucy Jolin, discussing memory in humans, and how the ‘Memory Lab’ at the University is exploring the subject in a multi-disciplinary way. Including why and how it varies significantly from person to person, and what happens when it starts to fail. Well worth a read and I’m copying this small section, since memory and its influence seems to have been a dominant theme in this post.

So just what is memory? For an easy-to-remember definition, says Jon Simons, Professor of Cognitive Neuroscience and Head of the School of Biological Sciences, you can’t beat Cicero’s assertion that “memory is the treasure house of all things”. It influences… well, everything.

“Everything we’re conscious of and everything we know is shaped by our previous experiences of the world and the way it works,” says Simons. “Our personality and behaviour all develop in ways that reflect things that have happened to us in the past.” 

And then…

This is tough stuff to investigate, because, as he points out, “You’re basically trying to get inside someone’s head.”

A couple of days later one of the latest videos from last year’s National Honey Show lectures was released on their YouTube channel. A superb, clear and fascinating presentation by Argentinian/French Professor Martin Giurfa, a professor of neuroethology. This covers much ground on what honey bees are capable of in terms of memory, complex problem solving, and cognition, with a brain of just 1 X 1mm, and 1 million neurons. For comparison, our brain is massively larger and contains about 100 Billion neurons And unlike the problems Simons has at actually looking inside human’s large brains, Giurfa doesn’t have the same limitations, which is partly why he’s so fascinated by honey bees as subjects for research.

As far as I know, there’s no evidence of honey bee creativity, but their problem solving and speed of memory put many other animals to shame. They even seem to be able to give George’s magpie brethren a good run for their money. Watch this lecture and be amazed. If nothing else, you might be intrigued that we all (bees and day old babies) have an innate conceptual ‘number line’, Where we place small numbers to the left, and large ones on the right, as part of how we comprehend the concept of numbers, and whether one number is larger than another.

The slide capture below indicates just some of the other topics Giurfa covers. And it seems that the answer to the questions posed by Giurfa is that bees can tackle all of these complex tasks.

The final point of discussion is the most troubling. And explores the microscopic elucidation of how memory is actually created in the bee brain by forming new microglomeruli (tiny joined pits) of nerve cell connections, in response to, say a new olfactory or visual memory. Yet expose a day old bee larva to miniscule sublethal dose of a common neonicotinoid pesticide on just one occasion, and the number of such microglomeruli is dramatically reduced in later life. Impacting on an adult bee’s ability to function normally. Worth remembering now that we all live lives surrounded by soups of such chemicals.

Thank goodness that as a species we can use words, music, art and now digital images, to attempt to pass on some of our special moments or memories, or how we’ve processed or channelled them.

Without having to chop off a bit of finger and dish it up to anyone keen to experience what that particular engram recorded moment might look or sound like.

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I featured aspects of Frieda’s story in the latest meeting of our small A.G.O.G. Culture Club last week. A packed session, with many bonus ideas, introducing us all to Ghanian reggae artist Rocky Dawuni; the unknown delights of the Chalumeau – an early reeded cross between a recorder and a clarinet; The Owl service, by Alan Garner; Home by Seven, by Steph Ovens; The Armed Man requiem and soprano Hayley Westernra, the recently re-discovered American classical composer Florence Price, and why we should all be eating lots of fish to aid our mental health – listen to 95 year old Professor Michael Crawford’s thoughts after a lifetime researching such issues.

With such an eclectic sweep of life encompassed in this post, perhaps I should finish with two of my discoveries from A.G.O.G, which I hope you enjoy. Maybe they’ll pleasantly expand your musical horizons, as they have done for me. I’m guessing Rocky would also appreciate Freida Hughes’ own special metal shade tree.

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Finally, in a sudden burst of swallow activity which lasted barely half an hour, the yard was teeming with swallows a few days ago, with many trying to rest up on the tiny ledge of white-washed stone beside the wall plate and rafter ends. Why? Amazing to watch and the photos don’t do the spectacle justice, but I suspect that it might be the first brood of chicks which, briefly, returned to their hatching location. A smaller second brood has now, we think, flown the nest. Where the earlier fledglings have been for all these weeks, we have no idea – they don’t seem to roost overnight in the barn.