In the lazy water meadow

14 June 2015

The river seemed green and lazy, meandering slowly through the meadow, green from the reflection of trees and grasses. It was the wild flowers that decided me in the end. Everywhere I looked there seemed to be flowers and the sound of buzzing bees was almost deafening. Lakeside and checking out the trail to Eastliegh could wait for another day.

There were buttercups, a haze of yellow as far as the eye could see and spiky tufts of coarse grass dotted here and there. With one last look at the bridge and fence under the trees following the line of the Navigation, I set off across the meadow. Amongst the buttercups the occasional splash of pink gave away where the clover was hiding from the busy bees.

Along the line of the river the bank was thick with yellow water iris and I moved in for a closer look at the risk of getting wet muddy feet. Then I left the river behind and set off across the open meadow making for the line of scrub and trees in the distance. Despite the cloudy sky it was beginning to get warm so I stopped for a moment to take off my mac and tie it round my waist. Butterflies and bees buzzed and fluttered all around as I walked through the long grass but they were all too quick for me.

When I reached the tree line there were dog rose and forget me nots to reward me for my efforts. Amongst the green living trees there was dead wood and one tree, with slender  barkless branches pointing skywards like gnarled fingers, I thought I recognised as a landmark from the Navigation. Behind it the clouds were beginning to part and the sky behind them was the colour of the forget me nots littering the ground.

The twisted shapes and textures of dead wood always seem like sculptures to me so I stopped to look at them more closely. On the shore there is driftwood, bleached and stirped by the sea and sand, here in the meadow time and sun have done the job and lichen has made a home. There is beauty in the crazed and cracked wood of the dead branches and the colourful cloak of lichen enveloping the rotting wood.

While I was looking at the lichen a small metalic blue insect caught my eye. There was just time to snap a photo before it flew off revealing a fire coloured abdomen to contrast with the blue thorax. I thought it might be a small wasp. A little judicious Googling at home told me this was probably chrysis ignita, the cuckoo wasp, or at least one of the chrysis wasps. These are solitary wasps who, like cuckoos, lay their eggs in the nest of solitary bees, especially Mason bees. When these interloper eggs hatch they eat the Mason bee larva. For something so lovely to look at this doesn’t seem very nice at all but I guess it’s the way of nature.

On the other side of the trees there was another meadow and, stepping across a muddy ditch, I entered it. There were fluffy pink tipped flowering heads of grasses moving in the breeze and between them twined the thin stems and delicate white flowers of meadow chickweed.   I thought I might still get back onto the Navigation here and carry on towards Eastleigh but, when I got to the tree line, thorny stems of dog rose and blackberry barred the way.  The field beyond was fenced.

Following the the trail of interesting flowers had taken me a long way off the tramped down trail of short grass and the twists and turns meant I wasn’t really sure where I was or which direction I was facing. Just as I was looking at the distant trees and trying to work out if they marked the edge of the Navigation, the motorway or, perhaps, the country park a plane came in to land and gave me my bearings. As it disappeared behind the trees I set off again, heading back to the motorway bridge where I’d entered the meadow.

The trail through tunnels of trees that echoed those of the Navigation path took me back to the river and the motorway bridge. Now the sun was out it was getting quite warm so, instead of making for the gate, I sat on the river bank, drank some of my water and watched  tiny fish no bigger than my little finger darting about just under the surfacee. A few dragonflies  flittered over the water but none close enough for me to attempt a photo.

Eventually I had to move but, once I’d passed under the motorway bridge again, I didn’t really fancy going back to the Navigation with the noise of the motorway beside me. When I came to the gate I’d ignored earlier I decided to go through it to the meadow behind the White Swan. As I’ve never been in this meadow before I followed the path, such as it was. It led me to the tress and through an arch to another open meadow of long rustling grasses.

 

A wooden gate and a lichen covered bridge took me through more trees to another meadow. By now I was throughly confused about where I was but one more gate led me back to the familiar path by Mansbridge Lock and I realised my walk across the meadows had cut out the tedious Navigation diversion beside the noisy motorway. Now if only I could be sure of finding my way I might be tempted to risk it in the other direction next time I come this way.

Yet again my hunt for cygnets had been fruitless but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Maybe I’d have some luck on the river behind the White Swan. After all it would only mean a small detour so I crossed Mansbridge and walked past the pub where the smell of cooking food reminded me it was almost lunch time. Across the river were the meadows I’d just been walking in. A group of cows were grazing and I was glad I’d not encountered them on my wanderings. There were no swans or cygnets though so I turned back to the bridge.

As I was stooping to take a picture of the aquilegias beside the bridge my phone rang. It was Commando back from his run and wondering where I was. It had been a day of chance encounters but the final one was not by chance at all. Once he put the phone down Commando jumped on his pushbike and cycled to meet me.