Spring rushes on apace, making up for a start delayed by the cold. The churr of great spotted woodpecker chicks spills from a dark hole in a leaning oak. A parent approaches cautiously so as not to give away the chicks' location, before ducking inside to their evident delight, exiting again within seconds, stuck on … Continue reading Chorus →

Amid the muted dusty green of birch and the fresh lime of beech, the oaks now mottle the woodlands with their bladderwrack brown, beginning the growing season with the autumnal tint with which they will end it. Every year, it seems improbable that the sickly hue of their new leaves, limp like the wings of … Continue reading Gleam →

It’s May Day, and an impromptu maypole dance manifests on the village green. Twelve colourful ribbons are tied to a goalpost, and the children, who are already out playing in the late-afternoon spring sunshine, gather and intuitively grab an end each. Someone strikes up a jaunty folk tune on their phone and around the dancers … Continue reading Summoning →

Lapwings plunge and soar, their pitches and rolls so sudden it is as if they are caught in violent eddies of the air, freak vortexes that suck them in and swirl and spin them above the boggy, rush-filled pastures at the head of Hippins Clough. But they are in absolute control, their aerobatics ending every … Continue reading Surge →

Spring is suspended, paused in its progress by days of single-figure highs and an overnight frost. Having been well on their way to painting the valley green, the birches refuse to budge any further. The single beech in Horsehold Wood that took the bait when the going was good is now very much out on … Continue reading Pause →

Stacked Pennine horizons haze into the south. Wind farms crowd the eastern skylines of Lancashire and Greater Manchester, 42 turbines spinning in the stiff spring breeze. West and closer to hand, nine more are planted on Ovenden Moor, crumpled with the quarries of the Nab Hill Delphs. On the slope under this shattered plateau was … Continue reading Horizons →

The clatter of clogs, the ring of clashing swords and the cheers of hundreds of spectators echo around Weavers Square. In the centre of the medieval village of Heptonstall, as at every Good Friday, the Pace Egg play, a Calder Valley version of the traditional hero-combat British folk or mumming play, is being performed. Whether … Continue reading Wilding →

In a cold, grey afternoon, a single swallow silently hawks above the willow flowers. Having arrived two or three weeks earlier than most of its tribe, it has no companions to call to, and insects must be thin in the raw air. But perhaps it was not such a misjudgement after all, for two days … Continue reading Spell →

Old Town Mill, a mid-19th-century worsted mill, is a monolithic landmark for miles around and is nearing the completion of a scheme to create 25 dwellings amongst its four stories. It stood at the bottom of the garden and grounds of Boston Hill House, the grand home of the Mitchell family, who acquired the mill … Continue reading Remembering →

A chiffchaff fires the starting gun on spring with its two-tone call. Uninspired as its song is, there are few clearer signs that the seasons have shifted than the arrival of the first summer migrant from Africa, and all life in the valley is in agreement: a buff-tailed bumblebee drones in and out of the … Continue reading Rising →