My favourite rowan, guardian of the hill

I ventured homeward today over the moorland, having been off looking at plants on the shore for work, I’d fancied a change of scene. The day was calm enough with a slight mist on the horizon, the moorland was calling and my favourite Orkney rowan.

The hazieness of the mist suits this domineering open moorland vista, softening the edges between the hills and the islands beyond.

I adore this view, the heather clad rugged moorland and this very place, is the keeper of my favourite Orkney tree. A solitary noble Rowan (sorbus aucuparia) sits proudly in this landscape, resolutely holding its weather worn branches upwards towards the big sky, announcing to the world, I am here.

I love the tenacity of it. Tall it stands, alone, one solitary species in a complex mosaic of moorland, where heathers, moorland grasses and ferns jostle within the sphagnum moss and the deep rich peat. The tree stands proud, watching, protecting and keeping guard. Like a lonely knight of olden times, or a shepherd watching for the longest time over his flock. Rowans are known in plant lore to protect, they are often planted by cottages in Scotland to ward off evil, or so we’re told. Every time I pass this tree its determination to ‘be’ amid the wild open heathery moor inspires me. It whispers gently to me, I am here, I live.

Amongst its gnarled living branches, invisible when clad in leaf, a large nest of twigs holds fast, as the leaves from this year fall, the nest reappears.

Every year when the rowan is naked of leaf, I smile at this tree and this nest and at the opportunist bird that adds to its bulk each year.

 Theirs must truly be a symbiotic relationship of mutual benefit. The smaller tree branches break and fall in the worst of the winter gales, allowing the bird to add the fallen material back into its nest with heather and grass in the spring. Returning the branches from whence they came. The tree rewards the work by protecting the nest within its developing canopy in the spring, hidden by summer the nest and its occupants safe and secure. I love this tree. Each year as the leaves fall and the nest exposed again, I chuckle at the increase in size of the nest, one day I think it will engulf the whole tree.

A hoody crow, very common in the north of scoltand announces to the silent land their presence, whilst standing tall on a fence post surveying the moorland. Is this their tree I wonder, is the large twig nest their private abode?

We wander along the peat track, my companion and I, taking in the seasonal changes and saying good bye to summers presence on the hill side.

The heather clad hill is changing, fading from hues of pink and purple, returning to rusty, rich browns which clad the hill side throughout the year. The heathers, (of which there are three types  in the north of the UK) are beginning to really go over, although patchy tufts of their purples and pinks still blush throughout the common heather (Calluna vulgaris).

A few late blooms of vibrant bell heather (Erica cinerea) also greet us and for a while the bees will recharge from them.

I did not see the third type, cross leaved heath (Erica tetralix), although I must confess to not looking too hard. Others like the wild angelica (Angelica sylvestris) are done for the season.

Unfortunately many of the wild flowers are already over, offering up their seeds to the skies, the air is full of silken windblown, dancing faerie-seeds originating from epilobiums, thistles and dandelions. I love the way they look etherial, floating off on an adventure of their own. While many wait........

......sitting patiently offering up their bounty, the pods of the flag iris (Iris pseudocorus) burst open and ripen whilst the meadowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria) flowers give over to twisted gnarled naked seed heads which would rival any blackie tups' twisted horn.

We wander on down, through an avenue of eared willow (Salix aurita)

I love the peedie ‘lugs’ on this species just at the base of the leaf petiole (look for the lugs at the base of the 2nd leaf).

This willow is a happy companion of the moorland, giving the birds a place to find refuge as we walk through passing the peat cuttings of the famous 'Highland Park' distillery. They aren’t often disturbed, the moorland is often empty, enjoying uninterrupted views out to the sea, which are breathtaking.

We sit a while, up on the spongy heather hillside and watch, nothing in particular, just watch and look, whilst my thoughts wander off back down the peat track drawn back to my favourite tree. Keeping guard.