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In Praise of Marshes

Elpenor

Haytor’s gonna hate
I rather like marshes. They’re a transition between land and water. By their very nature we often travel over or round them rather than through them. There was a song we sang at infant school to that effect I think.

Today I walked on paths around the local marshes. I am by no means an expert in flora and fauna but I certainly heard a wide variety of birdsong.

They’re an environment I find intriguing. I think they’re often depicted as gloomy, desolate, dangerous in literature. But I find them peaceful, and that they have hidden secrets to reveal.

Here’s a picture from my walk today
9549690E-18A3-4836-BF68-4C78172F6C9E.jpeg
Tell me more about your favourite marshes
 
Peat bogs are brilliant too - total nightmare to walk on, but great at storing water and carbon. Good habitat for quite a few species as well - remember accidentally annoying nesting birds while walking across the tops years ago.

It's also interesting when the peat reaches saturation capacity due to loads of rain - was walking along a bridleway that ran on the same contour level round the hillside, and there was essentially a continuous sheet of water just pouring down the hillside.
 












etc. etc.

MARSHES FTW!

:thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs:
 
The Water Margin, top silly telly before I had any idea China might be part of my life, rubber heads bouncing about and just endless confusing fights. So Liangshanpo, though it's gone now as the Yellow River changed it's course.
 
I live near 4 marshes 😎 Walthamstow Marshes & Leyton Marsh are the closest (basically 10 mins walk away) followed by Hackney Marshes (15 minutes) & Tottenham Marshes (40 mins-ish) . They kept me sane during lockdown , walked on them every day .
 












etc. etc.

MARSHES FTW!

:thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs: :thumbs:
Superb. Exminster is quite near to me I think
 
The Romney Marsh is awesome

I grew up on the Romney Marshes. There was a dew pond near the house and the sound of the frogs in the night was like a trance. Other nights, the sound of the sheep calling for their lambs to come back after they’d wandered off would wake me in the dawn. One year the drainage failed nearby and the local Norman church, built like so many on a small hillock, became temporarily marooned by water on all sides. The ancient pollarded willows that marked the waterline looked like water-witches dancing with their own reflection. Our place was on the Rhee Wall, which marks the edge of Walland Marsh, so the garden was about 3 foot higher than the enormous sheep fields that stretched out flat as the sea behind the house. The drainage ditches were indiscernible but in the summer they were marked by straight lines of darker green between the wide open areas of dun coloured pasture. The sheep would float across the fields like small grey clouds, cropping the grass as they went. Close up, the rhythmic sound of their mowing was as soothing as the sound of waves on a shallow shore. There was an old shepherd’s hut about a mile from the house, the only marker on the entire field and it stood out like a single rotted tooth. It was derelict and tumbledown, the brickwork pocked with lichen and the wood grain etched out by the bitter east winds. The floor of it was knee high with compacted sheep shit that shelved down through the doorway from decades of sheep seeking shelter. When it was bitterly cold, I’d go there and hunker down inside to hide from the bleak bitter cold and the smell of the sheep shit was warming because it was the smell of animal. Other times I’d hide inside the church, the sound of my breath and cold nose sniffing loud as a crackerjack in the old cold damp.

I love it down there but it has a lot of bad sad memories attached to it too.
 
I grew up on the Romney Marshes. There was a dew pond near the house and the sound of the frogs in the night was like a trance. Other nights, the sound of the sheep calling for their lambs to come back after they’d wandered off would wake me in the dawn. One year the drainage failed nearby and the local Norman church, built like so many on a small hillock, became temporarily marooned by water on all sides. The ancient pollarded willows that marked the waterline looked like water-witches dancing with their own reflection. Our place was on the Rhee Wall, which marks the edge of Walland Marsh, so the garden was about 3 foot higher than the enormous sheep fields that stretched out flat as the sea behind the house. The drainage ditches were indiscernible but in the summer they were marked by straight lines of darker green between the wide open areas of dun coloured pasture. The sheep would float across the fields like small grey clouds, cropping the grass as they went. Close up, the rhythmic sound of their mowing was as soothing as the sound of waves on a shallow shore. There was an old shepherd’s hut about a mile from the house, the only marker on the entire field and it stood out like a single rotted tooth. It was derelict and tumbledown, the brickwork pocked with lichen and the wood grain etched out by the bitter east winds. The floor of it was knee high with compacted sheep shit that shelved down through the doorway from decades of sheep seeking shelter. When it was bitterly cold, I’d go there and hunker down inside to hide from the bleak bitter cold and the smell of the sheep shit was warming because it was the smell of animal. Other times I’d hide inside the church, the sound of my breath and cold nose sniffing loud as a crackerjack in the old cold damp.

I love it down there but it has a lot of bad sad memories attached to it too.
That's some quite lovely descriptive writing x
 
Grimsby is essentially split into East and West Marsh. There's some interesting social history attached to the two areas. Traditionally East Marsh was a lower working class area. The trawler crews, deckies, etc lived there.

The West Marsh was the slightly higher rated crew.

The more senior crew lived elsewhere, the owners lived in Humberstone Avenue.

I like marshes. There's a lot of interesting wildlife on them. They're a good place for edible plants. They used to be good areas for wildfowling too.
 
I quite like the marshland either side of The Cob, just outside Porthmadog.

There is salt-marsh on the seaward side and freshwater [river but can be brackish] on the other - some of which has been drained rather than "just" reclaimed by a "sea-wall"

Over the past thirty years or more, I have watched these areas change - mainly becoming more silted up because of mud deposited by floodwater and high tides during storms. The successional changes in the flora is a little harder to observe, but has happened. Both areas have large bird populations and some very rough grazing for a few hardy sheep - which occasionally forget the incoming tide and have to swim for shore.
Oh, the birds now include Ospreys in addition to swans, waterfowl and seabirds ...
 
I think Im right in saying 'London' /Thames Valley was all basically marshes in earlier times - i think much of the south/ east coast was in fact....is why in preRoman era it was the west coast that was considerably the more active coastline of Britain
 
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