It’s a Mast Year
Last autumn, following the weird non-spring and what-was-that summer, I remember feeling troubled by the lack of berries and seeds for the migrating birds. Sure enough, there was a paltry showing of Fieldfares and Redwings here in our corner of Sussex, but this year the trees are laden with fruits. The oak trees don’t seem to have been unduly affected by gall wasps either, so walking down the Cuckoo Trail means crunching through thousands of acorns.
I have always been enchanted by acorns, growing up as I did with the magical Brambly Hedge and Flower Fairies books. There is something so exquisite about the rough little cup and the smooth seed which sits perfectly inside, and the idea of tiny folk using these still lingers in my mind. Now that I have to stave off a constant, low-grade concern about our depleted wildlife, there is something heartwarming and restorative about an abundant acorn harvest; the idea that each of them will provide food for so many species, and that a percentage will go on to make a new tree – perhaps even one that has the chance to become a 900 year old behemoth.
I love growing acorns and finding self-sown saplings…when I grow up I would love to have a native tree nursery. I know that the expression mighty oaks from little acorns grow is a cliché but the sentiment stands and personally I find it even more powerful in its literal sense: the idea that a huge tree supporting millions of species grows from this shiny seed fills me with positivity.
With this in mind, I decided to use acorns as a subject to break in my new Leuchtturm. I don’t struggle with starting my sketchbooks, or get fazed by a blank page, so I chose a Jay to adorn the first spread. I used some scrappy end-of-palette gouache which I actually really enjoy using, much as I usually end up with six shades of mud. Jays, our most colourful corvid, are another favourite. I love their dusky pink, black and white alongside that shock of electric blue.
