Late Summer came to its end last week, on the 7th of August - during a long stretch of mild weather here in Scotland.

Even the named storm of the season blew through Edinburgh with high winds yet strangely clear and beautiful skies, ushering in a period of warm mugginess that feels less like August and more like July. We are in the ‘dog days’ of summer - often the hottest and most humid part of the year, coincidentally when Sirius, the ‘dog star’, is also most visible.

I've not been as good in summer at setting aside time for seasonal updates - life is a bit of a whirlwind at the moment. I feel we could say this about our lives at any point - I’m pretty sure I’ve said something to this effect in more than one newsletter!

However, we recently went on holiday, moved house, hosted family, and are expecting our first child in the Autumn. While all of these have taken some attention and admin, I think it's rare for life to be filled with quite so many joyful things at once too, so my heart is feeling rather full.

Last week, we said goodbye to our local neighbourhood and the very inspiration for the seasonal newsletter - the Water of Leith. We took a final walk around at sunset and saw an otter - something that’s only happened a handful of times in my 7 years living here. We followed it along the bank for a while and at one point it even climbed on a log for a better view of us, too. That moment seemed like a wonderful end to our time here.

August seems like an early time to start throwing around the word 'Autumn’, but I take my lead from the wildflowers, having gone to seed and wilt, the swifts who leave us, itching to resume their year spent almost exclusively on the wing, the rowan berries arriving in abundance, to the pleasure of our new garden blackbirds.

I don't ever really mind it - an early autumn. It’s my favourite season, when I feel I wake up, creatively. I’m hoping that it’ll restart things a bit for me, in my sketches and my attention to each step in the seasons.

I thought I’d finish by sharing a page from my sketchbook from late summer, and from dreaming about autumn, and all the wonderful things that are yet to come.

Until next time,

I usually send these letters out every fortnight (every three microseasons, if you want to get technical), with about six newsletters a season… But I’ve neglected to send anything in a good long while - the last time you heard from me was re-capping the first of summer, and we are now in the Equinox season!

I’m not sure why it’s taken me a while to send a seasonal update - life is busy, I suppose, and lots of things are changing for us here in Edinburgh!

When thinking about catching up on all the seasonal news, the idea of sending a backlog of flora and fauna updates was a bit intimidating. So, I thought I’d send along a bit of a gallery of some seasonal things (let’s be honest, it’s basically just flowers) that have given me joy over the course of the half-season.

I hope you enjoy it, and are enjoying the summer sunshine (when it peeks through!)

Early Summer : Flowers aplenty

Rising Summer: Flowers aplenty (pt. 2)

Summer Solstice: Otter!

Until another microseason, hopefully not too far in the future!

I send these letters out every fortnight (every three microseasons, if you want to get technical), with about six newsletters a season.

You’re reading the first installment of Summer - or the Japanese season of Rikka. So, I hope you are reading this in some sunshine.

In my last newsletter, I talked a bit about the different ways of marking the seasons. While many might not think of summer arriving until June, I feel a bit more confident in my case to start things a bit earlier, in May.

We’ve experienced a bit of a heatwave here in Scotland - one of the warmest and driest Mays we have on record. Growing a little too accustomed to the sunny weather, I’ve stored away the raincoat for… well, a rainy day I suppose.

Though getting drier than normal, things are still green with the ever-advancing nettle, cow parsley, and dandelion. Over the course of the past set of microseasons, I’ve also had the pleasure of seeing a whole host of martins, swallows, and swifts.

I’ve had some lovely days out in the nice weather, taking a day out in Musselburgh for some birdwatching and a church weekend away in the borders, from which some of this season’s photos come.

It’s an excellent time to spot and collect elderflower (Sambucus Nigra). I seem to recall talking about the elder tree in a previous issue, probably to share my experiences transforming elder leaves, berries and twigs into a dye. I’m not one for floral flavours, but many associate elderflower in cordial or spirit form as a sign of summer days. For a really interesting read into the culinary history of elderflower and a recipe for cordial, I recommend this blogpost.

Honourable mention goes to the Dandelion (Taraxacum). I think we’re often trained to hate this plant - indeed uprooting it is an absolute pain - but they are really wonderful if you don’t mind the wildflower patch, and it is a great champion of biodiversity.

Swallows and Martins make up the Hirundo family of passerine birds. Here in the UK, you’re most likely the spot three of them: the sand martin, house martin, and barn swallow, though I’d love to catch some of their great-named, distant relatives, such as the rufous-belled swallow, eastern red-rumped swallow, or black saw-wing one day. I thought I’d share some of the things I’ve learned about identifying the swallows and martins nearer to home.

When you picture a swallow, you’re probably picturing a Barn Swallow (Hirundo rustica). These birds are the most widespread of all hirundines. They are perhaps easiest to spot, with their red throats, blue coats, white bellies and deeply forked tail. They make their nests out of mud, typically in the beams or ledges of barns or sheds.

Sand martins (Riparia riparia) are the smallest of the family, with narrow wings and a shorter, only slightly forked tail. These birds prefer settling on the coast, and are usually the earliest of arrivals to the UK. While house martins and swallows build mud nests in the eaves of houses and barns, sand martins dig burrows for their nests. In a conservation effort, some reserves have created artificial banks for sand martins to nest in.

House martins (Delichon urbicum) are named for their preference to nest in the eaves of houses. These birds have a shorter tail than the barn swallow and white rumps and legs. Of the three species, the house martins are likely the hardest to spot, as they’re currently in the ‘red’ zone for conservation status.

Honourable mention goes to the many rabbits I see in my neighbourhood - there’s one area we’ve taken to calling ‘Rabbit Row’, as you’re bound to see a few hopping around in the daytime.

My sketchbook notes from the field are few and far between these days, though with signs of improvement. In trying to get out of a bit of an artistic slump, I’ve been taking my sketchbook out more often to remind myself why I started drawing in the first place.

I’d love to get in the habit of drawing daily, though still without the pressure or expectation of setting myself a daily challenge.

As I begin writing this, a week short of the end in Late Summer, we are enjoying a pleasant jump in temperatures here in Edinburgh. It seems like summer has finally arrived! The Japanese term for this season is Greater Heat - somewhat fitting even here in Scotland.

Some of the highlights of this sekki has been the yellow dock, thistles, sunflowers, and cow parsley, which all appear withered and ready to release their seeds, preparing for the end of the summer. It gives an almost autumnal scene!

This is not to say that all the vibrant colours of the wildflowers have faded - it is a good time for the Rosebay Willowherb, Chamaenerion angustifolium.

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be summer in Scotland - does summer mean high temperatures and sunshine, or is that more informed by our holidays abroad? Has summer really ‘just arrived’, or is it in its final moments?

This newsletter is coming out a bit early, on Lammas Day, at the midpoint between the solstice and the equinox. It is an end to summer in its own right, though this microseason system gives it another week. Whichever way you measure it, there is something bittersweet about this change in season so early in August.

Calendar Update

I’ve finished all six pages of Spring in the calendar now, which means I’m a quarter of the way there! Here is a picture of the Equinox period, featuring some daffodils, few-flowered leek, magnolia and chiffchaff.

I've also had some business-related successes, registering Berrypatchpainting and opening a business account!

You may have noticed that you haven’t received as many Microseason updates lately. I’ve missed three Microseasons to be exact, which means a whole Sekki has passed since I last wrote about midsummer meadows.

I don’t know what is more strange to realise - that a whole sixth of a season has passed in no time at all, or that there is only one more mini-season left in summer before the natural world takes its slow turn toward autumn here in Scotland. The first of August marks Lammas day, the midpoint between the solstice and the autumnal equinox, and the 7th marks the 13th Sekki, First Autumn. If that makes you feel a little sad, the astronomical start of autumn is still a ways away, starting on 22nd September.

The lack of newsletters is partially because it’s a new season for me: I’m starting a new job, which demands a bit more of my time. While that’s been quite exciting, I’ve been a bit disappointed that I haven’t paid much attention to the Microseasons. I hope to find a good balance between work and continuing to the mark the changing of seasons regularly.

However, I’ve also been working on a project I am somewhat tentative to announce. But if you receive this, chances are you’re a good friend or family member, so the secret is safe with you…

I’m hoping to make a seasonal calendar, which should be available in good time for the holidays! The plan is for the calendar to have 24 pages, rather than the standard 12. The format will be similar to a regular wall calendar, each page will be dedicated to a Sekki (3 Microseasons, or around 15 days). This means there will be 6 pages for each season. Here is an example of the Early Spring page.

My plan for the Microseason Newsletter is to send something out every Sekki, or so (aka every couple weeks). I feel that’s more sustainable for me at the moment and would give me a good amount of time to get out and notice a few seasonal things to share. I think I’ll also use this as a space to give some updates on the calendar until I’m feeling confident enough to share on Instagram.

Until next Microseason (or three),

Natalie

Part of learning more about the world around me and its subtle changes over the course of many microseasons has been discovering different initiatives to draw our attention nature-ward. This year, we participated in the bird count in late January, which inspired me to notice and document our garden birds in great detail. More recently, I paid attention to our local hedges and their noisy occupants during National Hedgerow Week.

Yesterday was National Meadows Day, which inspired me to spend a bit more time in meadows - local and slight further afield - this weekend.

The first outing was to a nice grassy patch by the Water of Leith, which has been a frequent place of interest for me on my microseason walks, particularly at the turn to the green banks of summer.

Then, somewhat serendipitously, we took a bird-watching walk along the cliffs by St. Abbs, which included some brilliant meadows with other wildflowers by the sea. The two trips combined allowed me see many of the wildflowers blooming at this time of year. What a treat!

Sketchbook Notes:

Took my Pith Yuzu along for both walks - here are some snippets from my sketching!

Read to the end for a picture of our latest dog friend, Polo, who we are dog sitting this week.

It is officially summer as far as the school calendar is concerned, which is not to say that it feels much like it. It’s been a slightly chilly, slightly rainy microseason in Edinburgh, though I’m enjoying a bit of time off this week before my summer work starts up next week.

On the latest microseason walk, I peered through the fence of our local allotments to spot the first signs of raspberries amongst the brambles.

Raspberries are my favourite fruit, I think, partially because it is a fruit that has quite a bit of family significance. Raspberry cuttings have been passed between family members and have relocated with my parents across several different moves, still providing plenty for crop for my dad’s raspberry & black raspberry jams.

I’ve been playing around with an idea for a story inspired by some family history, retold through the notes tucked into an old heirloom bible. In this, I have this image of great great grandparents tucking raspberry cuttings in their bags on their way to America, like they used to do with grape vines.

So, when I think of raspberry bushes, I do think a bit of home. They are resilient adaptable plants, which produce such lovely, delicate fruits. They seem to be arriving at the same time here and in New York, too!

Sketchbook Notes:

This is something I started on location in my Yuzu Flex, then finished up at my art desk with lots of green pencils - a process time lapse is up on my Instagram.

And, as promised, here is a picture of Polo, who has been great company over the break.

We have had a lovely and warm few days here in Edinburgh, which is now turning back to the cool, misty mornings of mid-Spring. Nevertheless, the long days of the solstice period have been lovely, with the light lasting long into the night and arriving again before I wake up in the morning.

This microseason is dedicated to the Thistle - the latest wildflower to appear on the banks of the Water of Leith (the Marsh Thistle), with other varietals (ie: Spear thistle) popping up not too far away.

According to legend, the thistle thwarted the element of surprise for an invading force of Vikings sometime in the 11th-12th centuries; as they stepped onto Scottish soil under the cover of night, they hollered at the thistle thorns trampled under foot. Whether or not there’s any truth to that, the Spear Thistle has long been represented on all sort of emblems of Scottish identity (as opposed to the non-native Cotton Thistle, I learned this week)

While Thistles are fast growing and terribly hard to be rid of in a garden, two common varietals in Scotland - the Marsh and Spear Thistles - are amongst the largest nectar providers, commonly visited by butterflies and bees.

There is something beautiful yet hardy and resilient about the thistle, which is reflected in the landscape of Scotland, and perhaps its people too. This is well captured in Ted Hughes’ somewhat violent poem:

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men
Thistles spike the summer air
And crackle open under a blue-black pressure.

Every one a revengeful burst
Of resurrection, a grasped fistful
Of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking.
They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects.
Every one manages a plume of blood.

Then they grow grey like men.
Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear
Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.

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Until next Microseason,

Natalie

Sketchbook Notes:

I started this page of my Pith Yuzu on a short afternoon walk, then finished inside with layers of pastel and pencil. I’ve been so pleased with the Yuzu - I think I might even prefer the thinner paper.

I’ve recently lost my Earth Green Faber Castell, which was a real shame. It would have captured the blue-green colour so well!

Yesterday marked the solstice, which often by our calculations measures the ‘start’ of summer. However, I think I’m of this opinion that it is, indeed, midsummer - summer at its peak. This traditionally falls a few days after, according to older calendars, around the 24th of June. Even today, midsummer is paired with a host of holidays, such as the St. John’s day in the Christian tradition. In some countries, midsummer is a public holiday. For me and this microseason project, we are between the periods of Rising Summer and the Summer Solstice (see my note on Sekki here)

When considering what to name this most recent microseason, I consulted the British book of microseasons, Nature’s Calendar. The authors dedicated the past days to the ‘Rain soaked roses’. Of course there’s Burns’ poem as well, of his ‘Luve’ like a red rose newly sprung in June, so maybe it is a good time to dedicate to the roses, thought they are just a bit past their best now.

For someone who thinks of flowers very often, roses aren’t really a subject of interest - and a brief search through my phone showed me that I don’t really photograph them much either. While I have taken hundreds of pictures of flowers over the years, I’ve only taken five photos of roses. This leads me to think I might not be a huge fan of roses - it’s the cherry blossoms all over again!

Nevertheless, I decided to take a post-work trip to the gardens to draw the roses. I’ve taken a couple of these trips recently and have found it really restorative after a day of classrooms and computer screens.

Anyways, that’s enough about me and my unpopular opinions about flowers! Read on for some musings on artistic ‘style’..

Until next microseason!

Natalie

Sketchbook Notes

Here is a spread I created in my Pith Oroblanco, inspired by this photo from Unsplash.

Sometimes I struggle with feeling I lack an artistic style, or that I’m often going in different directions, artistically. Some of this, I reckon, is simply because it just needs time to develop. However, when I got to drawing this, I thought: ‘I’m trying something new’. But at the end, I feel that there are aspects of this that seem a bit like ‘me’ - the earthy colours, the cloudy aesthetic of coloured pencil and pastel on paint.

Hello and thanks for taking the time to read my newsletter about marking microseasons in the pages of my sketchbook.

I love the Japanese name of this microseason: Rotten grass becomes fireflies. It is so evocative, yet rotten things is not something I am quick to associate with the near-peak of summer! Yet I have noted a bit of lull in the local flora after the bright few weeks of early wildflowers.

While I still see daisies, cow parsley, buttercups about, the sheer range of colours found in early summer has receded back to the many shades of green encountered on my most recent (rainy) walk through the woods.

There are signs of new colours emerging, though, the first signs of honeysuckle and bramble flowers (perhaps the subject of newsletters to come!)

In the spirit of the Japanese microseason, I thought I’d dedicate this time, this brief interlude in the exciting developments of the season, to another interlude of sorts, the ‘June Gap’ for butterfly season. This is when all the butterflies seen in the springtime - the peacocks and cabbage whites, in my case - have now died and their offspring have yet to emerge.

I’ve shared how microseasons often get me thinking about the cycles of life and death that surround us always in nature, which is so beautifully captured in the phrase ‘Rotten grass becomes fireflies’. I anticipate that the waning wildflowers here in Scotland will make way for the next generation of butterflies soon enough.

Until next microseason,

Natalie

Sketchbook Notes:

This week, I made a somewhat silly spread on British butterflies. I thought it’d be cool to make the wings out of painted tracing paper. Something then possessed me to glue in their outlines too. Then I totally lost it with the weird flowers!

The afternoon sun was good, though.