Believe me, I wasn’t planning on photographing young oak leaves in the rain. For the last week or so I’ve been going on early morning walks with Mrs SC. Winding our way up and over and around Ramberget, which is the little mountain at the bottom of our road.
Every morning we see the morning sun gleaming on the spring-fresh leaves of oak, beech, sycamore and silver birch. All the leaves on all the trees, but especially the oak leaves. There’s something very enticing about baby oak leaves. They are so tightly corrugated as they break out of their buds, so crisp and edible-looking. And they come in so great a variety of colours. Yellow green, bright green, green with a touch of rust, even rust with a touch of green.
Every morning I say that I must remember to get out the camera out and take some pictures. Every next morning, I forget.
Well, not this time! Yesterday I wrote myself a reminder, on paper and electronically in my phone. This morning I had no excuse.
Nor did I have any sun.
“It looks a bit misty,” said Mrs SC.
“Atmospheric!” I replied.
“The forecast says rain,” she said.
“Well, you can go. I’ll stay indoors.”
So out I went, camera at the ready. And the mist turned to drizzle, and the drizzle turned to rain. And that’s how I ended up with a collection of photos of young oak leaves in the rain.
Ramberget means “the raven’s mountain” or “the raven mountain”, using an ancient Swedish word for a raven – ramn – which is fairly obviously cognate to the English word. I’ve actually heard a raven calling here, but never seen one. Mostly I see crows, like this bedraggled looking example. In the distance you can just make out the Masthugget church tower on the other side of the river.
Some local residents seemed to be enjoying the weather, mind you.
There’s a lot to be said for rain, from a photographer’s point of view. It can make the mundane interesting and it can turn the world on its head through reflections.
But eventually the rain can get a bit much. Not least for a camera that’s not really weather proof. I found I was fighting a losing battle keeping the rain of the camera lens. See below. Time to retreat home and dry out.
Here’s a drier post from Ramberget: Watching the sunset from Ramberget